#within the blank spaces in canon

[dopeydi]

I go back to this clip every now and then 🥹 How I wish it was in the anime at the very least so more people could appreciate this added perspective and ++ to the feels & angst of everything that ends up happening

[aromanticannibal]

I read the epilogue chapter, and yeah, there is A LOT of misinformation and it's definitely not that bad. My biggest issues with it is that it was framed really poorly, esp on Ochako's storyline, and it's something beyond shipping.

my biggest problem with the ending as a whole has remained pacing, and the lack of some scenes we all assumed would for sure be coming. I think this chapter is overall fine and follows (more or less) the expected route, but how small the entire epilogue was make it stick out weirdly.

[midnightbears]

[SEPARATE] may we have gyomei, rengoku, and uzui's cuddling head canons? (are they a small or big spoon? Are they clingy? Do they snore? Who falls asleep first? Etc)

✿ hold me forever. never let me go when i do!

#STARRING: himejima gyomei. rengoku kyojuro. uzui tengen + wives ft. fem!reader [separately!]

#TAGS: fluff. established relationship

#NOTES: thank you for requesting! this is so so cute, i hope you like it <3

the stone hashira . . . himejima gyomei!

sleeping in the same bed as this man right here is a heaven-sent gift IMO.

cuddle bug i fear. most of the time, he likes to be the big spoon, mainly because he enjoys holding you close to his chest, where he can hear and feel your heartbeats mingling together. however, he won't be opposed to you wanting him to be the small spoon. he'll probably just chuckle fondly, loving the feeling of your smaller arms trying their absolute best to wrap around his midsection.

i feel like he doesn't move at all during nighttime. he's as still as a corpse sometimes lol. i don't think he snores either, most of the time you'll just accidentally overhear him mutter "namu..." under his breath. however, if he so much as feels your warmth leaving him for a fraction of a second, he's awake and sensing around for you, dragging you back to his chest after you accidentally pushed him away in your sleep.

he always falls asleep after you. it's a small habit he picked up, only allowing himself to fully relax after you are in the land of dreams. he takes these small intervals of time between your sleep and his own to voice small prayers, his broad hands caressing your back and the top of your head lovingly.

if you happen to get out of bed in the middle of the night to get a glass of water or to use the restroom, make sure to hope fervently that gyomei won't wake up. unless he's aware of why you left the bed (eg: sleepy murmur of 'hunnyboo i need to use the toilet I'll be right back'), he'll start imagining the worst possible reasons for your absence.

imagine him feeling around for you. he finds your side of the bed empty and suddenly shoots up from bed, his blank gaze wide with apprehension, cold sweat staining his temples. where are you? he'll call out your name into the night with his entire body rigid and his voice is quavering and he scrambles to pick himself up from the bed and you don't know how much he's desperately hoping that you are okay, that you are okay, that you are okay, that you—

your soft footsteps litter the room again, a steaming cup of tea in your hands. you call out to him, your hand reaching for his, all is well.

the flame hashira . . . rengoku kyojuro!

this man literally does not care for your personal space.

he will cling to you like a koala, legs wrapped around yours and arms holding you close to his chest, nuzzling into the junction where your neck and shoulder meet, a soft "mmhhh..." leaving his lips when your perfume reaches his nostrils.

the problem with kyojuro is that sleeping with him during winter is wonderful because the man is a literal furnace. most of the time, he will sleep shirtless, allowing you to cling to him if you're cold, his rough hands traveling up and down your back soothingly to keep you happy and warm. summer, however, it's a completely different story.

you feel bad for kicking him away when he tries to hug you, but your mood is incorrigible when you are a bit too overwhelmed with the heat, and you don't want to lash out at him more than you already do when he attempts to bring you to his chest or spoon you from behind. you'll literally roll away from him or go sit outside to get fresh air, and he feels so BAAADDDD because omg he just wants to cuddle you and show you affection you're his amazing beautiful wife :(

normally, you both go to sleep around the same time after a few minutes of cuddling, but whenever this man manages to convince you to let him lay on your tatas and scratch his head, he is gone within minutes.

does not mind being big or small spoon, he enjoys both. but if he had to choose, he normally prefers to be the bigger spoon, mainly because he gets a kick out of feeling like he's protecting you and you're just so cuteeeee he loves you soooo mucchhhhh look at you omg.

he snores a bit, but you've gotten so used to it that, at this point, it's just ambient noise for you to fall asleep to lmao. you once caught him scaring himself awake with a particularly loud snore, it caught you so off-guard but it was the funniest shit you've ever seen and now you're waiting for the next time it happens.

even in his sleep, kyo's protective instincts are on full display. he'll pull you closer if you move too far away, his arms tightening around you subconsciously. if you have a nightmare, it’s like he senses it, even in the deepest sleep. you’ve woken up more than once to his sleepy voice whispering reassurances and his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back until you fall back asleep.

overall really sweet, but a pain during summer <3

the sound hashira . . . uzui tengen + wives!

now, tengen is the god of cuddling, and he's got plenty of practice with his four beautiful wives. he makes sure everyone gets their fair share of his affection, rotating between snuggling with each one of you throughout the night.

you guys could go to sleep in an established order but that completely changes overnight. one minute he’s spooning makio, his arm draped over her waist, the next he’s got you nestled against his chest, suma snuggled up behind you, and hina’s head resting on his shoulder. sometimes he wakes up alone on the other side of the bed and sees you all snuggling together and goes >:(

similarly, it's not unusual for the whole group to end up in a tangled pile of limbs by morning. tengen's long arms and legs make it easy for him to reach everyone, pulling you all into one big, cozy embrace <3

much like rengoku, he's an absolute furnace, which is a blessing and a curse, depending on the season. in winter, you and his wives love curling up against him to steal his warmth, but in summer, you often find yourselves pushing him away, only to be pulled back in when he sleepily grumbles about missing your touch.

tengen’s snoring is legendary. most of the time, it's tolerable, but some nights, you've nudged awake one of your co-wives because you don't want to sleep alone just so you can go to one of the separate rooms and cuddle there instead and the poor man is sooo hurt by it during the morninggg poor guy poor guy awe

believe it or not, tengen is the last to go to sleep but not for the reason you think. his skincare routine is longer than yours and your co-wives combined lmaooo, so while he keeps putting shit in his face and hair, you and the girls start to arrange the bedding however you like and get comfortable.

suma always needs to be close to someone, so she normally snuggles up to you first, whereas hinatsuru doesn't like to be in the middle of the pile so she'll mostly cuddle whoever remains in the outer circle. makio, while she may never admit it, loves being swaddled, so she nestles between you and hina.

he enters the room to find you all sleeping without him, but he smiles softly and simply joins you, pulling all four of you close <3

© midnightbears on tumblr, july 2024. please do not repost to another platform, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 11

Kinktober Masterlist labor ipse voluptas - “there is pleasure in the work” Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader Kinks > massage, workplace sex acts, edge play, men whimpering Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

Simon has been your massage client for years, but when he comes in with a groin injury, your working relationship becomes much, much different.

Gender-neutral reader, no mention of pronouns or genitalia. Some references to past trauma/violence inspired by canon events.

Sometimes, when you were working your hands over the flesh and bones of Simon Riley, you closed your eyes and used your fingers to know him, pretending that your sight was gone from you, letting the scars and the knots in his muscles tell you his story. It was one you’d read before, rubbing his skin like it was a book of braille, letting each ridge and healed wound speak their lines and expound upon his violent past. 

You fanned out your fingers to touch him, wide and spread across his back, rubbing your fine oils into his body and feeling the tension loosen in him as you moved through his pain. You could trace the edges of his old tattoos, finding where the artist dug the needles too deep, black lines that healed through the old, pale cuts. 

His left shoulder told you stories about two knife wounds and a bullet that the medics hadn’t bothered to remove. His right arm had a torn extensor tendon, and for him to stretch it all the way out, you needed to coax the bicep above it, pushing and pulling the muscle like you knew he needed you to, reaching deep within him to find the pliant relief he was looking for.   

You’d been Simon’s massage therapist for almost five years, and you knew as much about him as he did about you. It was strange; you could talk to each other about the deepest parts of yourselves, the way you thought the world should be, about how far human beings could reach into the universe, about space and time, about the rights and wrongs of society, and yet you knew very little of his actual day to day life. 

You knew he was a soldier. He had to tell you that much. When you first saw him lying prone on your table, the blanket covering his ass and not much else, you had to hold your breath to keep from gasping at what you saw. People’s bodies did not disturb you. Wrinkles, acne, hair - it was all just normal humanity. No one was perfect. But, Simon’s body unsettled you. He looked like he’d been through literal hell. Like demons had pierced him with their tridents and burned him with their fire. He’d been shot, stabbed, pierced, bitten, broken, and ruined by war to a particular degree that made you wonder why he hadn’t been retired for these bodily atrocities. 

On your first day together, you’d told him point-blank,

“I’d ask if you had any prior injuries, Mr. Riley, but we only have an hour together.”

He chuckled, smiling at you from his raised position on his elbows, 

“Fair enough. And, call me Simon, if tha’s alright.”

“That’s alright, Simon. Let’s get to work.”

So, you had. In the beginning, the initial awkwardness of the act of massaging someone was the same as it always was. You got to know his body, his preferences. You knew not to press too hard on his right trapezius unless you wanted a fist to dart out and grip you around the wrist. You also knew that he was a bit vocal. Some of the noises he made for you, particularly when you treated his calves and quads, haunted your dreams in the most lurid way. 

But, everything had changed between you when he had come in last week with a sore groin muscle, inside of his right thigh. 

“What’s with the limp?” You’d asked him when he walked into the office.

“Trainin’ day gone wrong. Think you can put it right again, love?”

That Manchester accent with the pet name always stuck you right in the belly, but you pretended like it didn’t. You refused to admit you had feelings for your client. It wasn’t professional, and you were one of the best in your field. It was unethical. But, it was hard to convince yourself of that fact when you remembered how he groaned for you when you relaxed his clenched hamstring a few months ago and he’d cried into the terrycloth face pillow,

“Mngh! Tha’s good, love. Fuck, tha’s it.”

That one was on repeat in your head. 

Today, you gave him some time to get set up in the room, giving him specific instructions to lie on his back first so that you could treat the affected area. You weren’t shy about a little upper thigh, and you’d touched Simon Riley in just about every way possible by now. It’d be old hat. Right?

Wrong.

You’d started on his quad, warming up the muscle to your touch, filling your hands with oil so that they would slip across his hairy skin. But, he’d stopped you, grimacing and grunting through his teeth,

“It’s higher. Fuck me, it stings.”

“Can you point to the pain?” You watched as he moved the thin sheet up and over his hip, trying to shield his cock from you while showing you where he was injured. 

His hand was rubbing down his adductor brevis, the innermost part of his thigh, a muscle that led right to the join of where his leg became crotch. 

“I see. Can you turn your knee out?”

“No,” he growled, obviously trying to hold his pain at bay. 

“Alright,” you reassured him, “It’s okay like this. Just… tell me if I touch you where you aren’t comfortable.”

“I just need you to bloody touch me, love. I’ll take anythin’ you got at this point.”

You looked down at his leg, and then you looked at his cock and balls hidden by the sheet. Back to the leg. Back to his cock. 

Stop it! Stop. Don’t look at it. You punished yourself, but that only made you want to look at it again. 

If you didn’t start massaging him, he was going to know you were nervous, and you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable, so you poured more oil into your hand and started at the lowest possible point before gently working your way up the muscle. 

The noise that came out of him was downright pornographic. 

“Are… are you alright, Simon?” You asked, stopping to let him recover.

He nodded, biting down on his fist to stop himself from crying out again.

You repeated the movement. Another delicious grumble came rolling out of his chest. He was breathing hard, and you could see his enormous core flexing and expanding under the stress. 

You moved your hand back and forth over the muscle, working it over and over, feeling the tension loosen under your touch. But, as he became more and more pain free, his body started to get worked up in a different sort of way. 

You’d tried to stay away from the sheet, but there was only so much room down there, and his giant prick was hanging against your wrist as you rubbed him. It wasn’t his fault. He’d covered himself. There really wasn’t anything wrong, per se. It was just a body part. But, it gave him away.

By the time he had relief in his muscle, his immense rod was standing at full attention, erect and joyful in your ministrations. He was so big that he was tugging the sheet from the other side of the table, lolling up his abdomen and reaching much higher than his navel. 

The sheet was doing very little to protect his modesty. 

“Does that feel better, Simon?” You asked, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice.

“Aye, love. Feels fuckin’ brilliant. Little higher, yeah?”

He still hadn’t opened his eyes, and if he knew he was hard, he didn’t apologize for it. If you moved your hands higher, you’d be pressing into his pubic mound, basically massaging the base of his cock. So, you moved just the smallest bit higher, trying your best to avoid his fully hard dick. 

“Mmfff-fuck. Tha’s so good.”

You couldn’t stop staring at him while you rubbed his groin. Every time you pulled the muscle, his cock would flag, and every time you pushed back up, kneading him and helping him relax, his blood would pump through his shaft, making him throb. It was intoxicating. 

Then, you noticed that he had stopped making noises. You looked up and, to your horror, he was watching you gaze longingly at his phallus, like you were a dog starving for a bone. 

You looked away, quickly finding a spot on the floor, but it was too late.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His eyes locked onto yours and he took your hand in his gently, and slowly dragged it up the body of his cock all the way to the swollen head. Then, he put his hands back at his sides and settled in, looking just as neutral as he usually did when you prepared to massage any other part of him. 

Was he really asking you to do this? Were you seriously about to give Simon a happy ending in a professional massage office? 

He felt your hesitation, and he smiled at you,

“Go on, love. Touch me how you need to touch me.”

You rubbed more oil on your hands and turned down the sheet, tucking it away as if you were exposing an arm or leg or some other appendage, trying to be as professional as you could despite the fact that you were about to do an incredibly heinous thing. 

But, you desperately wanted to touch him, and you didn’t think you’d have another chance. He’d probably never want to make an appointment here again. So, you decided to seize the moment. 

You started at his base, massaging the pubic mound around his cock, the tendons and flesh that supported his length, and then you moved to the bottom of his shaft. Carefully, you moved your thumbs over his wide shaft, making small circles of firm pressure, feeling the tension throbbing inside of him as you began to touch him there. 

Then, his moans. But, they were softer this time. It was a side of him you never got to see, an ultimate vulnerability. He was trusting you more now than he ever had. 

You moved up his shaft in a methodical way, telegraphing your movements, making sure he knew where you were going to touch him next. No surprises. 

Finally, you made it all the way up to his cockhead. You spent plenty of time rubbing your fingertips over his sensitive frenulum, touching the crown only when you knew he was ready, smearing your oil over his foreskin and pulling it down to reveal his swollen glans. 

He hissed, so sensitive under your touch. You paused, speaking low and even, trying to make your voice sound calm,

“Everything alright, Simon?”

“Mm, fuckin’ hell, too good.”

“Remember to take long, deep breaths. It helps release any tension you might be experiencing,” you teased him with your therapy voice, trying to get a rise out of him more than you already had. 

He looked down at you, incredulous, and then cocked a grin when he saw that you were playing with him. 

You rubbed his full length, clasping both of your hands around him and stroking him from base to tip and back again. Never too fast, never too slow; you always went at the exact speed that caused him to throb, knowing that you were milking him just on the edge of pleasure. If you went faster or gripped him harder, he would come, and you weren’t ready for that yet. So, you edged him, knowing his tells, listening to the timbre of his moans. You’d had five years to listen to this man when he found physical relief, so you used it against him. 

Just when he would get close, you’d return to his base, making circles in his lower abdomen, ignoring his sensitive cock, listening to him chuff and growl in frustration. But, he didn’t ask. Never did he put his desire into words. It would make it real. It would ruin the moment. Right now, you could both still pretend that he was getting a massage. 

You made your way back up, toying with him, bringing him moaning and whimpering back to the edge before sending him away again, dragging him back down in a torrent of huffing breaths and a furrowed brow. Then, you let go of him entirely, covering him back up with the sheet and stepping away from the table.

“Love, please…” He whined aloud, his voice demonically fractured and deep, resonating in his chest, staring up at you like you’d stuck him with your own blade, an unexpected betrayal.

“I’m afraid our time is up, Simon.”

“Like hell it is,” he grunted, leaping up from the table and towering over you. 

“Your injury seems to have responded nicely to our treatment, and I can –”

Simon grabbed you around the nape of your neck, dragging your body up against his, using his other hand to fist his cock, holding it out for you to grab.

“Finish what you started, love, or I’ll finish it in you.”

His eyes were nothing but serious, and you were so turned on by his fiery passion, you grabbed his cock, knelt down on the floor and fed him into your mouth. Only the head would fit at first, but that was enough. The obscene cries that came out of his throat told you everything you needed to know about his pleasure. 

You popped his head out of your mouth and jerked him, fast and hard, smirking from your knees, 

“C’mon then. Finish it in me.”

The look of shock that painted his face was like a prize that you treasured for yourself, and as you bobbed your head back and forth, sucking him as best you could, he leaned his free hand against the wall and curled his fingers into your neck even tighter. 

“Mngh… mngh… mngh… Shit! M’gonna come, love. Gonna come… fuck!”

He tried to pull away, worried that you would not want to take him in your mouth, but you sucked him deeper, keeping his pounding head sealed inside your lips. He started to orgasm, and it filled your tongue, forcing you to swallow if you wanted to breathe. You swallowed more and more of his salty cream, lapping at his drooling head, slurping and sucking to your heart’s content. 

“Goddamnit… fuck! Fuck, holy fuck…” He was coming apart above you, his release so pure and powerful that you watched him tremble, his eyes rolling back in his head like a shark ready to bite, and you felt like you were on top of the world. 

His shaft kept throbbing, spilling more and more of his come into you, and you kept sucking him, hoping to get every last drop. 

Then, he let go of your neck and moved his hand to cup your cheek, touching you with gentle adoration,

“Bloody hell, love. What was that?”

You popped him out of your mouth once more and gave him a long lick, a cunning grin on your face,

“Injury treatment?” 

“Fuck me, I’m still injured. C’mere.”

[willalove75]

Alcina's New Maid Pt. 24 Lady Dimitrescu x Reader

Summary: The interrogation of the prisoner begins and tensions rise as the truth unfolds.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI.

Tags: Some canon violence, angst that melts into sweet fluff.

Notes: Part 24! I'm so sorry this look literally forever! I don't know why, but I had such a hard time getting through this chapter. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! The next few chapters will be more light-hearted and fun and I'm excited to finally be able to get to them!

Click here for the rest of the series

Gif source

Alcina runs her gloved fingers through your hair before she steps out of the shadows towards the prisoner, leaving you out of sight but within earshot. The girls had dragged him out of his cell and seated him in an old wooden chair.

Bela, Cassandra and Daniela are taunting the prisoner, unaware of their mother's presence. The moment sound of Alcina's heels hit the stone floor with a "CRACK" the girls immediately fall in line.

The prisoner looks up with a terror in his eyes that grows as he takes in the sight before him. The small space of the dungeon makes Alcina look even taller, more imposing, more terrifying. She confidently and unapologetically takes up the space she occupies which makes her all the more intimidating. Never in his short life has the prisoner felt smaller, weaker and as helpless as he does in this moment.

"Well, well. If it isn't our little hunter." Alcina says, her grin widening as she leans into the prisoners space. "Daughters, has he given you any useful information?"

"Not yet mother." Bela says.

"We were just about to start playing with him." Cassandra says with a sadistic smile.

"There will be plenty of time to play with him later girls. Until then, let the interrogation commence." She says as she stands to her full height and raises her arms, signaling for the girls to take over before stepping off to the side. Alcina takes a seat in a larger chair and crosses her legs. She pulls out a lighter and lights the cigarette sitting at the end of her quellazaire before taking a deep inhale. The smoke dances around her as she exhales, curling almost beautifully as it glides through the air.

"We're going to start off with an easy question." Bela says with a sickly sweet tone of voice. "What's your name, little one?"

The prisoner stares at Bela with a blank look on his face, too terrified to respond.

"It will do you well to participate." Alcina says. "I make no promises that my daughters won't do all that they can to extract an answer from you."

The casual tone of her voice is unsettling. Cassandra steps in front of him, gently dragging her sickle down the side of his face but doesn't break skin.

"Or you can keep that mouth of yours shut. I do love being able to dig the answers out of our prisoners."

She presses the sickle harder into his face and a trickle of blood begins to run down his dirty skin.

"Cassandra." Alcina warns.

Cassandra pulls away with a dissatisfied grunt and returns to her spot next to Daniela.

"Shall we try again?" Bela asks, spinning her sickle in her hand. "What's your name?"

"D-dorin."

"See how easy that was?" Bela says with a wide, bloody smile. "Now, how far away was the base from where mother found you?"

"Less than a quarter mile."

Bela walks over to one of the tables with a book sitting on it and writes something down.

"Wonderful. Did they attack mother as soon as they found her?"

"N-no." He says, his eyes shifting from Bela to Alcina. "They noticed her following two of the members and led her away from the base before attacking."

Bela writes in the book and turns to Cassandra, nodding for her to take over.

Cassandra circles Dorin for a few moments before stopping behind him and leaning into his ear.

"BOO!"

Dorin yelped, jumping in his seat as Cassandra laughed at him; Bela and Daniela joining in on the laughter. Alcina even chuckled as she took another drag from her cigarette.

She rounded the chair and leaned in, her face becoming uncomfortably close with his, enough so that he winced and pulled back a little.

"Tell me, what were you all planning?"

"Th-they want to attack the four lords."

"When?" Cassandra growled.

"I don't know, they didn't say-"

Cassandra presses her sickle against his neck.

"Do not lie to me."

"I'm not! I promise! I really don't know when, they never told me a date! I wasn't a high enough rank to know things like that. All I knew was that they wanted to attack all four of the lords at once, I swear!" He says as tears run down his cheeks.

Cassandra withdraws her sickle and circles the chair again.

"And just how many of there are you?"

"Well, there were maybe fifty of us, but at least half of them were killed."

"Fifty? That's all?"

"They were recruiting more."

"How many more?"

"Hundreds."

"How?"

"From nearby villages and other countries. Sixty of them were coming in next week."

Cassandra grills him for the next few minutes on exactly where the hunters were coming from, what weapons they were supposed to be bringing and an overall layout of the base. When she was finished she stood next to Bela and Daniela.

"Daniela, darling, do you have any questions for the prisoner?" Alcina asks.

Daniela walks up to him and circles him a few times. She brushes his messy hair out of his face and squishes his cheeks between her hands.

"No, he's cute though, mother!" She says with an excited smile.

Alcina raises an eyebrow towards her daughter and with a huff, Daniela walks away and stands next to her sisters. The sound of heels on the stone floor fill the dungeon once more as Alcina walks up towards the prisoner.

"Was that all of the information you know?" She asks.

Dorin swallows hard and nods his head.

"Yes."

Alcina growls and leans in towards him.

"It would be in your very best interest not to lie to me."

"I-I'm not. I swear! That's it!"

"I will give you one more chance. I know you are not telling me everything." Alcina hears his heartrate grow faster and faster, not only is he lying through his teeth, he's more terrified than he was before. "What more information are you keeping from me?"

In the shadows you can feel your heart beating out of your chest. "Just tell them you idiot!" You scream in your head.

"Nothing. I've told you everything I know."

In that moment you knew he sealed his fate, but a tiny bit of you held out hope that he's either just too stupid or too scared to say the rest. He's just a kid after all, isn't he?

"LIAR!" Alcina screams in his face, causing him to flinch. "If there is one thing in this world that I detest most, it is a liar. And I will make sure you spill every ounce of truth." She says as she elongates her claws.

"I swear! That's everything! Please!"

Alcina retracts her claws and stands back up. She puts out the cigarette at the end of her quellazaire and lays it down on the table.

"Would you like to know how I know you are not being truthful?" Dorin doesn't respond, he just stares at her. "Because a little fly told me you had a visitor yesterday, one you poured your pathetic little heart out to."

Alcina walks over towards you and places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you out from the shadows. If Dorin had any color left in his face, it would have drained right then and there.

"You- you told them?" He asks in disbelief.

"I told you to tell them everything!" You say, as you walk towards him.

"You promised-"

"Enough!" Alcina says. "I know you are leaving out a very important piece of information. She told me everything."

You see something inside Dorin snap.

"You fucking bitch!!" He screams.

He lunges forward at you and you notice the glint of something sharp in his hand. Alcina quickly grabs your arm and pulls you backwards with such force you nearly fall over. You can feel the rush of air pass by as the object in Dorin's hand just misses you as you're pulled away. Cassandra jumps forward and sinks her sickle into his shoulder and pulls him back down into his seat. Dorin cries out in pain and you hear the sound of something hitting the ground. Alcina catches you before you fall and in an instant she's on her knees in front of you patting you down, checking for injuries.

"Draga, draga mea are you alright? Are you hurt?" She asks as her eyes scan every inch of you.

"No, no I'm okay, I promise. He didn't get me." Looking over her shoulder, you see a jagged piece of scrap metal laying on the floor. He must have found it in his cell and kept it up his sleeve as a makeshift weapon.

Alcina exhales a breath of relief before fury takes over her eyes. Her head snaps in Dorin's direction, all of her rage pointed directly at him.

"How DARE you try and lay a hand on what is MINE."

A look of confusion crosses Dorin's face until he registers that Alcina now has a protective arm around you and the interaction the two of you just had.

"I knew I never should have trusted you!" He screams at you. "You lying fucking bitch! You tricked me!"

"No! I didn't! I promise I was trying to help you!" You say as Alcina's grip around you tightens ever so slightly when she hears your voice shake.

"You told them everything! About the base, the hunters, about their cold weakness!" The three girls freeze in place when they hear him say that, their eyes go wide as they look over at Alcina and you. Each girl had a different look in their eyes. Cassandra was absolutely furious, Bela was shocked and Daniela was fearful. All three of them shared a look of disappointment and maybe even a hint of betrayal when they realized you both kept this information from them. "I bet you even told them about my mother and sisters in the village you traitor!" Dorin screams.

Alcina's head slowly turns to look at you, her eyes wide. With her still kneeling next to you she's much closer. So much so that you can see the flecks of grey and a small ring of red around the iris of her eyes.

"His what?" She hisses.

As you look up into her eyes tears begin to roll down your cheek. Alcina's eyes are filled with rage and disbelief. Looking back towards Dorin his eyes are wide as saucers.

"I didn't tell them that." You say softly, defeated.

"Well girls, it seems a little trip down to the village is in order." Alcina says with such ice in her voice it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"No!" Both you and Dorin cry out.

Alcina's gaze snaps down to you.

"Al-" Her gaze at you hardens. "M-my lady, please, please don't, they're innocent in all of this."

"They had nothing to do with this! It was all my dad and brothers and you already killed them!" He yells.

Alcina looks over to Dorin and stands back up. She runs her fingers through your hair as she steps away from you, a subtle hint of comfort as she walks closer to him.

"You see, all of this could have been avoided if only you were honest from the beginning. Your carelessness, your selfishness is going to be the cause of the rest of your family's demise."

"Please! I'm sorry! Please don't hurt them!" He cries as he tries to stand up but Cassandra sinks her sickle deeper into his clavicle, causing him to yelp in pain as she pulls him back down.

"I'm sure the women in your family will make a nice vintage for next season." She says all too casually before letting out a deep, dark chuckle.

"You're all fucking monsters! All of you! You're all going to burn in hell!"

The laugh Alcina lets out is chilling. She leans in towards Dorin and says with a sickly-sweet smile, "you're already here." Before standing up to her full height and laughing out loud once more.

"Daughters, I believe we've heard enough from our prisoner. You're free to do what you want with the man-thing." The smile on the girls' faces grow wide, sending shivers down your spine. Alcina turns and stares down at you. "And you, you are coming with me. You and I must have a conversation."

She begins to guide you away from Dorin and you hear him yell out "I hope she fucking kills you!"

You stop and turn back towards him, his eyes are filled with hate and they're directed right at you. Alcina places her hand on your shoulder and continues to guide you out of the dungeon.

The moment the door shuts you hear the girl's laughter and the sound of Dorin screaming in pain. The sound of a sickle slicing through him makes it to your ears and you freeze as your stomach twists violently. He starts to gurgle on his screams and you feel the blood drain from your face.

Alcina looks down at you and sees you frozen in horror. The tears flow down your cheeks faster and you begin to tremble as the girls' laughter gets louder and louder.

"Come, draga." She says, putting a hand on the back of your shoulder and begins to guide you away from the dungeon.

It felt like you and Alcina were walking for an eternity. The screams from behind the door seemed to follow you as far as possible. As the awful sounds ring in your ears the memory of Alcina's claws punching through Stefana's body resurface. At the time you were too dazed to register any noises but your mind put the sound you heard just after the door closed to that visual and you begin to tremble more. Alcina kept a firm hand against your back - it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Every so often her thumb would rub against your shirt, providing a silent comfort while the two of you made your way out of the basement.

It wasn't until you began to walk up the stairs did the horrible sounds finally begin to fade out completely. When the two of you emerged from the basement a few maids stopped and stared at your disheveled state. Mixed looks of fear, pity, and disgust crossed their faces for a brief moment before the low growl Alcina let out sent them scurrying from the room.

With a large hand still resting on your shoulder, Alcina led you up the stairs towards her chambers. As you walked through the halls you looked up to steal a glance of Alcina's face. Her chin was held high as usual but you noticed the slight furrow in her brows and that her jaw was clenched tight. She seemed focused on where the two of you were going but you could tell at the same time she was deep in thought. Quickly you averted your eyes before she caught you looking at her.

Upon reaching her chambers, Alcina led you into the room before shutting the door behind her and guided you towards the chaise lounge in the corner. Once you were settled she walked over to her vanity and opened one of the drawers, taking out a case of cigarettes and a lighter. Neither one of you have uttered a word since the dungeon and you weren't about to be the one to break the silence.

Luckily, you stopped trembling. Only your hands had a slight shake to them as you tried your hardest to forget about the noises and thoughts plaguing your mind.

Alcina took a deep drag of her cigarette, her shoulders dropping some of the stress sitting on them as she exhaled. After a few more silent drags she stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and made her way across the room, taking the spot next to you on the lounge.

There were a few tense moments where you weren't sure if you were going receive the brunt of Alcina's anger and frustrations or if she was going to be the soft, caring woman you've grown to love. It seemed that Alcina contemplated that thought herself before sighing and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Hesitantly, you turned towards her and met her gaze. In her eyes you could see the frustration, but more than that, you saw the concern she had for you.

Alcina cupped your face and wiped away the tear streaks with her thumb.

"Are you alright?" She asks.

"Mhm." You say, nodding into her hand. "The noises brought me back to when I fell down the stairs and, I don't know I just-" you trail off as your anxiety begins to build again.

Alcina immediately picks up on it and wraps her arm around you, pulling you close. Her lips meet your temple and she places a light kiss against your hairline. Instead of pulling away, you feel Alcina lean her head against yours.

"Shh, it's alright draga. We don't need to revisit that day. It's over." You nod against her and she moves to rest her chin on top of your head. "I did instruct the girls to wait until we were much further away before they began... playing with our prisoner. However, I think hearing him discuss their cold weakness set them off. I was half expecting Cassandra to go after him right then and there."

"I'm surprised she didn't, she was so mad." Fresh tears begin to prick at your eyes. "They all looked so hurt that we didn't tell them. I hate that that's how they found out. I told him to tell you everything, I told him!"

Alcina pulls you into her lap as you start to cry again, gently shushing you.

"You did everything you could draga. There was nothing more you were able to do. You risked your life to help a stranger and he repaid you by lying and then trying to kill you. Everything that happened to him after that was deserved."

"Is it naïve of me to think he only reacted like that because he's a kid and that he was just terrified?"

Alcina exhales from above you before lifting her head and bringing a gloved finger underneath your chin. She lifts your gaze to meet hers and tilts her head, a knowing look in her eyes.

"Do you truly need me to answer that question?"

"No."

"Draga, he tried to kill you. If I didn't pull you back, if I took just a second longer to react he would have-" Alcina's grip on you tightens and she shakes her head. "I don't even want to think of what could have happened." She says softly.

"Thank you for saving me." You say, burying your face into the soft fabric of her dress.

"I will always protect you, iubirea mea. Always."

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before feeling a shift in the air. Stealing another look up at Alcina you notice her staring off into the distance, a pensive look on her face. Her eyes drift down and lock onto yours for a moment before she looks ahead once more.

"Are you mad at me?" You ask.

Alcina lets out an almost exaggerated exhale and looks down at you. She steels her expression in a way that makes her completely unreadable and you feel your heart sink in your chest. Alcina leans down and places a kiss to the top of your head before shifting you off of her lap and onto the chaise lounge.

"No." She says as she stands up and makes her way over to her vanity. "But that does not mean that I am happy with you."

You drop your gaze down to your lap, nodding in understanding as you fiddle with your hands. Off to the side you hear the metal cigarette case snap shut and the sound of the lighter flicking a few times before it lights. The faint crackle of the end of her cigarette is the only sound that fills the room until she exhales a cloud of smoke into the air.

"You do understand why I am not happy with you at the moment, yes?" She asks as she turns towards you.

"Yes, I think so." Alcina tilts her head at you, silently telling you to continue. "Because I didn't tell you about his family in the village?"

"Yes. Precisely." She says before taking another drag. "What I cannot seem to wrap my mind around is the fact that we spoke just last night about being completely honest with one another. Again. And again, you were not honest with me. Can you tell me why that is? Because I am having quite a difficult time understanding why you lied to me, again."

Peeling your eyes away from hers, you look down at your hands in your lap while you squirm under her gaze.

"I - I didn't think it was important." You say quietly before looking up at her again.

You can see the anger that flashes in her eyes, it almost makes you wince but stop yourself from reacting.

"That is not for you to decide." The iciness of her voice sends a shiver down your spine that you try to suppress. "You do not get to deem whether or not the information my prisoner gives you is important. Unless you've forgotten your place? In case you have, let me remind you. Just because we are in a relationship in no way means that your word outweighs mine. This is still my castle, my domain. It is my word that is law here, not yours. If he told you as little as when he last sneezed, I expect you to relay that information to me because it is not your place to decide what is and what is not important. As deeply as I care for you, you are still my maiden. I am your countess, your mistress and you will obey the rules I have in place. Do I make myself clear?"

Part of you wished she would have just yelled at you because the steady, controlled tone of her voice was far more intimidating than when she yells. You know she's angry and you can see under her hardened exterior that deep down she's scared, but her words cut into you and make you feel incredibly small. All you can do in response is nod, not trusting your voice to crack or for the tears that were building to not fall.

"Speak." She commands.

"Yes ma'am. I understand." You say with a shaking voice.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I - I'm sorry."

Looking down into your lap you see the tears fall onto your dress. Never before have you felt so small, so insignificant. Her words felt like a sharp slap across the face. Was that how she looks at you? As something that belongs to her? Will she ever consider you an equal? Were you just looking at your relationship through rose colored glasses this whole time?

"Is that all?" You ask. Alcina pauses mid-drag and looks over at you with an unsure look on her face but you don't look up at her. "I apologize for overstepping my lady. I will make sure it never happens again. If that's all, I would like to retire to my chambers now."

It took Alcina by surprise hearing you call her "my lady" and speaking to her like every other maid in the castle. Before she could register the words coming out of her mouth she heard herself say "y-yes, that's all."

She watched you in near disbelief as you walked out of her chambers with tears streaming down your cheeks and your eyes trained on the ground. Her eyes closed as you shut the door behind you and she felt tears roll down her cheeks, the gravity of her words finally settling in.

The harsh words she spoke were out of fear. Fear for her daughters, for you, for her staff. Who knows what the prisoners family knows or how involved they really were in the hunters group. For all she knew they were regrouping in the days the prisoner has been sitting in the dungeon, getting a head start on their plans. It hurt her finding out that even after the conversation you had last night that you didn't tell her everything he said. Of course it meant a great deal to her that you told her all of the most crucial details, but such a small detail such as his family in the village going under the radar could end up being a much bigger issue in the future.

But how could you possibly know that? Alcina crushed the cigarette in her hands as she put herself in your shoes. You have no experience with groups such as these, you have no idea the true danger that they could impose if not dealt with properly. In your mind, the women in the village were just innocent lives you were trying to spare - just as you were trying so hard to spare the life of the prisoner. Alcina curses herself for being so cold towards you, for making you feel like you were her property. Like you were so far below her. Meanwhile in reality, your thoughts and opinions meant so very much to her.

She snaps out of her thoughts when she hears you crying in your bedroom. Her heart breaks once more knowing how deeply she's hurt you. She debated for a moment whether or not she should go and comfort you or give you space; but last time she did that you barely left your room. For the first time in decades Alcina feels nervous, unsure of what to do. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she questions whether or not she'll be able to look herself in the eye if she left you in such a state again. Would she be able to forgive herself if she didn't go and try to right her wrong right this minute? Before she could even finish the thought she knows what her answer is.

Alcina removes her gloves, setting them down next to her hat and stands up, making her way out of her chambers and to your door. She debates on knocking but forgoes it and slowly opens your bedroom door. Seeing you curled up in your bed in tears breaks her heart and she makes her way to the edge of it before removing her heels and lays down behind you, wrapping herself around your tiny figure.

The sound of your door opening pulls you from your thoughts but the tears continue to fall. Soft clicks of Alcina's heels on the wood floor reach your ears before she stops at the edge of your bed. A few moments later the bed dips behind you and you feel her lay down, wrapping her arm around you and curling her knees up, cuddling you in her embrace.

Laying here in her arms feels like the complete opposite of the harsh words she spoke to you just a few minutes ago. The push and pull of emotion is almost too much to bear and you cry harder as she comforts you.

"What am I to you?" You ask through tears. "Am I just your property? Just something for you to control?"

"No." Alcina says with a heavy exhale. "You are everything to me my love."

"Then why? Why did you say those things? Will I ever be enough for you?" Alcina's grip around you tightens at your words.

"Oh, draga. You are, you are more than enough. I fear I will never be enough for you. I am so sorry for being so cold, so unloving towards you." She sniffles behind you and nuzzles into the back of your neck, inhaling your scent. "I was scared when I said those things."

There was a vulnerability to her voice that you're not sure you've ever heard before. It was like you could feel her walls crumbling as she laid behind you.

"What scared you?"

"All I could think of was that that man-things family has been continuing to plan their attack the days he was in the dungeon. That they are more involved than he said. That my girls could be in real danger. That you could be in real danger."

"But he said -"

"Darling," Alcina breathes. "One of my favorite things about you, one of the things I love most about you is that you always, always try to see the best in people. Even if it's just the smallest piece. For so many years I only ever looked at how awful, how horrible the world is. I forgot to look for the beauty, for the positive things even if they weren't the most obvious. My world has blossomed in front of me because you showed me that there is beauty everywhere, that there is always a bright side, even when it's dim."

Alcina nuzzles into the back of your neck, placing a kiss behind your ear before continuing.

"But my love, you cannot believe everything that you hear, even though you may desperately want to. I know he said they weren't involved but what if he lied? What if they were involved and play a vital hand in this attack they're planning? Maybe they weren't involved but now that half of their family has been slaughtered they decide to join in? I know you wanted to protect them, because in your world they are just innocent bystanders. That if they aren't involved then they're not a liability. When I said those things I did not take your perspective into consideration, and I am so sorry for that. But you have to know that in my world, in this world that you're in now, there are rarely such things as innocent bystanders. There are so many variables and even the smallest, most innocuous detail may seem irrelevant but could end up being a large threat to all of us.

I realize that there are so many things you don't know about what really goes on in our world and it was not fair of me to be angry with you for not knowing things you could never have possibly known. I promise that I will do better and that I will teach you more about this world we are in. But my love, I need you, from here on out, to be completely honest with me, especially about things like this. Our lives could very well depend on it."

She exhales and pulls you tighter against her chest, almost as if she's afraid that if she doesn't hold you close, you'll slip through her arms and never return.

"I may be your countess and mistress, but I am also your partner, your lover. Yes I have the final word but your thoughts and opinions hold more weight than you know. I love you so much draga mea, so, so much. And I am so sorry for hurting you again." She says as a few tears roll down her cheeks.

"I never thought of those things." You say quietly.

"I know, my love. I never should have expected you to know. After decades of dealing with these issues I forgot that not everyone that comes into this castle sees things the same way that we do."

"I'm sorry, Alcina."

Hearing her name fall from your lips brought a smile to Alcina's face. Part of her worried that her words set back so much of the progress the two of you had made. Hearing you call her "my lady" before terrified her, thinking that her harsh words broke the trust the two of you recently regain in one another.

"There is nothing for you to be sorry for, draga mea. It is I who should be apologizing to you. I am so sorry." Alcina kisses behind your ear and nuzzles into your hair again. "Will you ever be able to forgive me?" She asks quietly.

There's a hint of fear in her voice, fear that she's pushed you too far and that you won't be able to forgive her again.

Turning in her embrace, you look into her golden eyes. It surprised you to see that they were tinted red from her crying and to see the dried tears and mascara tracks down her cheeks. You wipe away the smeared makeup and place your hand on her cheek. Alcina covers your small hand with her much larger one and closes her eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of your skin. When her eyes open again there's a hint of apprehension.

"I can't stay mad at you, even if I wanted to." You say, echoing her words from last night.

A beautiful smile crosses her face as her eyes fill with tears once more. She wraps her arms around you and pulls you into her before pressing her lips into yours and you happily kiss her back.

The two of you laid together for the rest of the day, cuddling and talking. Alcina kept her promise and talked about how even the smallest things could lead to potential disaster. She used Dorin's family as an example frequently, explaining how much of a threat they could truly possess to the castle. It surprised you just how important even the smallest details could be, especially after Alcina told you about the hunters that successfully breached the castle walls not long after she was infected with the cadou and what she had learned from each experience. The whole conversation was truly eye-opening and you understood why she was so scared when she found out about his family. By the time the conversation wrapped up you realized how truly dangerous they could be, although you still held so much guilt knowing nothing was going to stop Alcina and the girls from "taking care" of the problem.

The best thing to come out of that conversation, however, was the fact that you felt more like her equal, like the two of you were in it together rather than her ruling over you as if you were any other maid. When you expressed that thought to her, Alcina smiled and kissed you deeply, holding you close to her.

"I promise draga, one day you will be my equal. I look forward to the day you and I can rule over the castle together. It's going to take time, but I have no doubts in my mind that you are going to be more than capable of it and I know you are going to do a wonderful job."

She kissed you deeply once more, grazing her tongue across your bottom lip. You couldn't help but smile as her large tongue slipped between your lips as she poured all of the words she didn't know how to say into the kiss.

When you parted she rested her chin on your head and ran her long fingers through your hair.

"When are you going into the village?" You ask.

"Tomorrow night, most likely."

"What if there are children in the house? You won't, would you?" You ask, afraid of the answer she's going to give.

"If there are young children in the house, no. I won't bring harm to children if it can be avoided. Children are rarely a liability because they are so small and useless."

You let out a breath of relief. It would take a lot now to look at Alcina as a monster, but you would find it almost impossible to deal with knowing she would hurt an innocent child like that.

"What's going to happen to the rest of them?"

"Well it depends, if they put up a fight, which I expect them to, we will do what we have to to handle it. However, I try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum if possible so we can get a better harvest once we bring them back to the castle."

"Will you bring them back alive?"

"Perhaps, it depends on how it all happens."

"I know I'm in no position to ask for favors, but can you just try not to make them suffer?"

Alcina gives a lighthearted chuckle, shaking her head at how big and tender your heart still is.

"I promise I will do what I can to not make them suffer, draga mea. Alright?"

"Thank you." You say, cuddling into her.

"Of course, iubirea mea."

The two of you lay together, Alcina tracing the features of your face with a gentle touch, combing her fingers through your hair as the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. Just enjoying being together.

The dinner bell rings and Alcina lifts her head and looks towards the door and back to you. You look up at her golden eyes as they crinkle at the corners when she smiles down at you. Leaning down, Alcina places a kiss to your lips before you both start to get up. Alcina puts her heels back on and the two of you make your way downstairs.

The girls swarm into their seats as you walk into the dining room and you're more than a little relieved that they changed clothes and washed their faces before dinner.

"Good evening daughters. Did you enjoy the rest of your day?" Alcina asks as she takes her seat.

All three girls reply with a "yes" and start talking over each other, saying how much they enjoyed themselves. Your stomach churns when they start to talk about what they did to Dorin but Alcina cleared her throat and eyed the girls.

"Girls, I appreciate your excitement, and I am very glad that you all enjoyed yourselves, but can we please forego details?"

"Yes mother." They say in unison accompanied by apologies aimed at you.

"You know, the man-thing did say something interesting while we were tor- playing with him." Daniela says.

"And what was that draga?" Alcina says.

"He said something about how he's not going to see his youngest sister grow up and how her birthday was soon. But it got me thinking," she says, looking at you now. "when is your birthday?"

"Mine?" You ask.

"Yeah!" Daniela says.

"Uh, it's next month."

"REALLY?!" Daniela yells.

"Yeah, why? When are your birthdays?"

"We don't celebrate our birthdays." Bela says.

"Really?"

"Yeah, well none of us except for mother remember our lives before the cadou so we don't know when our birthdays are." Cassandra says.

"We have 'rebirthdays', the day that we were reborn, but we don't celebrate them." Bela says.

"Why not?"

"When you're immortal and don't age, birthdays kinda lose their excitement." Cassandra replies.

"That's fair I guess."

"But you're not immortal!" Daniela says.

"That is correct, I am not."

"So it would be so much fun to celebrate your birthday!!" Daniela says, looking over at her mother, buzzing with excitement. "Mother can we throw y/n a birthday party?! Pleaseeeee?!"

"Oh! Yes! We haven't had a proper party here in decades!" Bela says.

"That would be so much fun! Please mother?" Cassandra asks.

"I don't know girls, it's been a very long time since we've had a celebration." The girls respond with a disappointed whine and Alcina looks over at you. "It also depends on whether or not she wants us to throw her a birthday party."

"Can we?! Pleaseeeee?!" Daniela asks, giving you puppy dog eyes.

"I don't know guys," the girls groan. "I don't think I've had a birthday party since my parents were alive."

"Why not?" Bela asks.

"Because my aunt and uncle never threw me one, after a while my birthday became just another day I guess."

"That's bullshit." Cassandra grumbles and Alcina is quick to reprimand her. "Sorry, but it's true!"

"Pleaseeeee let us throw you a birthday party?! We promise it'll be the best most fun birthday party you'll ever have!" Daniela exclaims.

"I mean," you look over at Alcina who smiles back at you.

"If you are alright with the girls and I throwing you a party draga mea, I will allow it."

Looking back at the girls they look at you with excitement in their eyes. It melts your heart seeing them like this, you don't think you've ever seen them this excited before. They said they haven't thrown a party in decades and they seem so excited to have a reason to have one. Who are you to disappoint them?

"Sure, if you want to throw me a party you can. But you don't have to!"

"YEAH!!!" The girls cheer.

"Oh! Should we pick a theme?!" Daniela says.

"Themes are for children's parties!" Cassandra says.

"They are not!" Daniela argues.

"We can finally use the ballroom again!" Bela says.

"Fine if we can't do a theme can we at least do a color theme?!" Daniela asks.

"As long as it's not a stupid color like pink." Cassandra says.

"Why not?! Pink is SO pretty!"

"Pink is a terrible color theme for a party!"

"It is not!"

"Is too!"

"Oh! We also need a guest list!" Bela says. "Y/n, can you give us a list of your friends you want invited?"

"Oh, you're inviting people from the village?"

"Of course we are! It's a party!"

"Alright, alright. I didn't have a lot of friends so it'll be a small list anyway."

"The color should be black!" Cassandra says.

"Black is so dark and boring!" Daniela argues.

"Not if it's a black tie party, idiot!"

"I'm not an idiot!"

"Then stop acting like one!"

Before the argument between the girls can escalate any further, Alcina puts an end to it, telling the girls that they can all come up with ideas together, but since it is her castle, she will get the final say on everything.

"Oh here we go." Cassandra says.

"What?" You ask.

"Mother is going to take the whole thing over."

"I will not, I just want to make sure this party will reflect well on House Dimitrescu. It will be the first time in over fifty years that we will be having such an event and I will not allow it to reflect poorly on us." Alcina says.

"So she's going to take the whole thing over." Cassandra grumbles.

Alcina shoots her a look while she drinks her wine and the conversation surrounding the party continues as the girls throw out theme ideas, who will attend, what foods will be served and so-on.

Even though you haven't been a big fan of your birthday since your parents death, you have a feeling that this party is going to change that, at least for this year. Part of you hopes the girls will get it out of their system so you're not the center of attention every year for the rest of your life, especially in front of such a big crowd since the girls seem hellbent on inviting nearly everyone from the village.

As the whirlwind of the day winds down, you look forward to curling up with Alcina in bed and falling fast asleep. Much to your pleasant surprise when you walk into her chambers, Alcina is already in bed with a book in her hand. Quickly you get yourself ready for bed and climb in next to her. She puts her book down, turns off the light and pulls you into her.

"Goodnight draga mea. Te iubesc atat de mult." (I love you so much).

The purr from her chest quickly lulls you to sleep and you can barely mumble out "I love you too." before you're fast asleep in her arms.

[ay0nha]

An Ode to Ruination | T.S.

SUMMARY: Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callus to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath. 

PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.5K

WARNINGS: ANGST, swearing, smoking, drinking, semi-preoccupations with thoughts of death/suicide, mutual pining, meanish tommy because his feelings are hurt, canon-typical things, protective!tommy, rushed ending, etc.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I’m back on my bullshit.  This is inspired by @zodiyack​‘s request/post (here). HAD to get it out of my system, I mean look how pretty he is. This is a mix of Old writing I had to dust off the cob webs for mixed with new stuff, so be kind. Enjoy.

“You’re leaving.”

Tommy’s tone was sterile. It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset.  

The cracks behind his exterior were so deeply concealed you hadn’t thought anything could slip between. Yet, standing before him, your decision was the ice-pick that’s pressure had shattered him.

“Ada told you?” You hummed with formality; his presence clearly a response to the question. “London will treat me well.”

Tommy tracked your movements. You envied how he filled the space better than you. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in his presence. Regardless, you felt like a guest in your own home. You felt caught, exposed.

The air was thick, causing Tommy’s deep breaths hard to hide behind a crackling record that you had on a continual loop, never able to stand too much silence. Your bags were organized beside the door for the morning, causing your heart to echo against the empty walls.

There was an odd sense of pride you felt with his presence. It confirmed the distant admiration that Tommy held for years. That the shared affection wasn’t something fabricated but complex. You respected his drive, but your desires fell elsewhere. He carved space for you despite your protests, but you could never be the one to fill it—you could never be his.

“A better life, eh?” Tommy mocked you, cigarette rolling over his lips with habit. “Fucks sake.” The confidence in his demeanor faltered. But he regained it quickly with a bitter laugh, “...I’ve given you everything, and here you are asking for more.”

With an instinct to comfort him, you wanted to reach for him. It spoke of your ability to read him and how exhausting it had become to interpret. He would miss you.

“Tommy—” You began. The calmness in your voice was deceiving. You could see it in his face, how expectant he was for you to tell him you’d stay. “—I’m not safe with you.” You paused, letting your admission sink in just as harshly as his words had, “I’m going to London.”

—

The bliss was idyllic.

Your wrist balanced on the windowsill as you lazily tapped the ash of your cigarette. The cool air caressed your arm and gave you goosebumps that reminded you that you were still alive. Human. Your senses were perked. The city outside kept you attentive as your head rested back. The day was long, but hearing the taxis carrying bubbling people made it worth it. You imagined how some were on their way to find warmth in their home while others were dressed for an endless night of laughter.  

The living room was empty and quiet. You could no longer hear Ada’s shuffling feet above you, ushering both her and Karl to sleep. It was odd that you found such freedom with them. Protection of sorts that you could rely on as a necessary stepping stone. It caused a headache to form at the back of your head, reminding you of your lack of sleep.

Privilege came with the name associated that made your stomach churn.  It was simple to push Tommy into a subconscious level. The task became daunting; an ache emerged from so deep within that it took months to realize from the start he was responsible.   It was as though you could feel how his eyes were still on you.

It became a habit to remind yourself of your newfound safety. The distance created life: happiness and tranquility. You traded bloody nights for bedtime stories, sewing razor-filled caps for gin-filled gatherings, and Tommy’s scarcity of communication for peaceful nights like tonight.

A disruption was overdue. You answered the phone after the third ring.

“Ada?” The voice was unmistakable, even if it was whiskey drenched. It took him a beat to realize you were on the other end. “... ’m callin’ for Ada.”

Chewing on your lip, you debated silence and pretended like the call had never begun. But that incessant ache begged to be relieved.

“I can wake her.” Your voice was soft, promising something you were unwilling to do. It was nicety that filled the quietness you were met with.

“I—uh—” Tommy sighed deeply. The words were lost, jumbled behind an always racing mind. You could picture him well; his crisp shirt no longer having life as it was rolled up by anxiety, his tie no longer present, but still suffocating him, and everything around him reflecting how he moved with an intemperate haze. “—I’m drowning—”

“Tommy…” You refused to burst, but his name on your tongue tattered between warning and heartbreak. When he drank, he opened up to you, a foolish cycle. “Let me get Ada…”

The dark chuckle on the other end forced you to press yourself closer to the phone. “Sometimes, I wish I were dead so you'd think of me.”

A frown perked your lips. You were made out to be more heartless than the most heartless man you knew. It was a naive guilt trip that you almost slipped on. “Be fair to me, Tommy.”

There was a crackle on the other end, a cigarette lit purely by regret. The drag was long, trying to pull something thoughtful from a blurred mind. The reports he received from those he paid off weren’t enough.  You were thriving with his absence, seen with a mix of people who, even acquaintances, valued you better. It elicited resentful envy. However, out of arms reach, you worried Tommy endlessly. The London associates sought blood, no matter who provided it. The paranoia was ruining him, and no answer could reassure him.

“You a communist yet?” Tommy cleared his throat with a vulnerability that was only reserved for this night. Maybe, you thought, it was an effort on his part.

“Almost…” The teasing comforted a dodged homesickness. “Think my card got lost in the post.”

“Shame.” He tutted with a gentle wit. There was a tender sadness he carried with him. It was almost as volatile as his anger. It was easy to blame it on the war, but it had latched onto him long before, never planning to let go.

You imagined how his exhaustion mapped along his body. His body probably mirrored your own; head back, limbs weakly sprawled, heavy-lidded eyes imagining the other beside each other, and a mutual worry that bounced between you.

“I am happy, Tommy…” Your promise was delayed, hardly believable. “Ada and I do miss everyone.”

I miss you.

Tommy hummed, “...have a funny way of showin’ that.”

“You haven’t seen our smoke signals?”

The laugh you were met with was small, light, and barely there, but it rushed through your limbs and heated your chest. You had a moment to catch your breath and slow your heart rate. Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callous to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath.  

—

You knew Tommy would be there. For Ada—you reminded yourself. Yet, seeing him so closely caused your heart to lurch, your blood leaving your extremities with such fascination that you became light-headed.

“Drink.” Ada all but scolded you, crystal pushed into your hand. The instruction was welcomed, but it wasn’t enough to settle you. “Otherwise, you’ll clam up if Tommy bothers to find us.”

Tommy worked the crowd well. It was a feigned charm that he played into only for advantage. Although he claimed to be here for family, business always loomed. Ada hadn’t cared either way, the glitz far too intriguing to question his sudden presence in the city.

“Give him time…” Ada spoke openly to the air, her night’s indulgence tracing her words. “...always time with that one—wastes it, and yet, expects you to be there when he hollers. Does your head in, it does…”

The champagne bubbled down your throat. The night was meant to be celebratory, but you’d be lying if you said you knew why. It was a part of your distinction from the Shelby family that you questioned if ignorance truly brought you bliss.

“Surprised he came himself. Thomas Shelby in the flesh,” Ada continued with ease, mocking her brother. “Surprised he even lifted a pinky. Typically one of his goons—” She looked to you, her revelation cutting her off. “You do understand what you do to him, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to.” Your words were sharp. Your eyes filtered the crowd for the gloved waiter to replace your glass. “There’s nothing that I—I’ve put all that behind me.”

“That?” She pressed with practiced bits of patience. Ada’s smile grew comically. The shy glancing took years to turn into full sentences and Ada knew firsthand how to read her brother, and the way he lingered spoke volumes. He was past smitten.

It was all or nothing; you were it.

You were grateful how her attention shifted to her own relationship. You never tired of hearing how Freddie treated her and loved her since they were children. There was somberness in her eyes, but devotion carried in her words. You saw how she carried him with her; certain mannerisms mirrored not only in her but Karl. Love withstood.

There was a point in your life you believed you’d find something similar. You hadn’t faulted your growing mind; it was natural to romanticism your future at such a young age. Those around you promised there was something fruitful to look forward to. However, life proved difficult; men remained boys, and the only person that you regarded stalked toward you as if you were nothing more than a stranger.

“Ada.” Tommy approached his sister as if she were alone. He’d visited her in the city multiple times but never once shared the air with you. “Enjoying yourself tonight, eh?”

“Mothers can still have fun.” She teased him with a peck on the cheek. Even in her state, she ridiculed her brother’s behavior. With a shoulder pushed against his, Ada encouraged Tommy to acknowledge you. “Have you no manners?”

To others, his expression may have appeared vacant. However, Tommy wrestled with himself, unsure how to maneuver in uncharted territory. Stalling, his eyes danced the crowd as he languidly out his matches and carton. It denoted how natural his icy illusion became, and now he seemed able to practice it on you. Once he landed on you, you realized why he struggled to meet your eyes. It was his only form of self-defense.

“London suits you.” Tommy nodded, his greeting muffled through the newly lit cigarette. The small rush it gave him was enough to stay vigilant.

“It has its moments.”  Your chest perked from the attention and chill, but Tommy’s eyes never faltered from your own. You were daring him to take your body in. It was the sole reason you chose a dress that cut low both front and back.

Tommy was never a blind man.

Nor was his sister. Ada excused herself, claiming whatever ‘this’ was, she wanted no part. You are no fun, she said. However, you weren’t sure who it was directed to. You held back from following her, but your shoulders remained open; you wouldn’t fold into yourself.

“I didn’t know communists could have fun…” Tommy mumbled to himself, eyes going to the crowd once more. Ada’s self-imposed isolation rippled through the family, only fracturing the stress of everyone’s well-being.

A scoff bubbled in your throat, “And what do you know about pleasure?”

“Pleasure?” Tommy became focused and pointed with his words. “Pleasure doesn’t exist.”

Eyebrows cinching with frustration, you stepped closer to be heard, “Don’t pretend like your pleasures don’t have names.”

That drunken call all those nights ago was a mistake. It showed you insight into a dream. In that dream, Tommy was free of what haunted him, light and present. Faithful. There his voice wrapped you in warmth with fulfilled promises. You never were as skilled at hiding your emotions. Your heart was broken on your sleeve.

“I’m going to—

There wasn’t a need for a protective air as those around Tommy knew never to challenge him. However, far and few between, there were those men self-entitled with such idiocy; they couldn’t recognize they were prey.

“Thomas Shelby. Birmingham man in London.” A hand clapped down on his shoulder, breaking the forming bubble around you. “Thought that was you! This must be the missus…”

“Not quite.” Your tone was bare, your hand extending with trained expertise. You could handle pleasantries. But the man was bold, leaving a damp kiss on your knuckles as if marking you.

Tommy was subtle, moving his body to act as a buffer. Fingertips brushy feather-bare against your lower back. You thought it would end there but held back a flinch when Tommy’s warm palm flattened where your back curved.

“Ah, understood!” The man replied with a boisterous cackle. It reflected years of unfiltered nicotine and a wet and sick penchant for bourbon. “I’ll have one of you warm my bed once all of this shit is over.”

You pinned your breath to the roof of your mouth. Your loss for words wasn’t due to the ill-mannered man. It was from the brush of Tommy’s thumb against your skin. It was a comfort and an apology for how he would have to agree with the man to keep him at bay.

It was all a part of the plan you were slowly catching onto.

“A good lay is a good lay, isn’t it, Mr. Shelby?” The man prompted again, a gauge to know if the future alliance would be worth it.

“Exactly right.”

You could storm off, cause a scene. Your anger steeped deeper than that. It lived in your bones, morphing into something vindictive. You stayed the course and played your part willingly. The morals you lectured Tommy on didn’t matter anymore when all along he had the upper hand.

To the man, you were a plaything, someone who the conversation held no standing. The information would be forgotten, implied confidentiality,   as you’d move on to your next client. However, the further you orchestrated the conversation to continue, the more you learned.

The night was a business move, another party dosed in secrets and danger. You took in the man’s features, noting how he was aging, greys just starting to filter through his scalp. Your stomach turned, knowing there would be a bullet between his eyes by the end of the evening. The interaction was a courtesy.

Once alone again, you didn’t hesitate to move from Tommy’s shield. You felt dirtied.

“I can’t believe you.” You spat. “You’re incapable of—

“Enough.” Tommy’s words were low. He pinned you with a look alone, keeping you steady. “You want to run from me, but you can’t.” You battled with him until you lost. His face hardened like you were another associate. “It was him or you.”

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

The Diary of Tom Riddle- Tom Riddle x Reader - Canon Complaint ending.

pairing: Tom riddle x Fem reader

warnings: Horcruxes, Manipulation, Tom being Tom, side effects of being possessed, bleeding, self-harm, vomiting, (y/n) is going THROUGH it. horror elements. Tom Riddle.

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

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

=

(y/n) huffed in frustration as she looked through the restricted section for the third night in a row, constantly looking over her shoulder to make sure Filch or Madam Pince wouldn’t catch her.

Tom had told her to look for a few particular books that were filled with information about possession and how to expel it, but it seemed there was nothing in Hogwarts about that sort’ve thing oddly enough.

Explaining such a thing to Tom seemed to puzzle him, as in his years of school, he was quite certain the library had those sorts of books.

‘might’ve been because of the war and demons or possessive spirits were more rampant back then. Now that the world is in a peaceful era, there’s no need for those type of books.’

Tom had reasoned and (y/n) had to concede, because back then-during World War two and the uprising of Grindelwald, there had been a lot more to the defensive classes at Hogwarts, like full dueling classes and multi hour-long sessions of DADA.

How did she know that? Simple research in ‘Hogwarts a history’. That and she’d asked Tom.

She huffed in frustration again as she once again didn’t find the books she was looking for, leaving the library and sneaking back to her dorm room, carefully stepping back into her room-making sure not to wake up her roommates, and toeing off her shoes, climbing into her bed. She closed the curtains and grabbed Tom’s diary from her jumper pocket, grabbing her pen and opening the diary.

“I still couldn’t find anything :c”

‘Damn, not even the locked books?’

“no, nothing about ghosts other than how they’re created, but that stuff was in the normal part of the library.”

(y/n) sighed in frustration, rubbing her face as her inked words faded and Tom’s elegant scrawl replaced it.

‘I have an idea. I don’t know if it’ll work, but in my era-those types of books were available in the library, perhaps they’ll be available here.’

(y/n) bit her thumbnail, knowing what he was suggesting. Her going back into his subspace, all for the slim chance of possibly getting her hands on information to expel a possession. It was risky, because her going into his space meant either her using up a lot of her magic and leaving her vulnerable, or him using his limited supply of magic and being unable to communicate with her for a few days.

But it was a risk she would have to take.

“okay. Lets try.”

In a flash of familiar light and a tug at her wrists, (y/n) was within Tom’s diary once again. She felt his arms wrap around her as she landed and after a split moment of looking into his sepia-toned eyes, he took her hand and led her to the library, easily unlocking the restricted section with a wave of his hand.

She quickly pushed through the gates and looked through the books from Tom’s era. There were thankfully all titled, which meant the core Tom, the one who had enchanted his personality onto the diary, had remembered these books before casting the spell.

She grabbed one of the books titled ‘possessions and reanimations’ and the lock melted away like ink, and she glanced over her shoulder Tom-who was watching her like a hawk, his eyes intense. She swallowed down the feeling of nervousness and opened the book.

It was completely fucking. Blank.

She let out a low scream/shriek of frustration and shoved the book back into the shelf, looking through the other books as well. All empty.

“There's nothing here!” (y/n) cried, sinking to the floor, burying her face in her knees. Tom frowned, looking up at the shelves.

“Odd, I suppose I don’t remember these books as I thought I did, I apologize (y/n), I’ve wasted your time.” Tom said very softly, kneeling beside her and resting his hand on her head. (y/n) let out a long shuddering sigh, letting her legs slide out in front of her, her nose burning as tears built in her eyes.

“What am I going to do?” she whispered to herself, she had no one to talk about this to in the real world, and Tom could only do so much. Tom hummed softly and sat next to her, his foot knocking against hers gently.

“I wish I could do more,” he said softly and (y/n) let out another long shuddering sigh, sniffling and wiping at her eyes.

What was she going to do?

Moments later, Tom booted her from the diary-she understood why-her being there drained a lot of magic from him-or well her it seemed today, as her nose was bleeding again.

She sighed, wiping her nose and closing Tom’s diary, putting it under her pillow. She felt jittery, too nervous to go to sleep-worried that the heir might try to possess her again tonight while she slept.

Still, she lay down, hands going under her pillow, connecting with the diary and she clutched it, taking a deep breath as she closed her eyes. The diary was warm under her hands, it felt alive-reminding her that Tom was there-practically real, as real as a personality enchantment could get.

She fell asleep, thankfully waking up in her bed. She sighed, rubbing her face and tired eyes, grabbing Tom’s diary from under her pillow and slipping it into her bag as she got ready for the day.

At breakfast she was distracted, trying to figure out��what she was going to do, her friends tried to ask what was wrong, noticing how out of it she was, but she told them she was just stressed from exams coming up and the whole chamber of secrets situation.

They understood and let her be after that, but each time she passed one of them on the way to class, they gave her a little smile or hug, which she greatly appreciated.

By the time classes were done, (y/n) was exhausted, like, super exhausted, she could barely keep her eyes open, and her eyes were almost hurting with how tired she was, which was unusual because she’d slept fine the night before.

She climbed into her bed, not even taking her shoes off, and passed out.

-

‘Get up.’

A voice in her head echoed, and without her will, she sat up, her mind still a haze as if in sleep-unaware of what she was doing. She slowly slipped off her bed, grabbing Tom’s diary from her bag, and walking out of her room.

In a daze, she left the common room, not responding to anyone that greeted her as she walked past. Her vision was dim, a hazy unconscious glaze in her eyes as she walked down the corridors. She went up several flights of stairs, passing by a teacher or two on her way, paying them no mind-and they didn’t seem to pay her any mind either.

She went to the 2nd floor corridor, just in front of the haunted girl's bathrooms.

She drew up her sleeve, raking her nails down her arm until she bled, and then coated her fingers in her blood, extending her arm to the wall and writing down the words that were muttered in her head.

She stepped away as the last letter was written, her arms hanging limply at her side, Tom’s diary clutched in her other hand. She turned her heel and walked into the bathroom, stopping in front of the sink and looking at the one just in front of her.

“Open.” She said in parseltongue, and the sink transformed, revealing a large hole beneath the sinks that led deep beneath Hogwarts.

She jumped without a moment of hesitation, the sinks closing back together and sealing the tunnel once again. The wind blew through her hair and at her face as she descended through the tunnel, hitting the slimy floor as she flew out the other side. She got up, making sure Tom’s diary was still in her hands, and continued through the tunnels, not even taking out her wand for light.

She went through several tunnels, crawled through a cave, and finally turned into a hallway with a dead end, two snakes curled up around each other with emeralds for eyes, which glinted at her eerily.

“Open.” She said in parseltongue again and the snakes' eyes glowed and they moved, a split in the wall appearing and opening the doors inward. She entered the chamber of secrets, her shoes splashing on the flooded flooring as she made her way towards the statue of Salazar Slytherin.

She took a breath, and then slumped to the floor, Tom’s diary resting on her chest as her vision went completely black again, a wet hot feeling coming from her nose as footsteps echoed around her.

-

She felt a sudden rush of energy as warmth overcame the coldness that had overtaken her and she gasped, her eyes snapping open just as a bright light engulfed the chamber, a strange visage of Tom disappearing at the same time-exploding into bright golden light.

She sat up, staring at the space where she just saw Tom, panting heavily as she turned, looking behind her to see…Harry Potter? Who looked pale and weak, the diary in front of him…bleeding ink.

“What…the fuck?” (y/n) murmured to herself, gently grabbing the diary, Harry frowning a bit as he did so.

“He was manipulating you,” Harry began to explain, sounding weaker and weaker by the second. “He was slowly possessing you, draining your life to gain his back…” (y/n)’s heart dropped at the explanation, her eyes glued to the diary that had a hole stabbed through it, a fang in Harry’s hand with blood and ink all over it.

“But…he,” (y/n) muttered, tears filling her eyes as the diary slipped from her hands and into the water below. “He…” she didn’t know what to say, her eyes drifting back up to Harry, gasping as she saw how beaten he really looked. “Shit-kid-what the fuck happened to you?” she asked, scooting closer on her knees, looking at his arm, her eyes widening at the large bite wound. “What did that?!”

Harry looked to the side and (y/n) followed his gaze, gasping as she saw a giant serpent, a basilisk, lying dead nearby. “You killed that thing?” she asked, and Harry nodded, pointing weakly at the sword next to him. “…holy shit kid,” she muttered, her brows pinched.

Harry was looking weaker by the second and she remembered basilisk venom was very very deadly; Harry would be dead at any second. “Shit we gotta get you outta here-fuck how do we get out of here?!” (y/n) panicked for a moment and then a screech came from above, Dumbledore’s familiar, Fawkes, came soaring from above and landed next to Harry, tears dropping from his eyes and onto Harry’s wound.

Harry smiled as he felt the venom in his veins disappear, his energy returning. “Phoenix tears have healing properties,” Harry muttered, smiling at (y/n), who gave a weak unsure smile in return.

They got to their feet, (y/n) clutching the diary as Harry collected the sorting hat (she wasn’t going to question anything right now) and the sword that had killed the basilisk.

They exited the chamber of secrets, finding Ron and the dumbass Lockhart (it lifted her spirits a bit to know he was a fraud and a coward and had lost all his memories, he kinda deserved it). After that Fawkes found a way out through the caves and air-lifted them all out, Audrey hanging onto Lockhart's ankle while Harry and Ron held onto her hand.

(y/n) clutched the diary in her hand as they made their way to Professor McGonagall’s office, and Harry pushed open the door. (y/n) felt her heart stutter seeing her mom, dad, and brothers, dropping Tom’s diary to the floor as her parents gasped out her name and she was engulfed in a hug.

She leaned heavily into her dad, sobbing terribly as he held her tight.

It was over.

Tom had tricked her.

He had lied to her the whole time.

Stupid fucking personality enchantment.

-

She was sitting in front of Headmaster Dumbledore, her arms crossed as she slumped in the chair in front of his desk, his eyes on her, kind and understanding.

“I do not blame you, Ms. (y/n), Mr. Riddle has always been charming, even when he was younger. You are not at fault for falling for those charms, especially when he so dutifully leaned into being your friend and pretending to be one.” Dumbledore said kindly and (y/n) let out a shuddering sigh, wiping away her tears.

She felt physically better than she’d had in months, months; ever since the diary had been destroyed, which was laid in front of her on Dumbledore’s desk, and now she knew why she hadn’t been feeling well. That didn’t mean she felt emotionally or mentally well.

Tom had been behind it all, Tom…Voldemort; had tricked her, gained her trust, and used it against her to slowly drain her life force from her to be able to resurrect himself as his 16-year-old self.

“When I look back on everything,” she spoke quietly, voice cracking and wavering as she remembered every conversation with Tom, all the gaps in her memory, all the times she’d woken up somewhere not in her bed, all the nightmares-how Tom seemed to know far more than she ever told him.

“I just feel so…stupid, it was all so obvious,” (y/n) mumbled, a sob breaking her sentence as she closed her eyes. “But he felt so…real, so genuine… but he was just lying to me all along.” (y/n) said weakly, burying her face in her hands.

“Tom Riddle was a very smart, charming boy who knew how to get what he wanted, regardless of what he had to do to get it. He even tricked me, and I could never prove when he was responsible for certain things that he did around the school-I believed he had been the one to open the chamber of secrets, as he had shared with me he could speak to snakes when I first met him, and I knew only those descended from the Slytherin line could do that, and yet I knew he had fooled everyone else to believe he was a charming, good boy, that could do no wrong. He did the same thing to you, and I refuse to let you believe you were tricked because you’re stupid. No, you were tricked because he’s too smart, and used your feelings for his own gain.” Dumbledore said softly, standing from his desk and walking around it, resting a hand on (y/n)’s head.

(y/n) sniffled and lifted her head, staring at Dumbledore who offered a kind understanding smile. “You are not at fault for what he did, you are a victim.” Dumbledore said softly and (y/n) nodded, understanding that, but it didn’t mean she still wasn’t blaming herself for getting caught up in Tom Riddles, young Voldemort’s, lies.

“I think Im going to go take a proper nap, Professor Dumbledore.” (y/n) said softly and Dumbledore nodded, allowing her to leave. She glanced back at Tom’s diary as she opened the door, and then closed it behind her, leaving the diary behind as well.

-CC ending.-

welp-here it is! hope you guys like this ending as well as the 'good' ending, took me oddly a long time to write, hopefully i can at least write the bad ending out before i leave for vacation, but in the meantime, you guys have this to read~!

taglist!

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

@slytherinbackintomyroom @starryhiraeth @larallott

@kayytt-2 @chimchoom @joyfulnightmare-hq

@theicypiscean @discofairysworld @simpforih44

[hitoshitoshi]

The Incident That Somehow Made Sylus' Childhood Exponentially Worse

(or Sylus' Biggest Failure and Regret)

Summary: Why Sylus created his silly little mechanical crow, Mephisto. The who, what, where, when, why's and how's. A look into Sylus' Childhood. Tags: Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Loss, Animal Death, Grief, Trauma, Childhood Trauma, Timeskip, Ambition, Semi-obsession, Loneliness, Loyalty, Unconditional love, Bittersweet ending.

The stench of grime, sweat, and dispair was a familiar comfort when he compared it to the throbbing ache in his chest. Every ragged breath Sylus took scraped his raw throat as he looked left and right as tried to find cover in of N109's underbelly. Sylus huddled deeper into the into the shadowed alcove as he tucked the small and shivering crow closer to his chest, desperately trying to share his meager body heat. It wasn't supposed to be like this. A crow was supposed to be strong and resilient—not this... fragile thing that grew weaker by the day.

Sylus didn't know that to do, how to help. One day, the crow, his shadow, his best friend and parter, the only constant in Sylus' life, was soaring though the smog-choked sky; the next, the crow struggled to even lift his head.

Fear— cold and unfamiliar—had seeped into Sylus' young heart. He thought he'd felt fear before but this... no, this was true fear. It was a terrifying counterpoint to the anger and bitterness that he'd nurtured for so long. He scavaged for scraps, even resorting to begging—him, begging—for something, anything, that might ease his companion's pain.

But Mephisto, whose sleek feathers had now becomed dull and ruffled, only grew weaker. The once-vibrant eye that mirrored the fiery defiance in Sylus' own, had dimmed. Each shallow breath the crow took echoed in the hollow space that grew inside of Sylus—a void that threatened to consume him.

And then, there was stillness. A silence so profound that it screamed. Mephisto was gone. And Sylus was alone.

Guilt etched itself onto Sylus' soul. He hadn't understood what it meant, truly, until now. He hadn't known the fe frailty of life, of how there was a miniscule life between existing and fading away. He didn't have anyone that was close enough to call them friends or family—but he had the crow, but not anymore. That black creature who'd shown him loyalty in a world rife with betrayal was his friend, family—hell, he'd even call the crow his soulmate—Sylus couldn't save him, he didn't know how to. Sylus couldn't bring his crow back. The weight of his failure settled deep within his bones, a vow to never be that powerless, that ignorant, ever again.

Years passed, filled with the struggle for survival, with hardening resolve, the string of loss was a dull ache that never quite seemed to fade. Sylus would never ever be that helpless again.

One day, in a dusty, forgotten corner of a rundown library, Sylus stumbled upon a word that would set his plan into motion—his plan to build some sort of tribute of the crow— a reminder of his vow—to never be powerless and to never lose what he held dear ever again.

"Mephisto," It practically leaped off the tattered page. Sylus' fingers, calloused and scarred, traced the letters, echoing the way he used to stroke the crow's head. The definition below—"a devil.. to whom Faust... sells his soul for knowledge and power"— resondated to Sylus. Knowledge. Power. He could have both. H would become someone new, someone in control, untouchable by grief and regret.

Sylus hadn't ever named the crow because he knew that he would get attached to it, but alas—the crow, even nameless, had woven his way into Sylus' soul. So the least that Sylus could do for that soul that kept him going was to give him a name; Mephisto.

Sylus found an abandoned warehouse with broken windows and wals that were riddled with graffiti. But for Sylus, this place was a blank canvas. This was going to be his workshop. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of solder and the frustrated energy that pulsed off him in waves as he worked. He pushed himself to the very edge of his limits, each burn, each growl, fueled his determination to create Mephisto, down to the last detail.

Sylus poured over old sketches, their edges softened with time and tear stains that refused to fade. Hours bled into days spent hunched over curcuit boards, meticulously weaving together wires. The air buzzed, crackled, and popped—Sylus was desperate to bring those memories back to life.

The day Sylus had finally finished, exhaustion clung to him like second skin. His eyes were bloodshot and he had dark eyebags and dull skin. But when Mephisto 2.0 spread its wings, gears whirring, a triumphant grin split Sylus' face. He had done it. He'd brought him back.

But the triumph was short-lived. It looked like Mephisto. Sounded like Mephisto. Acted like mephisto But it wasn't him. This Mephisto was cold, made of metal and wire, lacking the spark, the warmth, the life that had animated his best friend. There would be no gentle weight settling on Sylus' shoulder, no soft caress of feathers against his cheek, no more sharing scavenged meals, no more sharing eachother's warmth on freezing nights, no more comforting caws lulling Sylus to sleep at night. This Mephisto was a hollow echo, a constant reminder of what he had lost—of what he could never bring back. And it was all his fault.

Sylus traced a finger along the smooth metal of the crow's wing, the chill seeping into his bones. A bitter truth settled in his gut, a painful lesson was learned—some wounds, even time couldn't heal. Some voids could never be filled. Mephisto 2.0, was going to be a reminder of his biggest failure and his biggest regret.

This was Sylus' burden to bear. His alone. The world would see a ruthless leader, a master strategist, wielding his mechanical crow to spy on his pray. They would see power and control over his dominion. But what the people in the N109 Zone would never see would be the constant ache in Sylus' chest, the phantom weight of feathers on his shoulders, the whispers of what could have been. Sylus would wear his mask well—Sylus was the leader of Onychinus, immune to all pain and grief. And loss.

A/N: Just something silly that I came up with at 3 A.M. Sylus and his most loyal companion. I like pain and suffering if you haven't already known that. Also this is the revised version of a post I deleted earlier because I wasn't satified with it. My inspo was book 6 of TWST.

Masterlist

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Chapter three | Entre Deux Mondes.

masterlist.

pairing : bruce wayne x fem!oc

author’s note : chapter three is here! Get ready to see a new side of Maryam and Bruce… ;) Just a reminder that English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. xx

cw : maryam = older sister core, bruce playing emo as usual, mafia, bruce being a dick as usual, 18+, thriller, medical procedures, angst, mental health issues, noire, canon-typical violence, POV alternating, gritty, horror, illness, slow burn, action, fluff, mutual pining, forced proximity, crime families, comedy, crime, fighting ect… read at your own risk !

THE DINING ROOM was enveloped in the gentle embrace of late morning light, its golden rays filtering through tall windows, casting intricate shadows that danced gracefully across the polished mahogany table.

Two young executives sat at one end, their suits and neat ties an almost jarring contrast to the timeless elegance of the room. They leaned forward, their expressions taut with a mix of impatience and unease, eyes locked onto Bruce Wayne, who sat at the head of the table, a pair of dark sunglasses shielding his eyes. His posture was as impenetrable as his expression, a stone-faced calm that hinted at anything but interest.

One of the executives, his voice tight with the gravity of their situation, began to speak, "I'm afraid we're at a critical juncture..." His words hung in the air, but they seemed to drift past Bruce, who had barely acknowledged their presence since the meeting began. Instead, Bruce's gaze slid distractedly to the newspaper folded neatly beside him, an artifact of another world amidst the spreadsheets and balance sheets dominating the conversation.

The other executive, sensing the lack of attention from their host, leaned in, desperation edging into his voice. "At the very least, we'll need your signature to cover these losses..." His words trailed off as Bruce, with deliberate slowness, reached for the newspaper. The quiet rustle of the pages seemed louder than it should, filling the room with a subtle tension.

The executives exchanged a glance, their confidence faltering in the face of Bruce's indifference. Alfred, standing by the side with a composed demeanor, offered them a polite, almost apologetic smile, as if to say, this is just how it is. The room felt heavier with every passing second, the silence more telling than words.

Bruce opened the newspaper, his gaze scanning the sea of letters before him. To the young executives, it must have seemed as if the words on the page held the key to something far beyond their understanding, something that captured Bruce's attention more completely than their urgent pleas ever could. The wheels in his mind turned, not on the financial crisis they presented, but on something deeper, more distant.

"Mr. Wayne...?" One of the executives ventured, his voice a thin thread of hope in the tension-filled room.

Alfred's calm voice broke through the silence, an understated prompt, "...what?"

Bruce glanced up, his expression momentarily blank, as if pulled from some far-off place. He blinked, his mind refocusing on the present, on the weight of the situation that sat before him in the form of two nervous executives.

"I... I need your signature, sir..." The executive’s voice wavered slightly, the formality strained against the raw need for Bruce’s attention.

Without a word, Bruce took the pen offered to him, his hand moving with the same detached efficiency with which he had flipped through the newspaper. As he signed the papers, the young executives watched, a mix of relief and wariness settling over them.

The hum of the Batcave's high-tech machinery filled the space, a constant reminder of the endless work that took place within its shadowed depths. The dim light cast a cold glow on Bruce's face as he stared intently at the computer screen before him, his mind racing with possibilities.

Bruce’s voice, calm yet edged with intensity, broke the silence. “What if it isn’t a partial key...?”

Alfred, standing beside him, frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. “What do you mean?”

Bruce’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he brought up the cipher on the screen, the intricate web of symbols and letters taunting them with its complexity. “What if it’s the whole key? Ignore the symbols we don’t have letters for, use only the letters from ‘he lies still,’ and leave the rest—”

Alfred’s eyes widened in sudden understanding as he followed Bruce’s line of thinking. “—blank, yes—I understand,” he murmured, his hands moving to delete the unnecessary letters from the cipher. “But that will leave most of the cipher unsolved... I don’t see how that—oh…”

His voice trailed off, his expression shifting from confusion to realization as the pattern began to emerge on the screen. The seemingly random jumble of letters and symbols was now stripped down, revealing something far more deliberate beneath the surface.

“Well.” Alfred’s tone was a mixture of surprise and admiration as he stared at the screen, impressed by Bruce’s insight.

They both gazed at the laptop, where most of the cipher was now blank. But the remaining letters, scattered across the page, began to align themselves, forming a clear, undeniable message. It was like a game of connect-the-dots, the letters slowly coming together to spell out a single, massive word across the screen:

“DRIVE.”

The word hung there, stark and unmissable, its significance yet another piece of the puzzle that they were slowly, methodically, beginning to solve.

                   After meeting with Gordon at the diner, Maryam returned to her apartment, feeling like she was about to just wither away. 

It was her only day off that week, and although she usually cherished it, her mind was too cluttered to truly enjoy it. She tried to sleep but kept tossing and turning. Frustrated, she picked up her phone and scrolled aimlessly through social media. With no notifications to distract her, she eventually threw the phone onto her bed with an exasperated huff.

Rising from her bed, her silk robe trailing behind her, she wandered into the small kitchen that overlooked her living room. She opened the fridge, only to find it almost empty. Muttering a little curse under her breath, she grabbed a lone carrot, rinsed it, cut off the ends, and took a bite. Pulling her phone out from inside her bra, she unlocked it and called the Japanese takeout down the road.

"Hey, Li, it's Maryam. Can I order the usual, please?" she asked, chewing on the carrot.

"On it. It'll be delivered in 15 minutes," Li replied.

"Thanks, see you soon," she said before hanging up. She then headed to the couch, flopping onto it. Grabbing the remote, she flipped through the channels—news, more news, reality TV, even more news, cartoons. She finally settled on an episode of Sex and the City.

As she waited for her food and half-watched her show, her phone buzzed. It was a notification from her sister Nadia, linking to an article titled, "Falcone Heir Spotted on Secret Date Night—Gotham's Underworld Buzzing!"

Maryam’s eyes widened as she read the headline. Vittorio Falcone, known to his close circle as Vito, was the eldest son of Carmine Falcone, the notorious mafia kingpin. Vittorio was strikingly handsome, with an air of mystery that made him a magnet for women. Despite his involvement in the family business, he was considered one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors—second only to the reclusive Bruce Wayne, who, despite rarely being seen in public, still held the top spot in Gotham’s bachelor rankings. Vito's charm and loyalty to his family were undeniable, and while he had ambitions to make the Falcone empire legitimate, his ties to the criminal underworld were far from severed.

“Oh my God, are you kidding me?” Maryam muttered.

She couldn’t resist opening the article to see for herself. As she scrolled through the piece, her suspicions were confirmed—it was indeed about Vittorio and Alma’s date. Although the article didn’t identify Alma, Maryam recognized her sister instantly. That auburn hair and the red coat she’d gifted her years ago were unmistakable.

The article dripped with juicy gossip: 

"One of Gotham’s infamous bachelor, Vittorio Falcone, was spotted dining with a mysterious woman at an upscale restaurant last night. While her face was hidden, her auburn hair and chic red coat caught the attention of onlookers. Sources say the two seemed quite cozy, fueling rumors of a budding romance. Could the notorious Falcone heir be off the market? And who is the lucky lady that’s captured his attention? Gotham’s underworld is buzzing with speculation, and many are eager to see how this potential match could impact the Falcone empire."

Maryam rubbed her eyes in frustration. She was about to call Alma when the doorbell rang. Grabbing some cash, she opened the door, took her order, and handed over the money. 

Sitting on her kitchen counter, Maryam took her sushi out of the bag, the smell of fresh seafood mingling with the soft hum of the refrigerator, setting each piece neatly in front of her like little treasures. She tried calling Alma—no answer. Her eyes darted to the clock—4:34 PM. The room felt too quiet, too still. "Probably working," she muttered under her breath, the sound of her own voice a comfort against the silence. 

Without much thought, she dialed Nadia, who picked up after just two rings. 

“Have you seen it?” Nadia's voice burst through the line, skipping any pleasantries, her eagerness sharp as a blade.

“Yep,” Maryam replied, popping a piece of sushi into her mouth with her chopsticks. The wasabi heat lingered, but her tone remained cool. “Not shocked.”

“What?!” Nadia exclaimed, her disbelief palpable even through the phone.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little surprised it made the tabloids, but I’m not shocked he asked her out. I had my suspicions ever since I saw him at the restaurant where she works, looking at her like she was the last light in a dark room.”

“I can’t believe she actually accepted,” Nadia said, her voice tinged with disbelief. “And that wretched article—ugh, I swear I’ll always hate Vicki Vale!”

“She told me he kept pestering her,” Maryam said, her voice trailing off as she chewed her sushi, the thought lingering like the taste of ginger on her tongue. She shrugged, trying to brush off the unease creeping into her chest.

“Maryam, aren’t you worried? How—” Nadia’s voice rose, a tremor of fear threading through her words.

Maryam set her chopsticks down with a sigh, her calm facade barely masking the frustration bubbling underneath. “Of course, I’m worried. I’ve warned her over and over, but she’s as stubborn as a mule—just like the rest of us. I can’t control her anymore,” she sighed again, the weight of responsibility heavy on her shoulders. “She’s 24 now Nads, finishing her studies, and working like anyone else. She’s an adult, for better or worse.”

Nadia's voice softened, but the concern remained. “So, we’re just going to let this happen?”

Maryam sighed once more as she opened her curry rice container. The steam rose like a beckoning hand, enveloping the kitchen in the warm, rich aroma of spices. “She says they’re just friends. That he’s not as bad as we think.”

Nadia snorted on the other end, the sound of traffic buzzing in the background. “He’s in the mafia, Maryam. And not just any mafia.”

Maryam rolled her eyes, stabbing at her rice with her chopsticks. “Girl, that’s exactly what I told her. But try telling Alma she’s making a mistake. She’ll just brush it off and say I’m overreacting—again.”

“Well, you are kind of a brat,” Nadia teased, the smirk in her voice unmistakable.

“Only because you make it so easy,” Maryam shot back, a brief smirk flickering across her lips before fading, the frown returning to her sharp features. “Better a brat than blind,” she muttered under her breath.

Nadia hummed in acknowledgment. “Touché,” she conceded.

Maryam shook her head, the humor fading as quickly as it came. “I don’t get why he’s interested in her when she’s not even Italian.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing!” Nadia said, her voice rising over the distant honking of cars. “Aren’t they supposed to marry Italians? You know, to keep the tradition, the bloodline, or whatever.”

“That’s exactly why I’m worried she’s just another fling to him. She doesn’t deserve that,” Maryam said, her voice tight with a mixture of anger and protectiveness. “Plus, he’s not just some regular guy—he’s not just another stupid boyfriend she can break up with when things go south. This is literally a mafia boss. He has enemies, and God knows what could happen to her if someone tried to get to him through her.”

“Ugh, don’t even mention it. It’s terrifying. And his family! His father’s reclusive, but everyone knows he practically runs Gotham with all his illegal dealings. His mother died a long time ago, his sister’s in Arkham, and God knows where his brother is!” Nadia paused, her tone shifting. “Not gonna lie, I kind of feel bad for him.”

“Yeah, me too,” Maryam admitted softly, scratching her nose as her mind wandered back to old memories. “She told me he wants to make his business legitimate. When I used to work for Fish, he wanted nothing to do with the empire. But when his mother died, everything changed. He got more involved. He’s always been the most down-to-earth in that family, but still… I’m worried. I talked to Alma, but now I’ll try to talk to him.”

“What?! No, Maryam—”

“Yes, Nadia. I’m going to talk to him, persuade him to leave her alone.”

“And if he refuses?” Nadia asked, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if afraid to hear the answer.

“If he truly cares about her, he won’t refuse,” Maryam said, more to herself than to Nadia.

“What… what if he actually likes her? Maybe even loves her?”

Maryam paused, the question hanging in the air like a heavy cloud. “Then I won’t have a say in it. It’s between Vito and her if their relationship gets serious. For now, according to Alma, they’re just friends. So, I’ll try to persuade him to back off.”

Nadia hummed in thought. “So, you’re going to…” she trailed off, uncertainty lacing her words.

“I’m not sure—” Maryam began, her voice wavering as she stared at the remnants of her meal. “Honestly, I just don’t know,” she confessed, feeling the weight of the situation settling over her like a thick fog.

“Be careful, please,” Nadia’s voice softened, worry evident in every syllable.

“Haven’t I always been?” Maryam tried to lighten the mood, though her heart wasn’t in it.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I thought you left that life behind years ago, but somehow, it always comes back to haunt you,” Nadia said, frustration creeping back into her tone.

“It’s not like I have a choice. I’m doing this for Alma. I’ve always done it for all of us,” Maryam said sternly, her voice firm, but a trace of sadness lingered. “Desperate times—”

“Desperate measures, I know, I know,” Nadia cut in. “It just bothers me that you always have to be the one to deal with it.”

Maryam stared at her phone, the screen reflecting her own troubled expression. “Older sister duty, I guess,” she said quietly, the words heavy with resignation. “Look, I’ve got to prepare. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye.” The call ended with a click, leaving Maryam alone in her kitchen, the silence pressing in like a heavy weight. She stared at her phone for a long moment, the conversation replaying in her mind, the sushi long forgotten.

After staring into the void for who knows how long, she finally decided that some stalking was in order.

With a determined sigh, Maryam picked up her laptop and typed "Vittorio Falcone" into Google. The search results flooded in instantly, painting a vivid picture of Gotham’s notorious mafia heir.

The first few links were standard—news articles from various tabloids, all speculating about his latest escapades. One headline screamed, “Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor? Inside the Life of Vittorio Falcone.” She clicked on it out of curiosity.

The article was a deep dive into his life, filled with photos of Vittorio at high-end galas, charity events, and exclusive restaurants. In each picture, he looked every bit the part of a modern-day prince of the underworld: impeccably dressed in tailored suits, with sharp, chiseled features and piercing brown eyes that seemed to look right through the camera. He was often surrounded by beautiful women, none of whom seemed to stick around for long, fueling the rumors that he was commitment-averse.

Further down the page, the article detailed his upbringing as the eldest son of Carmine Falcone, Gotham’s most powerful and feared crime lord. There were mentions of his education at elite private schools, his brief stint at a prestigious university in Europe, and how he returned to Gotham after his mother’s death. The article touched on the tragedy that changed everything—how Vittorio, once seen as the more distant and detached son, took up the mantle in the family business after his mother's passing, much to the surprise of Gotham's elite.

Maryam scrolled past the glitzy photos and superficial gossip to the more serious content. There were links to investigative pieces about the Falcone family's alleged criminal activities. These articles painted a darker picture—of a man who, despite his outward charm and good looks, was deeply entrenched in the world of organized crime. There were accusations of money laundering, racketeering, and even more sinister dealings, though none had ever been proven in court. It seemed like Vittorio was always just out of reach of the law, his lawyers too skilled and his connections too powerful.

Another article caught her eye: “The Enigma of Vittorio Falcone: Gotham’s Underworld Prince with a Conscience?” This one speculated on his intentions to legitimize the family business, citing anonymous sources who claimed Vittorio was seeking to clean up his father’s empire. Yet, the piece also noted the challenges he faced, not just from the outside world but from within his own family, where tradition and loyalty to the criminal code ran deep.

Maryam found herself staring at a photo of Vittorio from a charity event. He looked every bit the polished gentleman, a slight smile on his lips as he shook hands with Gotham's mayor. But the eyes—those intense dark brown eyes—held something deeper, something she couldn’t quite place. Was it guilt? Determination? Or just the heavy burden of a man trying to walk two paths at once?

The more she read, the more conflicted she felt.

On one hand, he seemed like a man trapped by circumstances, trying to do right by his family while also seeking a way out of the darkness. On the other, he was undeniably dangerous, a key player in a world that had no room for weakness or sentimentality.

And then there were the comments—hundreds of them—debating whether Vittorio was a misunderstood anti-hero or just another ruthless criminal in an expensive suit. Some praised him for his charity work and the rumors of his attempts to go legitimate, while others condemned him for his involvement in the mafia, no matter how tangential he tried to make it seem.

Lighting a smoke, Maryam let the tendrils curl around her as she exhaled slowly. With the cigarette perched on her plump lips, she decided to dig deeper into Vittorio's family.

Her thin fingers danced across the keyboard as she first searched for his father, Carmine Falcone. The results were exactly what she expected: a mix of old newspaper clippings and online articles chronicling Carmine's rise to power, his iron grip on Gotham's underworld, and the whispers of his influence over city officials. Included were several grainy images of Carmine, embodying the essence of a powerful patriarch, alongside snapshots of his younger self with his parents, revealing a glimpse of his past.

Next, she turned her attention to Vittorio’s mother, Louisa Falcone. Unlike her husband, there was scant information about Louisa, aside from a few mentions of her being a devoted wife and mother. Most sources focused on her tragic death, which appeared to be the catalyst for Vittorio’s deeper involvement in the family business. There were no public photos of her, just a few images of her attending the Catholic Church of Gotham, which only added to the mystique surrounding her.

Maryam then turned her attention to Vittorio’s little sister, Sofia Falcone. As she typed her name into the search bar, her fingers trembled slightly, an instinctive reaction to the heavy air that seemed to surround the very mention of Sofia. The results that flooded the screen were deeply unsettling. Sofia, infamously known as the Hangman, was a rehabilitated serial killer currently housed in Arkham Asylum—a chilling title that sent a shiver down Maryam’s spine.

She had heard whispers of Sofia’s story before, but now, as she read the articles, the horrifying details began to unravel. The screen illuminated her face, casting a pale glow as her expression shifted from curiosity to disbelief. She leaned closer, biting her lip, her brow furrowing with each gruesome revelation. The articles painted a portrait of a woman who had taken her family’s legacy to a terrifying extreme, a twisted sense of justice fueling a brutal killing spree.

Maryam's heart raced as she scrolled down, her hand instinctively reaching up to rub the back of her neck, a gesture of mounting unease. Her eyes widened, and her jaw clenched as she processed the horrific acts Sofia had committed. The chilling accounts felt surreal, each one more gruesome than the last, each detail more haunting. 

The doctor shook her head in disbelief, as if attempting to erase the haunting words she had just read with sheer determination. She struggled to comprehend how someone could rationalize such brutality. She had seen her fair share of darkness, but this was something entirely different.

Finally, she moved on to search for Alberto Falcone, Vittorio’s little brother. This profile, while less notorious, still carried its own shadowy weight. As Maryam read through the sparse information available, she could feel the tension in her shoulders begin to ease slightly, but her mind remained restless. Alberto was known as the black sheep of the family, often overlooked and underestimated, a quiet figure lingering in the shadow of his more infamous relatives. Yet the whispers surrounding him hinted at darker inclinations, rumors of his involvement in the notorious Holiday killings that had haunted Gotham years ago.

A frown creased her forehead as she thought of the fractured family dynamic, the burdens each member must carry. With a sigh, Maryam leaned back, taking a moment to process everything she had just read. 

The Falcone family was a labyrinth of intrigue and peril, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that unraveling their secrets was crucial to protecting Alma.

She found herself grappling with a deep sense of hypocrisy. Who was she to pass judgment? Of all people, she was far from innocent herself.

Satisfied with what she had uncovered, Maryam turned her attention to tracking Vittorio’s movements for the night. 

She started by stalking the social media accounts of his known associates and relatives. And to her frustration, Vittorio himself didn’t seem to have any social media presence—no Instagram, no Twitter, nothing. The most she could find were accounts belonging to some of his younger relatives, mostly teenagers posting selfies and mundane updates.

But then, one profile caught her eye: a cousin of Vittorio’s, a certain Francesco Vittorio, who went by the Instagram handle "frankiefalconethegreat." The name made her roll her eyes, but as she scrolled through his recent posts, she stumbled upon a video in his story that piqued her interest. The clip was taken at the Iceberg Lounge, Gotham's most notorious nightclub, known for its shady dealings and criminal clientele.

In the video, Frankie was doing something stupid—likely showing off or trying to be funny—but it wasn’t him that interested Maryam. Behind him, in the dim lighting of the club, she caught sight of someone familiar. She quickly screenshotted the video and then zoomed in on the background. The lighting was poor, so she increased the brightness on her phone, enhancing the image.

And there he was—Vittorio Falcone. He stood partially obscured, talking in hushed tones with a man she didn’t recognize. A cigarette was dangling from his fingers, and his white shirt was open at the collar, the top two buttons undone, giving him a relaxed but undeniably commanding presence.

“Bingo,” Maryam whispered to herself, her heart racing slightly as she stared at the image. She had found him. 

Taking the last sip of her Sprite, the fizz tickling her throat before she tossed the empty can into the bin. The clink echoed in the quiet apartment as she made her way to her room with a determined stride, the air thick with purpose as she prepared herself mentally for what lay ahead. 

The decision was made. Her sister was right—she was going to suit up.

Tonight was no ordinary night; it was one that demanded more than just her usual resolve.

And it had been a while since she—transformed herself, hadn’t it? "A while" might be stretching it; it had been exactly two years since she last donned the costume.

But oh well, here she was again, slipping back into that familiar darkness, like an old lover who never truly left, always lingering in the shadows, waiting for her return.

As the silk nightgown slid off her shoulders, leaving her in just her undergarments, the cool air brushed against her skin, raising goosebumps—a fleeting moment of vulnerability before she transformed into something else entirely.

She first reached for a fitted, long-sleeved black shirt. The fabric was soft but durable, clinging to her form like a second skin, offering both comfort and the freedom to move. It absorbed the light, rendering her nearly invisible in the shadows.

Next, she pulled on a pair of tailored black pants, reinforced in all the right places for both flexibility and protection. They hugged her hips and legs, allowing silent, fluid movements and tucked neatly into knee-high boots—sturdy, well-worn, and perfect for silent, agile movement—essential for the night ahead. 

With her base layer in place, she began to suit up. 

First, the black scarf, soft yet deadly, was wrapped around the lower half of her face, transforming her into a phantom. The material clung to her skin, muffling her breath, but she was used to it—the silence, the secrecy.

Then her cloak, black as the void itself, draping over her shoulders and sliding down her arms with the weight of a familiar embrace. It flowed around her like liquid shadow, designed to hide her every movement, to make her one with the night.

Her hazel eyes, naturally vibrant like the light filtering through a forest canopy and always seeming to hold a kaleidoscope of emotions, were the final detail to mask.

She reached for the black contact lenses, slipping them in with care.

They turned her gaze into a pair of dark, unreadable pools—voids that reflected nothing back, hiding her true self even further.

With her transformation almost complete, she knelt down and pulled a box from beneath her bed. The lid creaked as it opened, revealing a carefully arranged collection of tools.

Her fingers brushed over the small, gleaming knives, their blades catching the dim light, each one honed to perfection. There were also vials filled with venomous liquids, each labeled with delicate precision.

They shimmered ominously, deadly in their silence.

Small, unassuming pills nestled beside them, tiny capsules that could bring about a world of pain or relief, depending on the dosage.

She began to arm herself, slipping two of the knives into the straps on her thighs, another pair into the hidden pockets of her boots. Six more found their place at her waist, resting just behind her back, ready to be drawn in an instant. The thinnest one, almost like a needle, was delicately tucked into her updo, a silent promise of lethal grace.

The pills were carefully placed in her pockets, their weight barely noticeable but their significance undeniable.

Each one was a solution, a safeguard, a final measure if all else failed.

As she tugged on her sleek black gloves, each movement was deliberate, like a distant ritual. 

She glanced back at the mirror, where her reflection stared back with an almost haunting intensity. It was as if the mirror had captured a shadowy echo of her true self, someone who was both there and not there, like a wraith emerging from a fog.

Heart racing, she darted through the kitchen, barely noticing the empty mugs and crumbs scattered on the counter. Her footsteps were quick and light, barely a whisper on the stairs as she ascended with a mix of urgency. 

Her destination? The Iceberg Lounge, where her favorite penguin awaited

previous chapter (chapter two) | next chapter

Maryam while stalking her victims 🙂 :

author’s note (number two) | Umm, so my hands were itching to write a scene between Alma and Vitto, but… I was kind of scared you all would get too bored with it, even though I’m totally obsessed with this little ship. I wanted to add more depth and show things from their perspective, you know? So if you're interested in reading something like that, let me know!

And don’t worry—Bruce and Maryam are definitely on their way; I’m just busy building the narrative, lol.

Seriously, tell me what you think! Who’s your favorite character and why? I love reading your comments; they keep me motivated to write more!

[iersei]

okay. let's talk about black terry jr.

-

TL;DR: terry jr is black. that is something that should not be erased. regardless of your access to or willingness to search for the canon material that confirms this, you should not be depicting him as white. whitewashing terry by refusing to think of him as black creates an unsafe space for our black community members, and you should re-examine your personal biases if you choose to insist on continuing to see terry as white.

-

terry jr is black. point-blank. and if terry jr is canonically black, then he should be depicted as such.

i will concede that it is something that you might not spot if you listen through the podcast casually. it's something that i didn't know was actually official in any capacity until recently. and i would like to note that i do not have and have never had access to the dndads patreon. i have not listened to any of the teen talks in full (even the ones released to the public. it's just not my jam.), and any information or spitballing contained within is something that i have either been told second-hand or am completely unaware of. i also didn't look at the official poster (the "everything is alright" poster) that depicted both terry jr and samantha as black.

but the fact of the matter remains that terry jr and samantha are black and have been acknowledged as such within the source material.

once again, i myself didn't seek this information out enough to know it was official canon. so then why have i always depicted them as black anyway?

well when i started engaging with the fandom, i saw what was being presented to me in the fandom was overwhelmingly that terry was indeed black or at least popularly interpreted to be black. and my first and only thought was that that was nice. so i decided to roll with it.

if i really wanted to check if that was canon and it being canon was important to me, i could always have asked around. i could've sought out information from official sources. because if they were black and i just missed it in some way, i would've wanted to check myself. especially because doing so would lead to whitewashing.

but i didn't feel the need to do that because i think that just the added racial diversity was really cool to see on its own.

for argument's sake, there is still the possibility that you'd think it is simply just popular fanon. let's say you chose to not check for yourself whether or not he was canonically black. or let's say that, for whatever reason, you think that what is available isn't enough to sufficiently deem him canonically black. so let's discuss why terry should still be depicted as black even if it was "just" fanon and there were no official artworks to go off of.

i am not of the opinion that fanon in general should be taken as gospel. in fact, there are quite a few things within dndads fanon itself that i personally disagree with and choose not to engage with. the reason why this interpretation in particular is a sore spot is the question of why, after seeing the popular portrayal and recognizing the ability to create racial diversity in a space where a good amount of appearances and identities can be up for interpretation, someone would still choose to depict him as white.

why do you choose to depict him as white? do you have any personal biases that make you think that he would or should be white? do you think that it is unimportant or inconsequential to not depict him as a person of color?

what would be so compelling about making him white that you would choose to go against this interpretation? why is it so important that you continue to see him as white?

who are you ignoring in the process?

i do not think it is deliberately malicious to initially think that terry jr is white. it is the unfortunate truth that white tends to be considered the default. but it begins to rub me the wrong way when anyone chooses to stick with that idea when presented with any evidence or argument to the contrary.

though i will admit that i am not black, i am still a person of color. and i think that creating a fandom space where we can highlight, create, and celebrate racial variety means creating a space where people of color feel safer. and because i would like to uplift the black fandom member who tried to voice their own personal take on this matter, i would like to link back to [this post from vivalapersistence] as the reason why i felt compelled to talk about this in the first place.

i don't want to talk over him, but i want to point out his statement that having this kind of solid representation is important and means something to him as a black person in this community. erasing terry as black means that you would be, intentionally or not, erasing and silencing black voices. it takes away that element of representation within the fandom and does real harm to the black people within when you decide that that representation isn't important. there are real racial connotations to the argument here, and it's frankly a little callous to pretend like there's not.

so maybe let's be nice to the BIPOC in our community spaces, okay?

and i want to make it clear right now. if you want to discuss what i say here, you can discuss this with me.

[popponn]

coincidences and flickers.

ii - blank papers.

notes: fem!burnout artist!reader x pro-player!isagi yoichi ; pro player / post canon au ; self-depreciating thoughts towards one's own work ; fluff, with slight angst (burnout) with a happy ending (a slight hurt/comfort) ; unreliable narrator. a.n. at the end; f!reader but could be read as gn.

summary: you never thought you would find yourself next to isagi yoichi again. yet, like a deja vu, it happened once more.

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Going outside, viewing a bright cheerful day filled with fresh air and sounds of laughter around you, several sayings crossed your mind before you finally stopped yourself upon a cafe. Sitting on one of the bar stools and facing yourself towards the people who passed by you from beyond the window, you sat quietly.

The first comment came from yourself, heavily uttered out in your mind, it said, “Ah. Shit. It’s going nowhere.”

Right in front of you, beside a half-empty cup of coffee, was your opened sketchbook filled with unfinished scribbles all over. In some parts, there were hastily drawn squares that illustrated the canvases you would use for your work. Inside those squares were sketches no longer visible, most of their parts were crossed out almost violently under a tangled mess of scratchy lines. Looking at this without your pencil touching the paper, you just wanted to slump down right on top of the table. Thankfully, however, you still remembered what it meant to be appropriate in the middle of a crowded public place.

The second was not quite a comment, actually. It was part of an old professor’s lecture from your student days, a memory that had aged by a few years already. It was said in an empty hall that would soon be used to exhibit students’ works within a few months, right in front of said students. Your professor resembled a smirking, merciless wolf ready to ruin and devour as he stood upright, dressed in black that was more suitable for a funeral than a class.

“The theme is ‘beauty’. Please remember to make it a worthwhile piece. Of course, how you interpret those themes is up in your decisions and angles,” he said. Somehow, those motivating words felt haunting. You remembered how most students paled as the tongue that had ruined so much self-esteem during its career as both a critique and a teacher went on.

“Feel free to show off with size and numbers as much as your space and creativity allow it. I do have high hopes for each of you. After all, ‘beauty’ is one of the most attractive things for an artist, no?”

—sitting at the cafe, years after graduation and even more after that exhibition, you could hardly remember what you drew. Did that professor also leave a scathing so bad your memory repressed it?

Then, the third comment came in the form of your friend, a few glasses behind from being a blackout drunk, but certainly a few glasses too much to still have a filter placed on his mouth. A thick accent laced his slurred voice as he continued his supposed lecture about art and career. “Don’t you get it?! We are artists, but we are human too! Love what you make everyone!!!” he said passionately while standing on top of the restaurant table half naked, his cartoon t-shirt nowhere in sight.

Everyone, just as drunk or a bit less, cheered and agreed with him simultaneously. The stench of fellow art graduates and victims of capitalism’s passions, or perhaps repressed stress, filled the room. From your seat, as the unfortunate yet responsible sober friend of that night’s reunion—chosen via a rigged game of rock paper scissors—could only watch in amusement. Shouting again, your friend stated, “Art is rooted in our emotions as a human! It’s the heart—the heart! Don’t forget that! Express yourself!!!”

Afterward, it spiraled down into even more of a jumbled oration that you couldn’t quite remember. But, certainly, you would wonder if your current self was the one seated there that night. What would this version of you think of those sentences?

Your answer came immediately in the form of a scoff that escaped your mouth bitterly.

“Beautiful things, love, and emotion… huh?” you repeated while staring down at your sketchbook once again. Letting go of your pencil, you buried your face in your palms,“…what am I doing right now then?”

Is there a point for an ‘artist’ who felt nothing when doing something they were supposed to feel so much emotion for?

Is it even okay for someone to make something even when it is not even worthwhile?

“Ugh,” you groaned hoarsely into your hand. Lifting up your face you heaved out one long sigh. As of the moment, you should try again to brainstorm a concept for the needed pieces. Also, you still had illustration work to do. There was no time to whine and feel down. It felt immature, truthfully.

You glared down at the messy, filled-up page of yours. This was the product of your choice, so you had to go on. If the worst comes to worst, you would just consult your client and draw it out as needed. It felt almost like a chokehold that dug itself right inside your trachea, but you reminded yourself once again. “It is work,” you whispered to yourself, “you just have to—”

“Excuse me,” a voice stopped your mutterings right on its track, asking, “is this seat taken?”

You spared a second to berate yourself, once again reminding yourself you were in public that going out was probably the wrong choice for that moment. Then, you faced to your right, answering the voice with a smile, “It is not, please feel free—”

Then, in a manner of a dramatic deja vu, you found the very familiar face of Isagi Yoichi, dressed in casual boyish clothing, right next to you. He paused as he too realized who you were, freezing just as he was about to sit on the stool beside you with a cup of cold drink in his hand.

“Ah.”

“Oh.”

Like a pair of two surprised barely-acquaintances you were, you and Isagi stared at each other in a mix of surprise and recognition. His eyes looked a few shades darker under the shadow of his black cap, however, through tresses that peeked out from under there, you noticed how the bluish tone of his hair got accentuated even further. Dressed in a casual white sweater and grey pants, those hues of his stood out even further.

He looked slightly different compared to the man you met that night, shying away from the party and leaning against the wall. But, even more so, he looked different from the ‘him’ you viewed through the screen three days ago.

A player who truly deserved the titles of ‘Ace’ and ‘Star’ in his name. Someone who without a doubt carried so much passion for what he loves that it couldn’t help but steal your breath away for numerous reasons. It was hilarious in a way, how replaying that one of many matches where Isagi Yoichi played–out of curiosity and a slight remembrance of his name–ended up with your heart thumping almost wildly in your studio.

It was supposed to be a background voice, yet you watched that match with too much enthusiasm, feeling both envious and wishful every time Isagi Yoichi’s face came onto the screen.

Ah–you took in an inconspicuous deep breath–this is no time to think of some soccer match.

Reverting your focus back to the matter at hand, you silently took comfort in the fact that most customers surrounding you either had their ears plugged or were too into their own conversations to care about two people gawking at each other. Forcing your bewilderment within a tidy gulp, you immediately put on your best pleasantry. “What…a surprise to see you here, Isagi. And as I was saying, it is not occupied. Please feel free to have it.”

Quickly enough, the male in front of you followed your cue. Pulling the chair and sitting himself beside you, Isagi offered you a nod that could pass as a half bow as he greeted you by name. “I, uh… didn't expect to see you here too. It’s nice to see you again!”

You nodded back to him, albeit much more slowly, “Indeed, to think I will be able to meet and converse like this with a national soccer superstar, your fans must be seething.”

Isagi chuckled bashfully at your remark, the tense line on his shoulder loosening, “You talk as if you are no one yourself.”

“Having a few websites and prints displaying my name is certainly incomparable to you, please,” you shrugged, turning in your seat slightly to find a more comfortable position to converse with him, “though I am honored to have you know me.”

“Well, I did end up finding out a bit more about you after that party…” Isagi said as put down his iced drink. An iced tea of some kind, if its color was any indication. While your attention shifted slightly towards his drink, Isagi continued a tad bit too miserably, “…but to think you listen to my comments about your painting like that…”

Isagi’s smile crooked ever so slightly, a teasing tone mingled with one that said ‘How could you?’ as light as it should be for a small talk poking. You raised both of your eyebrows as a reply, smiling, “In my defense, you didn’t ask.”

“Hey, I think I did,” Isagi took a sip from his drink. His right cheek twitched. “I definitely did and you just answered vaguely.”

“Then, you probably asked just as vaguely,” you covered your grin with your hand, poorly playing up a faux misery to cover up your growing mirth, “after all, there is no way for a mere painter and illustrator like me to just brag in front of you, Ace Striker.”

“You are…” taking notice of your insistence, Isagi gave up with a sigh. Then, staring at his drink as if he was remembering that party, he continued, “Still that night…”

Hearing him trailing off, you too recalled the condemning comments you spat out that night. “I was… truthfully I just had some shame with that piece of mine. Pardon my manner,” you reasoned, truthfully unsure of how much of it was true.

“Ah, no, I don’t mean it like that, I mean!” Isagi hurriedly added, “I mean, yeah, that happened, but if I know it was your painting…”

Isagi seemed to hesitate to continue his words. You did wonder on what he wanted to say, but letting an awkwardness rise when the both of you still clearly wanted to sit in this spot would be in poor taste. Brushing it off with a wave, you attempted to finish the topic at hand with a good note. “As they say, what happened, happened. So, putting all those aside,” you turned your face fully towards Isagi, starting the conversation from the top once again. “What brings you here?”

If Isagi did notice the shift in conversation, he certainly didn’t bother to mask it. His eyes stayed on you for a moment, but after a brief, nearly unnoticeable moment of silence, Isagi replied to you as he took off his cap, putting it down on the table, “I, well, taking a drink, I guess? I’m supposed to meet up with a friend but…”

As your company furrowed his eyebrows despite holding his smile, you scoffed amiably, leaning your cheek on your palm. “Did they cancel out of the blue?” you asked, out of experience,

“Yeah, his girlfriend and something about an urgent matter,” Isagi said in a way that told you whoever this friend was, it wasn’t exactly a surprising thing for that person to pull. You attempted to cover up your pity at that. Isagi, with hair slightly disheveled by his cap, returned the same question back to you. The forced smile etched on his lips visibly softened as he asked, “How about you, though?”

You took one deep breath as you thought up a response. Answering honestly would just bring the two of you back to the very topic you attempted to run away from–your drawing. But, with a sketchbook being opened in broad daylight like this in front of you, lying would be plain stupid.

You held back a groan. Your headache was probably caused by a rotting mind rather than whatever you thought it was before. This conversation had turned into a devil’s loop.

However, still taking proper manners and such into account, you lightly tapped said sketchbook, “As you can see, work, in a way. I need a change of scenery to try and get new ideas. But, as of now… you could say I’m taking a little break.”

It certainly put so many things mildly, but that answer should do. The last thing you wanted to do would be to express your frustration once again and repeat that night with the same person. Therefore, calling ‘this’ a ‘break’ would suffice.

“Ah, I see,” Isagi’s eyes moved to your sketches. Then, they moved between you and those scribbles a more few times, before with a somewhat timid kind of curiosity, Isagi hummed, “Uh, you don’t have to but… mind if I take a look? At those drawings?”

How you wished you could snap that thing shut and run away.

“Sure,” you pushed it towards him. You hoped your hands didn’t shake. Keeping up your demeanor, you added in a joking manner, “But they are still very messy though–” they are a mess “–I hope you won’t mind.”

“I definitely won’t!” Isagi responded with a grin that carried with it a mysterious confidence. He sounded even more sure than you were. As he flipped the book back to its first page, you immediately bit your tongue. You reminded yourself to appear friendly. “I found some of your work online and I really like them!”

A light flutter touched you upon hearing his praise. It did sound genuine, even if you probably would have thought otherwise. Though, probably, if you looked at your older artworks, you could say that it was made with your whole heart at the very least. Unlike most things you had put out recently.

Idly tracing the pencil you had laid down, you replied, “I’m glad you like them.”

You managed to stop yourself from saying more, somehow, despite the bitter words already hanging at the exit of your mouth. Pushing those words aside, you eventually decided to continue to follow the lines on the pencil’s body once again, feeling the familiar and artificial smoothness on it.

“Woah,” Isagi gaped quietly, turning the pages slowly. You took notice that it was pages of still life studies you did. Just from the number of details on them alone, it was apparent they had been made some long time ago–before the overwhelming weight that made the task of simply opening your sketchbook unpleasant came into your days. There was no way you could muster enough will to put in that much effort.

You stared at those sketches deeply, wondering if you enjoyed making them then. Under your own breath, you murmured, ”Those stuffs, eh…”

“You really are amazing…” Isagi praises easily as he continues to flip through the pages, mouth agape slightly as if your drawings truly were masterpieces. “You are so good.”

Truthfully, the more praise you heard, the more you wondered how you should react. Donning on faux gratitude and humor felt wrong. It truly did lighten your heart to hear it. Hearing that someone spared even a second to appreciate something you make has always been nice. But, even so–

Those drawings were from a time when drawing was easy and filled with love. The you who had walked past that time and looked back at it with nothing but envy had no right to accept those praises. In a way, perhaps you never did deserve those praises.

Many people deserve that title of a ‘pro’ more. They who draw better than you could ever hope to be, they who love drawing much more deeply than you.

You, who dared to say you were in love with your craft once before falling silent this soon–

You have no right to accept those words.

Your fingers drew to a pause, you put a second of consideration before deciding to put that pencil back into your back. “You praise me too much,” you replied, thankful for his kind words nonetheless. However, still unwilling to dwell too much on your drawing, you tried to shift the focus towards Isagi once again, “Also, I’m a bit curious, but do you mind if I ask something?”

“Hm?” Isagi’s head lifted up slightly, removing his attention from your sketchbook for a moment. “Sure, I think. What is it?”

“I thought soccer practice is an everyday thing for pros like you. Are you on break?” you asked casually.

“You could say that,” Isagi said, “two weeks off for a bit before we go back to the usual.”

“I see…” you noted down. Then, the memory of a video you watched a few days ago came to the surface of your mind for the second time. It was a video you played to fill the background silence at your studio, however the cheers of crowds and the close-ups of Isagi Yoichi’s face were played enough times to have an impression of their own. “Still, seeing how hotblooded and passionate you are on the field, I would have thought you would be practicing alone instead of drinking coffee…”

“Wha–” Isagi, unexpectedly, spluttered at your sudden statement.

You blinked. Your hand flew to cover your mouth the moment you realized what you just muttered out loud, “Oh my–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude–”

“No, no! It’s fine!” Isagi shook both of his hands quickly. The two of you truly were lucky that no one paid attention to your interactions or it would be embarrassing–you noted, your face turning as if you just sucked on something sour. “I mean, I usually kind of do? It’s just, a break is necessary sometimes, you know–those stuffs. And really, it just surprised me for you to say that out of the blue so…aha ha ha…”

As the blue-haired male laughed bashfully, you couldn’t help but to follow it with a hesitant guffaw of your own. Letting the sudden jolt between the two of you dissipate, you soon added, “I truly do mean it as praise, though. Even someone who doesn’t know anything about soccer like me couldn’t help but admire you when you play.”

While you were very much aware of how you worded it out like mere flattery, you truly did mean every bit of your word. Even through a screen, watching a play of something that felt worlds away from yours, seeing someone putting on such a wide victorious grin and focused gaze was a ‘something’. Three days ago, seeing that replay in the silence of your own room, sitting right in front of a blank canvas, it truly was a sight.

“Your dedication and such… I will call you a talented genius, but it was definitely more than that…” you vividly remembered how his eyes shone within those footages. Even outside of the field, the glint that stole your breath that day still held itself across his blue eyes that were right in front of you. “...you are a sight to behold, Isagi Yoichi.”

Isagi’s mouth hung open. Nervously, he rubbed the back of his neck as it morphed into a bright smile–boyish, bashful, yet full of pride that you had come to associate with him after watching that match. And, you supposed, after watching the proof of his hard work, he truly deserved to feel that pride.

“Thanks,” Isagi said, saying your name quietly in gratitude. His eyes escaped towards your sketchbook for a moment, “I think I could say the same about you too, though, you know.”

You blinked. “...Huh?”

“That painting that night and all these sketches,” Isagi continued to flip through the sketchbook, finally arriving on the messiest page of all, yet still looking at it as if it was worthy of something beyond a series of unfinished scribbles and less, “I’m no expert at paintings and drawings too, but I could feel how much of your heart and seriousness you put in it.”

“... is… that so…?” you did not expect to hear such praise. Was it a praise?

Was trying to put your all enough when it amounted to nothing eventually?

When it turned out to be meaningless and–

“Your drawings–” Isagi faced towards you, leaning forward slightly as his eyes crescented, a genuine and sincere glimmer still carrying itself in them, “–I really like them!”

For once, you stilled as you listened to Isagi Yoichi’s compliment.

It was simple and, undoubtedly, very subjective. There was no praise on how he understood it nor on how he thought everything came together. You wondered if this was because you hadn’t heard or tried to seek any opinion of your drawings for a while. Or perhaps it was because you drowned every single one of them with your own comparison and sentiments. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. However, you knew that it stilled you because–

It was simply an ‘I like them’. 

For once, however, you couldn’t feel any disgust towards yourself or your drawings coming up. Your brain couldn’t come up with any reason or anything–it stayed silent, as you could only nod and utter out a quiet acceptance. When push comes to shove, who were you to discredit a feeling of ‘liking’?

“...thank you, Isagi,” you nod, looking away back to the window across you with a smile you knew was too shaky and big, feeling lightheaded and flustered, “I’m glad you like them.”

The cafe was bustling and Isagi had returned to your drawings, smiling even as he replied to you with a relaxed manner, “Same to you!”

Yet again, you found yourself unable to reply to that. Letting the conversation died there somehow felt right, oddly enough. Your shoulder relaxed as you took a deep breath once more. In the back of your mind, the grating weight was still there and you knew it would come back much sooner than you hoped it to be. But, for that moment, it was enough.

Sitting next to Isagi Yoichi–whose fervor had gained your respect–who praised you with such sincerity, it was enough for you to think that at that very moment–

It is okay for you to draw, despite everything.

Isagi turned to the next page as you stayed silent, finding yourself only being able to stare blankly at the air between the two of you. “Ah,” Isagi came to a pair of blank pages, clean and unblemished by anything. 

“It seems you reached the end, Isagi,” you lightly said, offering a hand to take back the book.

“Yeah,” Isagi closed it and took it to your hand with a satisfied look, “thanks! It was great!”

“...you really praise me too much,” you repeated once more, this time acknowledging how it felt lighter to say it. “However, thank you. I’m glad you like those studies and idea roughs.”

“...studies…? …roughs?” a pair of blue eyes looked at you in confusion, the owner clearly blurting those words out of question and unfamiliarity.

You couldn’t help but to laugh at that, “The drawings you have seen. They are studies and roughs. An observation drawn on paper and… a messy note of ideas in drawing form, I suppose.”

“Oh–I see, I think I got it!” Isagi said, brightly in understanding, before then shifting slightly in his seat and taking a sip from his drink. “I never heard of those terms before–or maybe I just forgot it after high school, haha…”

You chuckled in sympathy. “It’s okay. I barely remember any rules of soccer either. I do know you can’t use your hand unless you are a goalkeeper, but other than that, I don’t think I even know what offside is.”

With faces turned towards each other, you could clearly see Isagi’s eye crinkling in humor. It was a good look on him, you noted. The lines of laughter on someone’s face always have their own charm visually, you know after all these years, however, it truly suits his face.

“Then, should I tell you?” Isagi offered, quiet rhetorically as he didn’t miss a bit to continue, “So, basically it’s–”

VRRRRT–

Which he would if it wasn’t for the sudden sound of vibration coming from his pocket. Both you and Isagi glanced down. Isagi made an apologetic face that was jumbled along with a grimace and a subtle irritation, earning a nod and an amused smile from you.

Another deja vu. It seemed like that this meeting would end soon too, you thought silently, vacantly looking at the empty pages in your hand. It didn’t feel good. The empty pang where you knew excitement should thrum was still very much there. It still felt like a hole that was simply there to make you suffer.

But, for once, it didn’t feel as terrible as it usually was–you noted. Perhaps, you could fill those pages with something ‘likable’ soon enough.

“Hey, yeah. It’s me. What is it, man?” Isagi picked up the phone with a tone much more casual than the one he used with you. A bit rougher and clearly more impolite too, you realized. “Huh? What–suddenly? Dude. Come on you just dipped out on me–you can’t just–”

You looked away as Isagi seemed to get exasperated not long into the phone call. Remembering your empty cup of coffee, you wondered if you should order another drink or perhaps move on, either back home or somewhere for dinner. You would definitely have to turn back to your work, though, either way. Your teeth felt like biting your tongue ever so slightly at that reminder, though you probably should indeed go home.

However, before that, you did feel like you had to do something beforehand.

Peering over at the phone Isagi’s hand, you wondered how should you go over it.

“Um,” Isagi called out your name, breaking your trance, wearing a description of ‘feeling bad’ on the scrunch of his face, “I’m sorry but that friend of mine…uh, he kinda turns back with his girlfriend and needs me, so…”

“Take it easy, it’s okay,” you hummed in understanding. Isagi wore an obvious guilt on his face still, however, so you added, “Really. While I do pity that I won’t get an explanation from Master Ace Striker himself, I was grateful for our chat. Thank you for humoring me.”

He chuckled at that, “Come on, no need to be that formal. I enjoyed it all too–oh. Wait.”

As Isagi cut himself short, quickly clicking through his phone, you let him be for a moment. You took the chance to put your sketchbook in your bag and scanned over the table for any of your belongings left. From the corner of your eye, you saw a quirk placing itself on Isagi’s lips.

“But, since we already looked each other up,” relaxed and friendly he offered his phone to you, unlocked and displaying the contact screen, Isagi did what you felt like you should do in your stead. “Mind exchanging our number so I can explain about ‘offsides’ and other rules to you through text?”

You were very glad your head had cooled down, or it would be terrible. Is Isagi the friendly oblivious type who doesn’t realize this sort of thing could be translated as flirting? Or it is? Or perhaps, you were simply getting too many things over your head after a few praises.

“Sure, I was about to ask you for the same thing,” you took his offer gladly, admitting your prior intent easily. Accepting his phone, you punched your number in and quickly returned it. “I will look forward to that offside explanation and the other kinds of stuff too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Explain some art stuff to me too later, ‘kay?” 

“Oh. An exchange of information? How transactional.”

“I don’t mean it like that! But… yeah?”

The two of you emitted a simultaneous small laugh, for some reason. Quieting the tickle in your mouth, you shook your head, “I’m joking. I will look forward to another talk with you. It was insightful.”

Isagi’s lips turned into a shape that spelled out amusement in its equal crooked and wry curve. However, just right before he was about to open his mouth, his smile slipped along with the resounding vibration from the device in his hand. Isagi let his mouth hang open for a moment, before finally grimacing, “...well, I should go.”

Never taking your eyes off him as Isagi stepped off his stool, you nodded. “You should. I will be off soon too. Be careful and good evening, Isagi.”

“Then… good evening to you too,” Isagi said as he took backward steps towards the exit, confident and controlled enough as if he could see what was behind him clearly, “I’ll see you around.”

You raised a little wave that was more of a jest than anything, bidding him a farewell, “See you.”

And with that, Isagi turned around swiftly, a slight bounce pushing his first step forward as he went for the door. You were about to take your eyes off him right as he stopped in his rush all of a sudden, turning towards you once again.

“Oh, also–” Isagi said, a bit louder and ignorant to a few glances thrown his way, “–good luck with the idea hunting. Don’t push yourself too hard, ‘kay?”

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a.n.: and the second chapter is done!!! it definitely took longer than i thought, haha. maybe i should publish the outtakes for giggles hoho;;; but things are finally moving and looking up. and as a disclaimer, i want to remind you that everyone's burnout is different & this fic will never be the perfect portrayal of those experiences. but, if you are in a slump or a burnout, i wish you a good time soon :3 thank you for @doobea for beta reading this too ;;; this thing wouldn't end up being as coherent as it is without u ily;;;; all in all, i hope you enjoyed this chapter :> please do look forward to the next one, i will look forward to any kinds of feedback & thoughts u may have hehe <3 once again, thank you for reading!

taglist: @doobea @mariyumemi @intheewrld @lazysublimeengineer @coquettemaiden @kreishin @yoisami @takotakigum @themigrainegirll **bolded and italicized means i cannot tag you. please do contact me in case you want to be added or taken out of the taglist :>

[darthdaddi]

Meditation Chamber

Darth Vader x fem!reader

Notes: Sooo Vader has been heavy on my mind lately and with @hanasnx 's recent asks, I can't help but write about him. This is all completely unrealistic and made up in my mind, not canon for the most part.

Word count 1.8k

Warnings: 18+ (MINORS DNI!) Vader is passionate towards reader?, Fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dick riding, thigh riding, pet names/distasteful names (star, pet, slut, little one, etc), burnt Vader, size kink kinda?, it's smutty, nothing else to it.

Being the eager girl you are, you seek out Vader who is in his quarters as usual, meditating in his chambers to get a chance to relax and breathe without that dreaded respirator mask. You didn't care a bit about how your lover looked under that mask and suit, he was glorious in your eyes. Making your way to him, you begin thinking about how he would react if you interrupted his meditation time. Would he lash out? Or fuck you mercilessly until you couldn't walk for a few days? Maybe he would choke you out if he's in a bad mood? No of course not, you are his Star. His pride and joy! The only thing that keeps him somewhat sane in this universe. Vader is a cruel man, but he's no monster towards you. Of course he can be cold and demanding, but you were once the Padawan of Anakin Skywalker before his downfall. The two of you were unstoppable, the young Jedi knight who was only 20 at the time, took you in after your former mentor died in the battle of  Geonosis. You waited until he had completed his trials, at the time of your training with Anakin, you were 18. Though you never finished your training under Skywalker's instruction, he was defeated by Darth Vader in 19 BBY. You were loyal to your master and always had been, the decision to abandon the Jedi religion was hard, but what choice did you have? The Jedi were no more.

You continued down the long halls to the quiet quarters of Lord Vader, swiping open the door softly and calling out cautiously, "My dear, do you have a minute?" You stood like a statue for a moment until the chamber door opened. Vader looked at you with his blank stare and only patted his lap, inviting you into his intimate space. You swiped the metal door closed and locked it before walking towards the large man that awaited you. Crawling into his lap, Vader closed the chamber shut and waited for your proposal. "You seem tense my Lord, can I help you relieve that?" You said trying to be seductive. A slight smile began to arise on his face but quickly dropped as usual, "I think this is for your own pleasure little one, but I wouldn't mind partaking in your game." Vader rasped in his monotone voice, only this time it was his natural voice and not the one coming from his mask, which made it all the better. You smiled softly and took in his features, which you found beautiful. Vader grabbed your face and smirked ever so slightly into a kiss. The kiss was sloppy and passionate, something that never really happens between the two of you. Usually it's rough and purely lustful. You basked in the moment, cupping the side of his scarred face with your small hand. Vader wasted no time getting into the nitty gritty, he removed your pants along with the barely-there undergarments you had on and placed his large gloved thumb onto your clit and began circling it. Gods this felt so good to you, it was rare that Lord Vader was tender and gentle with you. Tiny moans escaped your mouth as he applied more pressure to your sensitive bud. You bucked your hips in an attempt to release the tension within your body. Vader completely stopped his actions and glared at you, "My darling you know your place, don't act like a slut that demands more than what she receives." He growled lowly, placing you one knee and waited for you to realize your fate. "If you wish to have this pleasure continue, you will ride my thigh like the whore you are being. Then and only then will you prove that you are a good enough girl to receive my fingers again." The sith was so close to your ear that you could feel his breath grazing your cheek. "Yes master..." You replied back sheepishly, rolling your hips on to the large thigh of the dark lord. Vader sat back and watched at you patheticly shifted on the fabric of his pants. The sight of this embarrassing show got the best of him, Vader grabbed your hip to guide you on his thigh. You closed your eyes tightly as this moment felt too shameful to be shared lovingly, though your lover thought it was a wonderful, messy sight. "Open your eyes my dear, I want you to look into my very soul whilst you put on this show for me." Vader said smoothly, removing his hand from your hip which forced you to continue on your own. After a while of the same back and fourth movement you made no progress towards your orgasm. The sith didn't dare touch you, though he did bend the force to his will and used the phantom energy to play with your clit, encouraging your everlong release. Sadly, it never came. After all your hard work building up to this moment, the cruel man stopped your movement. "You've had enough of my torture, Star." With that, Vader positioned you with your back against his chest and spread your jelly like legs apart. He smirked at the full display he got when he looked down. Bare breasts, glistening pussy, and a desperate look on your face that stared back at him.

The sith continues with his previous actions. He finally gave into your lustful needs and dipped his colossal middle finger into your cunt, pumping in and out like the perverted sex toy he caught you with just the other day, "Look at that, fills you up just as that pathetic toy did." Vader chuckled lowly, amused by how tiny you are compared to him. You bit your lip and nodded in agreement, watching how your lovers finger fucked you. Vader loved the way you admired his skills, though he loved the way you looked at him helplessly even more. He added his ring finger in, making sure your stretched at prepped for him. You gasped at the second digit and held onto his shoulder plate for support. Vader then curled his fingers into your sweet spot, grabbing your jaw to make you face him as he sped his pace. Your mouth hung in an "O" as you were paralyzed by pleasure. The sith smuggly smirked as he placed his thumb into your mouth, wiping the pooled spit down your chin. "Such a good pet for me, so willing to please and endure my commands." He cooed, kissing your forehead. You squirmed and wiggled around in the dark lord's lap as he thrusted his fingers faster, causing you to burry your face in his wide chest. "My love, I can't bare much more of this. It feels too good I can't hang wait any longer!" You bellowed out into his chest. Vader looked down at you, his sith eyes turning to his natural blue as he said, "I'm feeling generous tonight my little star, you may cum. Although, you won't be stopping anytime soon." He flashed a quick devilish smile ending his sentence. You looked up at like a lost puppy, so drunken with pleasure you couldn't form words. After being pumped a few too many times you had finally had enough as you were too sensitive to continue with the finger fucking, "May I cum, master?" You whined at him, tears beginning to pool in your sockets. "Go ahead little one, you've been such a good girl for me." The sith groaned lowly. You released. Finally after all of that build up your orgasm came crashing down. Vader kissed the back of your neck and mumbled, "Good girl, that is such a good girl." You let out a shuttered breath and looked at Lord Vader. "More please." You said with those puppy eyes that got you anything you wanted, as you were Vader's princess and he could never truly deny you. He gave you the ok to remove his aching dick from his pants, you kneeled in front of him and removed his trousers.

Vader's cock slapped his stomach as it sprung out from the tight garment. You couldn't help but admire his glorious dick, so big and all yours, you wrapped your hand around the base and slowly stroked it teasingly. Vader growled at your actions and grabbed a fist full of your hair, pulling you head down as he force you to look at him. "If you wish to continue with our game, you will not act like such a brat. Do you understand pet?" The sith spat at you. You whimpered the words, "yes sir, I understand." You placed your mouth around his dick and pumped the remaining inches you couldn't fit in your hand. Vader tightened his drip on your hair as he bucked his hips into your face. Once again, tears started formed in your eyes as the girth and length of him was too much, air flow became restricted. The sith pulled you off of his length to allow you to breathe for a moment before forcing you back onto him. Finally he let go and gave you control of his dick. You bobbed your head, suckled, and spit on his cock; making a mess of yourself and your lover. Vader smirked at you, stroking your hair and softly bucking his hips along with your movements. "You're so eager and messy my sweet, I truly can't get enough of you." Vader praised, patting your head gently. He pulled you away from his sex again and stated, "You are doing such an amazing job darling, though I want to save my cum for our love." He placed you back into his lap and sat you on his length. Gasps and groans poured lewdly out of both of your mouths. You looked into his captivating blue eyes as your hips began grinding and his hips began thrusting. Vader grabbed your hips and pulled you impossibly close to his figure, kissing your plump lips as the two of you passionately fucked each other. You buried your face into the chest of your lover while he held that back of your head tenderly. As you got tired, Vader flipped you around to face away from him, hooking his hands under your legs and fucked into you himself. He placed breathless kisses on your neck, even sucking on it a few times to remind you who's you are. The echoing sounds of skin slapping and 'I love yous' bounced off of the chamber walls. The emotions being poured into this very moment was worth every bit of Vader's wasted time. It was rare that the sith got to have sex with you in a state where he felt somewhat comfortable in. It was truly sweet, the two of you making such love, love that hadn't been shared in a long time.

Aaaah, so here it is! I've been putting off posting this because I have never written for Vader and I wanted it to be as authentic as possible even with it being head canon. I wanted to show a sweeter side of Vader that nobody else sees, but also somewhat demanding as usual. As always, I hope everyone enjoys this short one-shot and feel free to pm or ask with any suggestions for future writing, or tips overall <3

[magnusbae]

tfw u have a Complicated™️ Relationship With An Otherworldly Creature

First of all, I would like to point out that I DID NOT REALIZE WE HAD THAT DISCUSSION ON APRIL FOOL'S DAY.

All I remember is being delirious from lack of sleep and you indulging me by listening to my ravings about a Venom AU for dreamling aND THEN MAKING AN ACTUAL MEME FOR IT!!!

While I don't remember much of what we said that morning, and this meme being perfect for Canon AU also, I will focus my efforts on elaborating on this Venom AU no one had asked for but everybody will be getting!

◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘

"It's not human, but it's given me things no girlfriend ever could."

Hob Gadling is by no means a man who lacks options. He had fucked, and he had fucked a lot. He dated, he had even married once. He did all there is to be done, from casual to serious and yet... nothing comes close to this, to this bond he shares, to this otherworldly creature living within him, sustaining him, enveloping him, devouring him.

"Beloved," Hob says, feeling the instantaneous warming of his chest. Dream, (That is his name.) (Oh, what a lovely name it is.) often responds in such a manner to terms of endearment. He enjoys them more than he would ever care to admit. All the more incentive for Hob to use them as frequently as humanly possible. Which is to say, a lot.

The low frequency rumbling inside of his chest cavity lets him know that Dream is very much aware and chooses to remain silent on the matter. He is so sweet, actually the sweetest creature in the entirety of existence. It's hard to remember a time when he had thought otherwise, a time in which he was actually terrified of the creature that had decided to use his body as a free-ride.

Yes? Dream finally speaks, tired of waiting for Hob to verbalize his thoughts. His voice is a deep thunder inside of Hob's mind, closer to a loud thought than an actual audible sound. An intrusive thought he would never wish to get rid of. Hob. Strict, impatient, amused. He feels like Dream cannot decide if he's more irritated or amused by Hob's wandering thoughts. Speak.

Hob huffs out a laughter, shaking his head and opening his fist in an invitation. The empty spaces between his fingers are soon filled with claw-like ink black fingers. Dream's hand, firm and strong.

"I was just thinking," Hob closes his hand, squeezing Dream's hand in his, feeling the tightening of Dream's hand in turn. "how it's our anniversary tonight" he closes his eyes, thinking of a year ago, miserable and lost and terrified, with nothing in this world left, running into an alien that by all means was supposed to devour him long ago.

Expect for the miraculous part of them being so perfectly matched that Dream decided to preserve him instead. Tend his body, strengthen it, keep it safe. The only price being that he also gets to live in it. See humanity, learn of it, understand it. It's what he told him, however Hob suspects, knows really, that it was something far more personal.

Dream had filled spaces Hob didn't even know he had. Voids so small you don't know them but you ache them. And if Hob does even a fraction of what Dream does to him— well then, there's the reason.

Yes. Dream rambles, pleased. Anniversary, like marriage. the last word is purred so quietly it's almost like it's Hob's own thought.

"Hold your horses," Hob laughs again, cheeks warming up, he's smiling wide enough to ache "I expect to get properly proposed to, who do you think I am? I ain't cheap, you know" he feels a hand brushing his hip bone, an intimate, possessive gesture that sets a shiver down his groin.

Yes, of course. Dream's finger trace's down the 'V' lines, claw gentle but ever present. Not cheap. Proposal. Indeed. Dream is amused again, the cheeky creature is making fun of him, and that, is damn hot.

Whatever response Hob was about to give is swallowed down with a yelp when Dream takes him into his hand. Hob breathes out, mind blanking as the decidedly inhuman hand starts working on him.

Conversations about propriety can wait. After all, this is so much more interesting. Whatever else you can say about dating a formless alien who resides inside of your body, there's undeniable benefits to them literally sharing your own pleasure. Makes for a very good partner indeed.

◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘

Written in one go without editing because if I allow myself even a single more hour of thinking how it needs to be PERFECT I will die LMAO.

Brief explanation of Venom for those who didn't watch it! >> under the cut.

Generally speaking, I would imagine that Dream's initial reason was to study, understand, experience a different existence than his own. He had no regard for human life (still doesn't, not in the way a human would) he was perfectly fine with riding human bodies and living their lives until they expired.

Expect Dream had found Hob, a perfect match, a human body that accepted every single cell of him with open arms, way before Hob even realized he loved Dream, his body had already accepted him.

This can have over-complicated plot, and it could be a simply fun-little au. It can have a "fish-bowl" rescue of reported Hob breaking into the Lab where Dream was being experimented on, and it could be Hob's homeless era when on top of everything else going wrong with his life, he also gotten jumped by an alien symbiote in an alley.

It can be anything you wish to imagine, but bottom line is— imagine the intimacy, the bond, the tenderness of sharing a body with a creature that envelopes you whole, who loves you whole, who cares and wants you whole. Body and Soul and Mind, literally, figuratively, everything.

A bond so close you feel like a single being, bond so close you feel you would die if separated. Hob didn't even know he needed it. Hob thought his life was complete, even if shitty at times, he didn't feel any lackings, and yet..... when Dream came into his life, he realized it was an empty shell compared to what it is.

And Dream, who had never felt a connection, only felt rejection after rejection, and then in the case of the lab-trab, the experiments and cruelty. Being loved and accepted and wanted so fully he betrays his entire species to be with Hob.

-----

Essentially, Venom is one specimen of a symbiotic life form that finds a host and bonds with it. It's not easy to find a proper host, if the host is not right, the symbiote would slowly devour the body and eventually kill the human. In the comics canon, a human named Eddie and Venom form a bond, eventually fall in love, and share a very intimate relationship. It's a VERY half-assed explanation, but basically, the symbiote literally lives inside of the human host, and it makes for some......fun dynamics. considering it's a literal alien.

[olderthannetfic]

Seeing some of the End OTW Racism supporters fall for the "racebending is racist, you should make new characters, not make canon ones non-white!" shit that I hear spewed out all over the internet is exhausting. Telling other POC in fandom that the things they're writing are bad when they're just trying to write stories they want to see with people in them who look like them is gross. Telling people, "No, you don't get to be Tony Stark or Batman. You can be a new hero but you can't be one with lore and love interests and big grand storylines." is not progressive.

Two things can be true. We can write OCs who aren't white and also racebend characters to be something other than White Hollywood Chris #59. We can write ourselves into old stories and also write new ones. Batman can be black, Tony Stark can be Vietnamese, I can write an Nepali heroine, someone else can write a First Nations hero. This isn't a case where one group is 'doing it wrong' and needs to be stopped or corrected.

Nobody wants to hear this but ending racism in fandom means not coming down hard on POC over doing something you personally don't think is the best option. We get enough shit from racists as it is in fandom spaces. We should be supporting one another. Let that kid go write his fave as [fill in the blank] like him. He's not hurting anyone. He's not doing anything wrong. You don't have to read it or like it but you should really ask yourself what purpose being rude to him serves.

I really think we need to stop eating our own. It's 2023. Shit is hard enough without punching sideways. Punch up.

--

One really has to roll one's eyes at the idea that omega Tony Stark is more plausible than black Tony Stark. Has no one heard of an AU?!

The main trouble with "punching up" is that people want to do it within their own fandom spaces, and nobody nearby is 1. identifiable enough or 2. powerful enough to be sure you're actually doing that.

[kendsleyauthor]

GRAND THEFT BUTTON

Shot in the Dark (Canon) (Cliff and Sylvia)

~500 words

G/t dialogue prompt list

"Did you steal the buttons off my shirt?" - suggested by @pr-fae! Thank you for the prompt!! 💕

Enjoy Sylvia being petty as hell 💅

@marydublinauthor 🌸

Given how shirts were lucky to make it through a single hunt in one piece, Cliff wasn’t surprised when his fingers brushed an empty space where a button should have been. But as he reached up higher—and higher—he realized with a start that all the buttons were gone.

He shrugged off the shirt and looked at it in shock. Only a few wisps of thread remained on the empty spots, ends frayed like they had been sawed off.

Scraping together the shadow of patience he found within himself, he approached the table by the motel window. Sylvia was seated cross-legged in front of Jon’s phone, playing Candy Crush with laser-focus while Jon was in the shower. Her wings twitched in concentration, as though warding off the sound of Cliff’s approach.

He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, effortlessly creating a row of four green candies.

“Quick question. What the fuck?”

She hummed. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Did you steal the goddamn buttons off my shirt? That specific enough for you?”

Her hand paused in front of the screen, and she finally peeked over her shoulder at him. Even though her eyes had to trail high to meet his gaze, she didn’t look the least bit intimidated. He almost missed those days.

“That’s a bold accusation,” she said. “What makes you think I took them?”

“Who else has a tiny fucking knife and runs around collecting random shit?” When she stared at him with overly-blank innocence, he huffed. “Is this ‘cause I didn’t wanna watch that cheesy movie last night?”

Her brows drew together, a thoughtful pout forming. “Have you considered,” she pondered, “that your buttons fell off?”

“All of them,” he said flatly. “At once.”

“Why are you making it my problem that you can’t keep track of your buttons?”

She must have expected him to continue their stupid argument, because she certainly jumped out of her skin when reached down and snatched the phone from in front of her. With a little shriek, she took flight. 

“Hey, give it back!” Sylvia lunged at him as if she’d be able to snatch it from him. “That’s not even yours!”

Keeping it out of her reach with quick movements, he regarded the screen. “Level 206, huh? It’d be a shame if your data disappeared.”

The temperature plummeted. She stopped at a hover a few inches from his face, looking ready to freeze his eyeball shut. “You wouldn’t,” she all but whispered.

He raised his eyebrows and tapped the setting screen on the game. She looked down at the screen, drawing a deep breath. Honestly, he had no idea how to delete her progress, but she didn’t know that.

“You wanna bet?” He met her stare, one fingertip hovering over the phone. Their staring contest lasted ten more seconds before she broke away, grumbling, “Fine. But I’m picking the movie next time.”

[powerful-niya]

— (prσmísє ríngs.)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚hαppч nαruhínα mσnth єvєrчσnє!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟿: 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚁𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 + 𝙲𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜 - (𝙽𝙷𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝟸𝟹)

Link to Oneshot below ↴

Wattpad | AO3

Pairing˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Naruhina

Synopsis˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡Naruto and Hinata solidify their commitment by exchanging promise rings, signifying a profound step in their relationship. However, the night progresses further as the two sought to make their promise of being together forever tangible in the sheets.

Content Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Accidental Stimulation • Bed-sharing • Blank Period • Body Worship • Boyfriend/Girlfriend • Claiming • Canon • Clit Play • Clit Stimulation • Condoms • Couple Goals • Couple Rings • Cuddles • Cunnilingus • December 3 • December 9 • Dirty Talk • Exploration • Fluff • Feel Good • Love • Love Making • Multiple Orgasms • NHMonth • NHMonth23 • NSFW • Oral Sex • Overstimulation • Praise Kink • Promises • Promise Rings • Protected Sex • Rings • Romantic • Tooth-Rotting Fluff • Vaginal Sex • Vanilla • 2023 •

Overall Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚9.8k.

Tumblr Post: Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚6.5k.

Preview ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Illuminated by the gentle moonlight, Naruto and Hinata strolled hand in hand through the enchanting streets of Konoha, their steps echoing with the rhythmic harmony of anticipation as they journeyed toward the doorstep of their new home.

The air was crisp, and the night held a certain magic that only those deeply in love could truly appreciate. 

They had been together for a year now, navigating the twists and turns of life side by side, and tonight marked a significant milestone in their journey. The couple had taken each step at a measured pace, savoring the growth of their relationship.

Setting out on the adventure of purchasing a home and moving in together marked a significant leap for both of them.

Surrounded by thoughtfully selected furniture and shared spaces, Naruto and Hinata cherished the uncomplicated joys of living together, relishing in the delightful routine of shared meals and intimate moments as they embarked on the journey to build a better life together.

It embodied all they had ever desired, and they found joy in the realization that the steady pace of their relationship was progressing seamlessly–a promise that it would endure and eventually evolve into something even more meaningful.

During their night time stroll home, fingers entwined, Naruto found himself unable to resist stealing glances at Hinata–the love of his life. Her cheeks held a rosy hue, and her lavender eyes sparkled with a delightful mix of excitement and adoration.

Naruto felt a surge of giddiness each time he turned his head, gazing at his midnight-blue-haired beauty beside him. It stirred a sense of emotional turbulence deep within him. 

He felt like an emotionally unbalanced teenager again, where every look stole his breath, leaving him eager to experience it once more. To look at her again and again.

His heart thundered wildly in his chest, a symphony of gratitude echoing for the woman by his side, who had stood by him through thick and thin.

Clad in formal attire fit to keep them comfortably warm, they had just concluded a sumptuous date at Ichiraku Ramen that left them pleasantly full. 

As the night unfolded and the temperature continued to drop, the couple eagerly anticipated returning home. The prospect of indulging in some much-needed alone time beckoned, offering a chance to digest the fine meal they had shared. 

However, before diving into the comforts of home, there were other plans in store.

Naruto looked up as they approached the familiar streets leading to their humble abode, the place they both could now call home.

He couldn't contain his excitement.

Naruto cheered, turning his head to spare a glance down at his lover, "Kami, can you believe we live together now, Hinata-chan?" 

A broad smile illuminated his whiskered face, a grin that cannot be contained, "Now, we get to come home to one another after missions, a-and see each other every single day!" Naruto exclaimed in jubilation. 

The blonde ninja's excitement was palpable, his lips set wide in a boyish grin, and his whiskered cheeks elevated in sheer joy.

The profound happiness Naruto felt in this moment was unparalleled. The very idea of coming home to someone, living with someone he loved, and having that person committed to caring for his every need filled him with an indescribable sense of elation. It was an experience he had never known before, a departure from the loneliness that had characterized much of his life.

The realization that he was no longer alone, coupled with the certainty that Hinata stood by him, prepared to join him in creating a shared home and life together, brought so much happiness that Naruto felt like he was on the verge of exploding. 

The presence of Hinata, residing with him, became a constant affirmation that his life was veering onto a path he had always dreamed of.

He couldn't possibly contain his happiness, not in the slightest.

So, before Hinata could utter a single word, Naruto quickly reached over and swept his strong arms around her, lifting her off her feet and cradling her bridal style, propelled by an outburst of uncontrollable enthusiasm.

Hinata responded with laughter, her cheeks ablaze with embarrassment caused by Naruto abruptly sweeping her off of her feet, her long midnight blue hair fluttering through the cool wind, draping down from her orange, bushy toboggan. 

Naruto, caught up in the joy of the moment, then began to spin her around and around within his arms along the sidewalk, causing her white winter jacket to sway to and fro in the rhythm of their shared delight.

"Naruto-kun!!!" 

"Isn't that great, Hina?" 

"Yes! It's amazing, Naruto-kun! It's a dream come true, my love!" Hinata exclaimed amid laughter, her arms tightly wrapped around his neck, her head pressed against his chest as he spun them both.

Round and round he spun, the cool wind rushing to embrace their faces. Yet, the burning sensation of their smiles and the rosy hue of their cheeks brought warmth, a surge of adrenaline coursing through their veins, amplifying the happiness within them.

Taking the initiative to further kindle their warmth, Hinata moved forward, surprising Naruto as she planted her lips firmly upon his own, initiating a kiss that stopped him in his tracks.

His spinning came to a halt almost immediately. 

The kiss Hinata initiated was nothing short of passionate, a fervent embrace that brought them even closer together, something they've yearned to be every ounce of each day. 

The kiss ignited warmth within their bodies amid the nightly winter chill. Their heads intertwined, and their clothed bodies pressed close together, creating an intimate connection that transcended the coolness of the season.

The kiss, though brief, marked only the beginning of the very intimate night ahead of them, and Naruto, unwilling to part from Hinata, continued to carry her all the way to their home. 

He held her close as he stepped off the sidewalk, traversed their lawn, and took a halt in front of their shared residence. 

Adorning the door was a gracefully crafted winter wreath, proudly displaying their intertwined names: Naruhina.

Below, a charming welcome mat lay, its inviting message declaring:

"Love and ramen–the heart of our home sweet home!"

-The Uzumaki Family

The mat, with its warm hues, offered a humorous invitation, creating an immediate sense of comfort as one stepped into Naruto and Hinata's shared haven. 

The intricately designed wreath echoed the season's spirit, with delicate touches of frost-kissed leaves and subtle accents of love, symbolizing the union of Naruto and Hinata, displayed for all to see.

Before their home, Naruto carefully set his precious girlfriend down, allowing her to land before the door with a clatter of her boots, regaining her standing once more.

With a cheerful exclamation, Naruto hopped back upright, wearing the same broad grin as before, "Whew! Well, this is our stop: home at last!"

Hinata pulled one hand up in front of her mouth, giggling sweetly, "Oh, you're so cute when you're excited, Naruto-kun. Just hold on, let me fetch the keys." She declared, before leaning down to shift the welcome come over, to locate their home's key tucked beneath. 

However, before she could secure it, a warm hand suddenly clutched her moving arm, halting her in her tracks. 

She lifted her body up, turning her head, only to be greeted by a subtle smile from her blonde boyfriend, his cerulean gaze carrying a sudden solemnity. 

He smiled warmly, a hint of red tinting his tanned cheeks due to the cold. His blonde locks were neatly tucked under a white toboggan resting on his head, while an orange winter coat embraced his broad form—colors intentionally chosen by the two to create a harmonious and complementary blend in their attire.

"Um, before we go inside…" Naruto started off, "I have something I've been wanting to give you." 

His voice lowered, the coolness of the outdoors turning his breath visible as he spoke. There was a noticeable shift in Naruto's voice, an undertone of nervousness evident in his words.

Naruto brought one hand up to rub the back of his neck, attempting to soothe the mounting nervousness within him as his lover's gaze bore into him. 

The moment has arrived. 

The moment has come, to finally reveal the surprise he had worked so hard to craft and put together. 

But, he was so nervous. 

Surprised by Naruto's earlier declaration, Hinata gasped and with that, abandoned the search for their home's key. Instead, she pivoted away from the door to fully face Naruto.

"Hm? There's s-something you wanted to give me, Naruto-kun?" She repeated, tilting her head, an adorable expression. 

"Y-Yeah." Naruto responded with a nod, "You know, I'm not good at pl-planning or, um, surprises for that matter. I've never done anything like this before, but I wanted to do this one thing for you."

Naruto was nervous, it wasn't hard for Hinata to tell. 

His current demeanor mirrored hers when she felt uneasy or flustered, yet instead of tapping his fingers together like her habitual gesture, he found solace in rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit uniquely his own. It was so cute, and Hinata couldn't resist a giggle at his adorableness.

Hinata perceived that whatever Naruto had in store for her must be quite the surprise, as it even caused him, typically composed, to feel nervous. Her heart began to thump in her chest, filled with anticipation.

Hinata watched as he delved into the pocket of his orange winter coat, retrieving the only object that was inside. Hinata glanced down at his fallen hand in response, curiosity and excitement growing within her for what Naruto had in mind. 

Hinata bit her lip, "Wh-What is it, my love?" 

It was only then that Naruto finally revealed the surprise he had in store for Hinata, holding it up in his hand.

"This, Hinata-chan."

It was only then that Naruto's fingers carefully revealed a small dark blue velvet box, smooth to the touch, and Hinata's gaze immediately fixated on it. Her heart quickened, at the sight, her cheeks burning red in no time. 

"Oh, y-you-" The midnight-blue haired kunoichi faltered, rendered speechless, her gaze remaining planted on the jewelry box cradled in the palm of her lover's hand—a container concealing the true secret surprise Naruto had for her nestled within.

Naruto's eyes moved from his surprise back to her, presenting a warm, but nervous smile, "Hinata-chan, I've been thinking a lot about us, about our journey together," He began, his voice carrying a gentle sincerity.

Hinata's eyes widened with anticipation, "N-Naruto-kun..."

With a deliberate yet gentle motion, he opened the box, to finally reveal the true surprise he had for her. Finally revealed, there it lay, presented in all its glory for Hinata to feast her eyes upon. 

A ring.

Encased in the deep blue velvet box lay a captivating silver cluster ring, exuding a subtle elegance. The ring sparkled with the radiance of three distinct jewels—a beautiful lavender amethyst nestled at its core, flanked by two shimmering white diamonds.

Varying in size, the white diamonds adorned the cluster ring like the gleaming stars in the midnight sky, augmenting the ring's overall dazzling effect. 

The meticulous arrangement of the jewels, both at the center and along the ring, orchestrated a harmonious interplay of luminosity and splendor, rendering the ring a truly enchanting masterpiece.

It was a sight that left Hinata utterly breathless, finally witnessing such a masterpiece up close and personal—an affirmation of how far Naruto was willing to go and sacrifice in the name of love.

Hinata let forth a sharp gasp, one hand of hers flying up to cover her mouth in surprise. Tears formed in her lavender eyes almost immediately, threatening to spill.

"Oh my kami! It's so beautiful, Naruto-kun." She exclaimed into the palm of her hand, her lavender eyes shimmering with a blend of astonishment and joy as she meticulously examined the ring, almost tempted to pinch herself to verify if her reality was indeed real.

She has to be dreaming! 

She has to be! 

The realization that Naruto had taken the effort to select, no, purchase such a valuable gift deeply touched Hinata. She knew it wasn't Naruto's usual forte, especially when it came to orchestrating surprises, let alone scouring stores for an item in the romantic department—particularly a ring—for her.

But he did.

He did it anyway. 

Despite Naruto's inherent lack of experience and sometimes oblivious nature when it came to romantic gestures and surprises, he consistently went above and beyond for Hinata.

The clear fact that Naruto pressed forward and ventured into this new territory of romance, with her on his mind, despite lacking experience in such an area, made Hinata feel incredibly content—like the happiest woman in the world.

It surpassed any gesture she had ever experienced, surpassing anything anyone had ever done for her.

For that, she was deeply grateful.

For a moment, Hinata just marveled at the intricacies of the silver ring Naruto held out for her, studying the lavender and white jewels that adorned it. 

The more she examined it, the stronger her connection to Naruto grew, evolving into something even more profound. She found herself even more drawn to the man before her, appreciating the profound thought he had invested in such a gift—a symbol of his love.

Hinata's eyes welled more and more with tears, a mixture of joy and overwhelming love filling her being, "Oh Naruto-kun, you shouldn't have. Th-This is-"

Naruto chuckled nervously, once more rubbing the back of his neck, "Y-Yeah, I know it's a bit much. The ring was pretty expensive, almost broke my pockets—but hey! That doesn't matter!" He abruptly cut himself off with a loud exclamation, prompting a soft giggle from Hinata.

"Instead, what matters is that," His voice trailed off as he stared deeply into her eyes, losing himself in them, "I would do anything for you, anything at all, Hinata-chan, just as you would for me. I'm willing to sacrifice my all to ensure that you are happy." He declared, his cerulean gaze solemn, "I am willing to go to any lengths to show you just how much I love you."

His eyes fell down to the expensive ring in his possession, and his smile widened, "So, I wanted this to be something special, something that reflects how much you mean to me." He expressed with profound emotion, "I had help, of course, bringing this little shindig to life, but I did it, and I did it for you." 

At that moment, Naruto gently brought the jewelry box closer, presenting the ring and all its splendor to her fully.

Hinata stared in awe the entire time, her heart pounding in her chest, her cheeks growing redder and redder. Her eyes never left Naruto; they remained fixed on him as he held the ring he had chosen for her in his grasp, extending it toward her.

"Hinata-chan, I wish to offer you this ring, but I want you to understand that it's not just any ordinary ring; it's a promise ring."

"A promise ring?" Hinata questioned in awe, her eyes shooting from the beautiful cerulean eyes that bore into her and the ring held out for her below. 

Naruto nodded, "Yes, it's a ring that signifies a promise from me to you. A promise that I will always be by your side, no matter what obstacles are thrown our way, no matter how challenging life gets—I will stay here, with you."

The spiky-haired ninja beamed, a smile so big and warm that it made Hinata feel like she was going to melt, her hand falling down to her chest. 

"Oh kami," Hinata marveled.

Naruto sighed softly, "Yes, we've been together for a year now, and I want you to know that I've cherished every day I get to spend with you. Every moment," He reached out, cradling the jewelry box in one hand. 

He gently placed his extended hand on her cheek, giving it a caress with his thumb.

"every second," He breathed.

Naruto looked deeply into her eyes, and with sincerity, he continued, "You've single handedly changed my life completely. You have revealed so much to me, Hinata-chan." He began, his own eyes tearing up." 

"You’ve shown me what true love feels like.  You have shown me what it feels like to have a life where I have a family to come home to, to take care of, to love as my very own."

He bit his lip, racing his thumb back and forth along his lover's cheeks just watching as Hinata slowly but surely came undone due to his words.

"Hinata-chan, you have brought nothing but love and compassion into my world, fulfilling everything I have ever wanted. You are my happiness, my love, and I want to stay with you, continuing this journey together, no matter what, ya know?"

Naruto couldn't resist a gentle coo as Hinata began shedding tears in response to his heartfelt speech. The fresh, wet tears cascaded down her already flushed face, words no longer enough to express how deeply touched she was.

Such tears flowed down Hinata's cheeks like shimmering streams, each droplet a visible affirmation of the profound emotions welling up within her. They glistened under the soft moonlight, tracing a path along her flushed face as a visual expression of the overwhelming joy and love that Naruto's words had stirred within her.

She began to cry, but Naruto stood prepared to comfort her; to wipe such tears away. His thumb moved ever so gently across her cheek, spreading the damp essence into her skin.

"And so, I don't want us to stop here, Hinata-chan. I am willing to forever be yours, if only," Naruto swiped his thumb across her face once more, marveling at the beauty in his possession. 

His blue eyes twinkled, caught in the gorgeous pool of lavender, "you’ll be mine."

"Yes." Hinata proclaimed without hesitation, leaning her head further into his touch. She pulled her own hand up to drape it over Naruto's, to cradle his hand on her cheek, warming her up further.

"Oh Naruto-kun," She uttered once more, "I have been wishing my entire life for this very moment to come. I have loved you for so long, wanting to walk beside you, wanting to hold your hand in this world, and bring you the happiness you know now." She continued, "And now I have, and it has been a dream come true."

She sobbed, "You have been a dream come true, my love."

Naruto's eyes widened, his heart skipping several beats. 

Hinata sniffed back her tears, raising her hand to gently caress his cheek, tracing her fingertips over each of his whispered birth marks.

The dark haired kunoichi hummed, "I, too, cherish every moment we've shared. It's everything I've ever wanted." She declared with croaks in her voice, but that didn’t stop her. 

"My wish is to continually offer you all that you yearn for—love, happiness, warmth. I want to be there for you, always, in every aspect of life. You've become my everything, Naruto-kun, and I want to be your unwavering support, always by your side, in joy and in sorrow."

Naruto's eyes widened even further, if that was even possible at this point. Hinata's heartfelt revelations caused his heart to thud against his chest with an intensity that he feared it might break free from its confines. 

He couldn’t believe his ears. He couldn’t contain his joy. 

Hinata smiled. tightening her grip on his hand. She nodded with a tender affirmation, "So yes, I want to be yours forever, Naruto-kun."

In that poignant moment, as Hinata spoke those words, time seemed to momentarily freeze. 

Naruto's breath hitched in the realization that the woman he cherished, the love of his life, was affirming his sweet declaration with a resounding yes. 

His world felt transformed, bathed in the radiant glow of Hinata's acceptance. 

Naruto found himself utterly captivated, unable to do or think of anything but marvel at the wonderful woman standing before him.

Nothing but gratitude flooded his entire being for having a lover like Hinata, one who not only wished to be with a knucklehead like him but was ready to embark on a journey of forever with him.

He couldn't resist reveling in the realization that Hinata was his promise girl, his precious girlfriend, and he eagerly anticipated the prospect of her becoming his wife—the future mother of their children.

The mere thought filled Naruto with a happiness so powerful that words couldn’t come close to expressing it. It was the kind of joy that made him want to leap onto the rooftops at that very moment, and scream to all of Konoha that Hinata was his lover, his beloved, his everything. 

He yearned to proclaim to the entire village just how much Hinata means to him, hell, proclaim to the entire world.

A wide smile stretched across Naruto's face, nearly revealing all of his pearly white teeth, his whiskered cheeks aflame with the warmth generated by the sheer breadth of his lips. An antsy excitement pulsed through his body, urging him to dance and celebrate.

In joy, Naruto let out cheers, ones that could be heard from miles away.

"Oh kami, you have no idea how much that means to me, Hinata-chan! Arigato!" In that moment, he yearned to finally slip the ring out of its box, and slid it on Hinata's finger, to solidify their promise.

But before he could proceed, it was Naruto's turn to be stopped.

Hinata softly shifted her hand from his cheek to gently nudge his shoulder, a light giggle escaping her lips as Naruto froze in his tracks, his eyebrows furrowing with a hint of concern by her gesture. 

"Wh-What is it, Hinata-chan? What's the matter?" He asked, a touch of worry coloring his words. Hinata, however, maintained her reassuring smile, signaling that there was nothing to worry about.

She shook her head, her midnight blue hair swaying with the movement, "Um, b-before we proceed, I th-think it's safe now for me to reveal that I too have a surprise."

"You what?" Naruto exclaimed loudly, genuinely taken aback. This was certainly not something he was expecting. 

His heart skipped a beat. 

"You do?" He questioned, his curiosity piqued.

Hinata giggled sweetly, "Yes, my love. And I believe it's best if we exchange our surprises at the same time. I think it would be more fitting that way." 

The mischievous glint in Hinata’s eyes introduced an element of intrigue for Naruto, leaving the blonde eagerly anticipating what Hinata had in store for him—a plot twist indeed.

He rocked about, twisted, and danced in his spot, his excitement building as he watched Hinata turn away from him to retrieve something from her coat's pocket. She rummaged inside, getting what she needed in no time flat. 

She rummaged inside, swiftly finding what she needed. But as she searched, Naruto couldn't resist leaning over, extending his body to catch a glimpse of what Hinata had retrieved, his excitement getting the best of him.

Sensing a shadow looming over her, Hinata glanced back, instantly capturing Naruto's mischievous gaze peering over her shoulder.

It was a fleeting instant between them, but the moment her lavender eyes locked Naruto's blue ones, he swiftly averted his gaze, whistling nonchalantly, feigning innocence as if he hadn't been peeking.

Hinata couldn't help but giggle at her boyfriend's playful silliness before she turned around, and presented the object she had retrieved—Naruto's own surprise—setting it in the palm of her hand before him.

"H-Here. I got you something too, N-Naruto-kun." She said with a shy smile. In that moment, Hinata revealed the surprise she had prepared, a sight that caught Naruto completely off guard. 

His eyes widened almost to the point of bulging from his head at what he saw, his mouth hanging open in sheer astonishment.

He pointed at the black box in her hand, his blue eyes widened.

"No way," He exclaimed, his disbelief evident.

"You got me a ring, but how is this possible? How did we get one another the same-" Naruto's words trailed off, leaving him speechless.

Certainly, right before him, Hinata also presented a black velvet jewelry box, embellished with gold embroidery along the edges. The box appeared to be of the same size as the one he had given her, the one concealing…

'A ring? But how? How did Hinata end up with the same gift I got her? How did she know?' Naruto pondered to himself in disbelief.

Hinata giggled sheepishly at the bewilderment on her boyfriend's face. 

She looked away, a hint of nervousness creeping in, "Um, well, I may have sort of..." She paused, briefly biting her lip, "heard you talking about the surprise you'll get me."

"What!" Naruto shouted in shock. He smacked his forehead, feeling like a complete baka, "Damnit, how could I be so careless-"

"Gomen!" Hinata apologized, "I came back from a mission just a few days ago. I then walked inside our home, went up to our bedroom, and heard you there, talking to yourself about a surprise you wish to give me." She nodded down at the box in her hand, "A ring." She pointed out.

"But that is all I heard!"

"Damnit." Naruto hissed, frustration evident in his tone. He kicked the ground with a pout, throwing a mini tantrum, "See, see!! I can't keep surprises; I always mess them up!" Naruto exclaimed with a groan, looking up at the sky, smothering his free hand over his face.

Hinata tried her best to suppress a giggle as her boyfriend seemed to revert to a child due to his inability to surprise her. 

Even frustrated, throwing a fit, Naruto looked so adorable to her.

The lavender-eyed kunoichi shook her head, clutching his shoulder firmly, "It's okay, Naruto-kun, my love, really." She reassured, her gentle touch a comforting presence, "It's actually better this way." 

Her lavender eyes sparkled with warmth as she looked up at him, offering a reassuring smile.

"How is it better?" Naruto whined, "I was supposed to be surprising you."

Hinata shrugged, "Well, I just figured now, wouldn't it be best if we got each other rings, ya know," She beamed, "as a couple!"

"Ahh, like couple rings, eh?" 

"Yes!"

Naruto hummed, intrigued to say the least. 

For the most part, he couldn't deny feeling a bit disappointed about not keeping the surprise he had planned for Hinata. He had hoped to seize that one moment to surprise her for a change. 

Now, all the planning, all the hiding, the rapid search in the village and neighboring ones for the perfect gift for her, the quest for inspiration, and even pleading to the Konoha gang for help—all seemed to be in vain.

'Hinata heard me talking to myself, really?' Naruto groaned, shaking his head in disbelief.

He wasn't used to living with someone else yet, he must admit, but having his grand surprise found out in the stupidest way ever only heightened his desire to go ahead and whack himself in the face.

But then, he looked back at Hinata's face and grew breathless at the bright smile that was upon it, radiating like a beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds. 

Her lavender eyes sparkled with joy, and the warmth of her smile seemed to illuminate the night, creating a captivating sight that deeply touched Naruto's heart.

At that moment, Hinata looked more beautiful to him than ever before.

And it was also in that moment that all the disappointment Naruto felt vanished, and instead, he was filled with happiness. 

He appreciated how Hinata had gone out of her way to get him a ring in return, showcasing the very qualities he loved about her—her selfless, considerable nature.  

The concept of couple rings seemed even more special now, and Naruto felt deeply flattered to receive such a meaningful and thoughtful gift from the woman he loved.

Naruto smiled. 

Hinata's smile widened in return, her head lowering to open the black box in her grasp, revealing the ring she had chosen for Naruto.

His gaze descended to observe the contents, and once again, his mouth fell open in astonishment.

"My kami."

"You've given me mine, and now, here is yours."

Before him, the ring Hinata had presented was crafted entirely in gold, with an orange citrine taking center stage—a fiery hue reminiscent of a blazing sunset, resonating with Naruto's spirited nature. 

The ring sparkled with intricate golden embellishments, each detail perfectly placed within its designated spot inside the case. 

Such an exquisite piece not only captured Naruto's essence but also reflected the warmth and radiance of their shared love, symbolized by the vibrant gem at its heart.

Naruto was utterly blown away as he fixated on the glistening ring before him, his eyes welling up with tears. 

He sniffed, overwhelmed, "It's... it's so incredible, Hinata-chan! You've truly outdone yourself, as always." He exclaimed, marveling at the ring, tracing its details with his gaze, "I love it, my love. This means the world to me. Arigato." He expressed gratitude, leaping in joy. 

Hinata giggled, her laughter resembling a sweet melody. She was thankful to see that Naruto genuinely appreciated her gift, savoring the twinkle of awe in his gorgeous blue eyes.

"You're welcome. Anything for you, Naruto-kun." She looked affectionately at the ring held delicately between her fingers, its golden hues twinkling with each gentle touch of moonlight.

Then, her eyes shifted to her own ring, still cradled in Naruto's hand.

She smiled, "Shall we exchange?"

Naruto's face lit up with excitement at that suggestion. "I don't see why not!" He cheered, pumping one hand in the air. “Yeah, let's do it!"

At that moment, they formally exchanged their promise rings.

Naruto handed his to Hinata.

And Hinata handed hers to Naruto.

Their hands trembled ever so slightly as they swapped rings, a symbolic gesture sealing their commitment and fortifying their promise. 

Naruto reached for Hinata's hand, sliding the silver ring he had chosen for her onto her ring finger. His touch was gentle, as if handling precious treasure, each movement deliberate and tender. 

The ring was a perfect match, smoothly gliding down Hinata’s finger and snugly settling into place.

Hinata reciprocated the gesture, sliding the golden ring she had chosen for him onto Naruto's ring finger. Like a perfect match, it snugly settled on his finger, both rings demonstrating the precision of their measurements.

"I'm yours, Naruto-kun," Hinata breathed, her eyes shimmering with emotion.

Naruto grinned, his azure eyes mirroring the profound sentiments within, "And I'm yours, Hinata-chan. Forever and always, and that's a promise."

"Yes, a promise," Hinata whispered, "forever made, and forever kept."

"Oh Hinata-chan." Naruto took a breath before stepping forward to seal their connection with a kiss, a manifestation of the deeper emotions his heart harbored.

Their lips melded in a perfect union, a moment that felt just right to both, drawing them even closer. 

Their promise, the exchange of their rings, and their very kiss marked the initial step toward a complete union, a merging of two souls into one.

Under the soft glow of the moon, they kissed, their lips meeting in a tender exploration of each other's emotions. The moonlight painted a silvery sheen on their entwined figures, casting a gentle radiance over the scene. 

Their kiss deepened in no time with the steady rock of their heads, eager to imprint their love on every inch of each other's lips, delving deeper to explore the inner recesses of their mouths. 

Naruto's tongue emerged, gliding out of his parted lips, granting Hinata's lips a gentle swipe—an unspoken request to enter her warm depths.

Hinata noticed Naruto's gesture and granted him access without any hesitation. She slightly parted her lips, enabling Naruto to slide his wet tongue deeply inside her mouth, exploring every nook and cranny—her teeth, gums, and eventually her own tongue.

Hinata met his fervor with equal intensity, her hands finding their place on Naruto's chest, where she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips.

The night enveloped them, and the outside world faded away, leaving only the two lovers immersed in the joy of their newfound promise. The night air carried a subtle chill, but the heat generated by their joined bodies made them oblivious to the outside world.

Naruto's hands gently traced the curves of Hinata's back, drawing her nearer, intent on eliminating any lingering space between them. Hinata reciprocated with a gentle moan of contentment, her fingers tracing a delicate path up his body, entwining in Naruto's hair.

The promise rings they adorned gleamed in the moonlight, gracing their respective ring fingers as symbols of devotion. Lavender and orange hues sparkled, reflecting the celestial glow of the night, an exquisite fusion akin to fire and ice colliding, creating something greater.

Passion ignited between them, accompanied by a plethora of muffled moans. 

Neither wanted the kiss to end.

Neither wanted to pull away. 

However, inevitability set in as their breaths ran out, their lungs aching, forcing them to reluctantly pull away.

But their separation did not signal the end of their night of intimacy; rather, it marked the beginning. They had a promise to fulfill, to solidify but now…

deep in the sheets.

Naruto's hand slid down gracefully, encircling the small of Hinata's back, his large arm enveloping her petite form. The contact made her gasp, and a blush colored her pale cheeks.

Naruto hummed, his dreamy eyes locked onto hers. He sent a nod toward their home's front door, his blue eyes narrowing in that way that always made her squirm in want. 

"Come on, let's finish this inside, shall we?"

The seductive shift in his voice sent a shiver down Hinata's spine, and she nodded eagerly, fully aware of what Naruto was implying–what both of them desired.

She hummed, "Yes, I desire that more than anything, Naruto-kun." She replied, her voice carrying a lingering promise.

With that, Naruto and Hinata finally headed inside their very own home to fulfill the rest of their promises in privacy, leaving the moonlit streets of Konoha all behind.

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