#feels like I'm being haunted here. made a Fool of even.
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#feels like I'm being haunted here. made a Fool of even.#google search 'how to scare off clowns' aaaaaand go#honkai star rail#hsr#hsr sampo#honkai star rail sampo#spark talks about nothing of relevance#spark's honkai adventures#he's supposed to be trapped down in the mines of something idk!!!!#i haven't touched that mission i got after his text#edit: I Know Now
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❝ I'VE LOVED YOU BEFORE, I'M SURE OF IT!❞
— SYNOPSIS: eons ago, the king of curses lost his lover. you're gone, you have been for years, so why is it that you're standing right before him?
— WARNINGS: reincarnation, death of servant, your death mentioned, blood, swearing, angst, fluff, ooc sukuna?, he's downbad, 3k words
— AUTHOR’S NOTE: HELP MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR SUKUNA IF U LIKE IT PLS LMK AND REBLOG!!
a face so familiar that in a sea of people, he'd recognize it instantly. he could paint a perfect picture from memory alone; how could he ever forget you? the only person he's ever grown accustomed to loving with every fiber of his being. the only person who's ever made the very king of curses feel weak. so then, why... why are you here once more?
impossible. it couldn't, shouldn't be you. he watched you slip away, felt your last breath against his skin, cradled you in his arms as your life ebbed away, the haunting reminder of the day he lost you. so why, against all reason, are you standing before him?
he can't deny the reality that it's truly you standing there, amidst the blossoms, with those delicate features that outshine even the brightest stars in the sky. the very essence of innocence radiates from your being, reflected in the purity of your gaze as you remain unaware of his presence, lost in the simple joy of picking dainty flowers from his meticulously tended garden. it's a scene so achingly familiar, yet impossibly surreal, as if plucked from a distant memory and brought vividly to life before his eyes.
his naive little lamb, blissfully unaware of the danger that lurks just beyond the edges of his meticulously guarded property. anyone could sneak up on you at this very moment, and you'd remain oblivious, lost in the gentle warmth of the sunlight as you hum a soft melody to yourself. do you not realize the trespass you commit with every step, the audacity of encroaching upon his domain?
for if you were anyone else, the ground beneath your feet would surely be stained crimson, a stark reminder of the consequences of such brazen intrusion. he scrutinizes your every movement, his gaze lingering on each delicate gesture as if committing them to memory. it's the first time in what feels like an eternity that he's experienced a semblance of peace.
sukuna, the embodiment of strength and power, finds himself perplexed by the profound comfort your presence brings him. he detests his own vulnerability, despises the notion of being beholden to anyone or anything. and yet, in the quiet moments spent observing you, he can't help but entertain the fleeting desire to hold you once more like the days he once treasured with you.
the fleeting moment of vulnerability dissipates in an instant as one of his ignorant servants, a mere fool in sukuna's eyes, rudely intrudes upon his garden sanctuary. with careless disregard, they trample over the delicate cecilias, the very flowers you were delicately picking.
"m-my lord, my humblest apologies," they stammer, their voice trembling with fear. "i don't know how an intruder got in, but i promise to dispose-" before they can finish their sentence, their head is swiftly separated from their body, the soft thud of impact echoing in the garden as it rolls to the ground. red oozes out, staining the grass crimson red as he stares at the body indifferently. tch. incompetence is met with swift and merciless retribution. how weak, how utterly weak. not only had that feeble intruder disrupted his tranquility, but they had also brought undue attention to his secluded sanctuary.
his gaze sharply turns towards you, contemplating whether you had noticed the disturbance, only to find your eyes innocently peering back at him. a surge of something unfamiliar courses through him as he meets your gaze. there you stand, so delicate and unassuming, clutching those flowers, studying him with a curiosity that unsettles and intrigues him in equal measure.
would you scream? run for the hills? yet, there's an underlying fearlessness about you, a quality he's always admired. part of him yearns for the recognition in your eyes, the acknowledgment of his presence, a desire for you to step closer, to nestle into his embrace and play with his hair, as if it were an annoyance he secretly craved, so long as it was from you.
"…would you like a flower?" you beam up at him, your smile radiant enough to rival the sun itself. holding it out to him, your eyes sparkle with genuine delight as you offer the delicate blossom. "it matches your hair. pretty." for a moment, he hesitates, towering over you with his imposing figure. yet, you show no fear, not of his unusual features nor his intimidating presence, not in this life and not in your past one either. with tentative movements, his rough, calloused hands brush against yours, accepting your gift.
he observes with a quiet fascination as your smile widens even further, a sight that warms a part of him he thought long dormant. almost instinctively, he restrains the urge to brush back a stray strand of your hair, watching instead as you take care of it yourself, a soft frown forming on your face as it catches in your lip gloss.
"it's funny," you begin, a playful lilt to your voice as you gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "everything here seems so familiar. tell me, have we ever met before? i feel like i know you from somewhere," you muse, studying his features with a curious intensity. there's a certainty in your tone, a sense of recognition that stirs something deep within him.
"no. that's stupid," he gruffly replies, brushing off your inquiry with a dismissive tone, though he can't ignore the flicker of amusement in your eyes. "ah, you're right. that would be impossible, wouldn't it? perhaps it was just déjà vu," you concede, your smile widening ever so slightly, there's a sincerity in your gaze that leaves him unsettled. he hates the way his heart stirs each time you do that, that... that thing with your face, he's seen it a thousand times before, that stupid smug smile. it's been a millennium since he's last seen it, and he finds himself silently admitting that he's missed it more than he cares to admit.
the one who shattered his harem, the one he believed he had lost forever. over the years of your absence, he had convinced himself that it was foolish to love a mortal. loving you was a mistake, he told himself. there was no void in his heart because of you; it was there to satiate his hunger for bloodlust.
yet, the mere sight of you right now, skin kissed by the sunlight shattered those self-imposed barriers, your voice carrying on about the flowers you held. peonies, daisies, lilies, roses—all growing in a small, vibrant garden. they were your favorites, adorning the white fence so beautifully. although he'd rather be caught dead then admit it out loud, it was dedicated to you, a silent tribute that reminded him of your presence.
in moments of turmoil, he found solace here, secretly seeking refuge amidst the blossoms, gazing up at the stars as if searching for your familiar constellations. what were they again? he had almost forgotten, and somehow, that notion was more unsettling than any sorcerer he had ever faced.
"oh, i almost forgot to ask, what was your name?" you giggle, looking up at him with an air of innocence. do you really talk to random strangers like that? you still are such an airhead. it seems you have no survival skills, but perhaps that's why he's always been so protective of you. "i am the king of curses, sukuna," he states, glaring down at you. it irks him, slightly, that even his name has been wiped from your memory. you really, don't remember, do you?
"sukuna... i'm calling you 'kuna from now on, 'kay?" you beam, and he lets out a weary sigh. how unoriginal. you used to call him that too, but anything else sounds quite strange coming from your lips.
"why are you here?" he grumbles, the question weighing heavy on his mind, not just in this moment, but echoing through the centuries. he wants to know why you've returned, why you've chosen now to reappear in his life after so many years have passed by. are you taunting his only weakness? how infuriating. you remember his old nickname, the flowers you once adorned his head with, but not him. is this some sort of game to you?
"i don't know," you answer simply, adjusting the crinkles in your dress. as the sun begins its slow descent, casting a warm, golden hue over the valley, you find yourself standing there, amidst the beauty of the landscape. "i just happened to stumble upon here," you murmur softly, your gaze fixed on the horizon, where the sky meets the earth in a breathtaking display of colors. the grass sways gently in the breeze, whispering secrets of days gone by, while memories of laughter and joy linger in the air like a bittersweet melody. his nose crinkles. what do you mean you don't know?
"what are you doing?" he hears your voice, sweet and soft like a distant echo from the past, a time when things were simpler, when you were by his side, filling his days with light and laughter. it's been hard without you, he realizes, a pang of longing tugging at his heart as he watches you standing there, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun.
he wants to reach out to you, to tell you how much he's missed you, how much he's longed for your presence all these years. but instead, he remains silent, a silent observer of the moment, as the memories of days gone by wash over him like gentle waves, leaving behind an ache in his heart.
"you're trespassing," he grumbles, his voice carrying a weight that extends far beyond the boundaries of his garden. it's a warning, a silent one for you to stay away, to spare him the agony of reliving the memories that threaten to consume him. but even as he speaks the words, he knows deep down that it's not just his garden you're trespassing into— it's his heart, too.
sukuna does not wish to love you, loving you hurts, it makes him what he hates the most, it makes him weak. once, long ago, he was foolish to love you. he never uttered those words aloud, but the way his gaze softened in your presence spoke volumes. you were the only one who managed to carve a place for yourself in his heart, a place he thought was forever closed off to the world.
he doesn't want to care about you. to him, you should be nothing more than a passing nuisance, easily disposed of if it serves his purpose. yet, as he gazes upon your innocent face, memories long buried begin to resurface, tugging at the frayed edges of his carefully constructed facade.
sukuna despises what you evoke within him, a vulnerability he thought he'd long since buried beneath layers of ruthlessness. as the sun caresses your features with its gentle warmth, he can't help but feel a pang of longing deep within his chest. it's a sensation he's tried to suppress, to bury beneath the weight of his power and dominance. after all, he's the feared king of curses, not some lovesick fool. but even he can't deny the allure of your presence, the way you effortlessly weave your way into the recesses of his darkened heart.
in the depths of his being, sukuna knows he shouldn't miss you. he shouldn't yearn for the days when your laughter echoed through the corridors of his mind. yet, despite his best efforts to cast you aside, a part of him remains tethered to you, unable to sever the invisible threads that bind him to your memory.
your love, once radiant as the sun, pierced through the darkness shrouding his heart, illuminating corners he never knew existed. it was pure, untainted, a beacon of hope in his desolate existence. even in his darkest moments, he couldn't bear to extinguish your light, for fear of losing himself entirely. but then, like a flickering flame snuffed out by a sudden gust of wind, you were gone.
the memory of holding you close as you slipped away, your warmth fading into cold nothingness, still haunts him to this day. yet amidst the pain, there was a promise— a whispered vow that one day, you'd find each other again. and somehow, against all odds, you did. but fate had robbed you of the memories that once bound you together.
he watches you now, your smile as bright as ever, oblivious to the love you once shared. it's a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that you'll never remember the depth of your connection, the intensity of the love that once burned between you. forgotten memories of your presence flood his mind, stirring emotions he thought long buried.
he should be able to snuff out your existence without a second thought, should revel in the sight of your blood staining the verdant valley, your cries piercing the tranquil air. but as you stand before him, oblivious to the darkness lurking within him, he finds himself paralyzed by indecision.
his soul screams at him to act, to rid himself of this weakness once and for all. but his heart, that traitorous organ, refuses to comply. how can you, with your pure heart and untainted spirit, still evoke such conflicting emotions within him?
sukuna prides himself on his selfishness, on his willingness to betray and manipulate to achieve his desires. and yet, in your presence, he finds himself questioning whether his desire to hold you close once more is too selfish, whether his darkness would tarnish your purity.
and a part of him wonders if you'd fall in love with him again, wonders how you did the first time. would your hands feel the same, tracing the contours of his face with that delicate touch? would your lips still taste as sweet, brushing against his with that familiar tenderness?
"'kuna?" you murmur softly, looking up at him to see if he's paying attention. and for a fleeting moment, he's transported back to a memory he holds dear, etched into the deepest recesses of his heart.
"'kuna?" you had called out one day, perched elegantly on his lap, nestled against him as if you belonged there. his hand, protective yet tender, rested on the small of your back, ensuring you remained secure in his embrace. your legs were tucked into his, absentmindedly toying with some strands of his hair. "hm?" he responded, his gaze half-heartedly softening as he met your doe-like eyes, a hint of amusement dancing within their depths.
"do you think in every universe, we're together?" you inquire, your voice tinged with a hopeful innocence that tugs at his heartstrings. he let out a scoff, a familiar gesture masking the warmth that blooms within him, his fingers instinctively threading through your hair as you playfully swat them away. you're so naive and innocent, believing in such stupid things.
"that's absurd," he retorted, though the corner of his lips quirked upward in a ghost of a smile, unable to deny the affection that lingers between you. love, he once believed, was a fleeting illusion, a mirage in the desert of existence. he scoffed at the notion of eternal love, dismissing it as a fanciful delusion born of naive optimism. how could love endure when humanity was plagued by sin, disloyalty, and obstinance? it seemed absurd to place faith in something so fragile, so easily shattered by the harsh realities of life.
"hey..." you pouted, your bottom lip jutting out in a playful display of mock indignation, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "well, i believe we are," you declare, a stubborn determination coloring your words as you stick out your tongue in defiance.
"such a meanie," you'd muttered under your breath, though your protest is laced with affection as he pulled you closer, enveloping you in the warmth of his embrace. and he's snapped out of his thoughts once more when he hears your voice cut through his memories.
"ah, i'm sorry," the present you sheepishly mumbles, catching yourself mid-ramble and rubbing the back of your head with an embarrassed smile. "i'm boring you, aren't i? it's getting late; i should be going."
with a resigned sigh, you glance up at sukuna, feeling a flush of embarrassment color your cheeks. you hadn't meant to prattle on to a stranger, especially one who felt so oddly familiar and comforting, like a warm, fluffy blanket on a chilly evening. as you start to move away, ready to bid your unexpected companion farewell, one of sukuna's arms shoots out, gripping your wrist firmly and halting your departure.
despite everything, you're still here, standing before him, a familiar presence that refuses to fade into oblivion, and he finds himself unwilling to sever the crimson thread of fate that you once fervently believed bound you together. he's unsettled of the idea of allowing himself to love you again, yet, at this moment, his greatest fear is not in loving you, but rather in the prospect of forgetting you altogether.
confusion flickers across your features as you look up at him, but he refuses to meet your gaze, his expression unreadable. the soft hues of the pink sunset cast a gentle glow over you both, and in that moment, you could swear you see a faint flush tingeing sukuna's cheeks.
he still considers you foolish for believing in an everlasting love. and yet, as he looks into your eyes, he doesn't believe an eternity with you would be too bad. in fact, he wouldn't mind it at all. he mutters gruffly, though his voice betrays a hint of annoyance, and yet, inexplicably, your heart leaps at the invitation.
"speak."
and with that stupidly charming grin on your face, you do.
© SUNTORU 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.
#sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x you#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x y/n#jujutsu kaisen#sukuna fluff#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#ryomen x reader
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୨⎯ CHAPTER ONE ⎯୧
incubus!fushiguro toji x fem!reader
꒰ ✟ ꒱ GENRE: horror, demon au, nsfw 18+, porn with plot.
꒰ ✟ ꒱ SUMMARY: Sex demons are not as provocative as you think they are. Not only do they engage in sexual acts with humans, they thrive off their flesh and haunt them in their nightmares. When an incubus disguised as a Reverend turns a hungry eye on one of the parishioners, gruesome events at the cathedral slowly unfold; blasphemy, gore, and terror…
꒰ ✟ ꒱ CHAPTER WARNINGS: sacrilege, religious slander, blasphemy, WC: 2,391
PREVIOUS • MASTERLIST • NEXT CHAPTER
written in toji's pov, narration style similar to the Netflix show, "You." this takes place in a fictional setting; St. Reze University & Cathedral. banner art made in 2021 by chosofty!
ST. REZE CATHEDRAL ֺ PRESENT TIME
TOJI
I was born to be an affront to God.
A cruel infernal creature like me, born and raised in Hell, until, I made the decision to leave and never return. The regrets of leaving my past life in Hell started crawling down my spine these past few weeks. I knew I wasn't going to love my new life in the human realm either, but I had no choice. I had to be ordained as a Reverend for a Catholic University, where I sustain through dreadful church hours and its absurd practices.
From what I've witnessed in the course of religious history, the people of this church have less ethics than most witchcraft practitioners I've fucked in the past.
It was a shame for a man like me indeed. Accommodating these sheepish Catholics that devote to a religion I couldn't care less about— yet here I am personified as a Reverend fool. If my demon counterparts from Hell saw me like this months ago, the humiliation would infuriate me greatly. But now that I'm "reborn," I finally stopped giving a fuck of what humans and demons think of me.
Dark grey clouds shrouded over the cathedral as I saunter down the alleyway, stopping under an arch. Gloomy weather and heavy rain filling the campus felt oddly comforting to me. I had my cigarette, perching it between my lips as the fire of my lighter meets the end of the roll. I leaned against the roughness of the arch, watching the rain and exhaling the smoke. Then I allowed my mind to fall back to its numb state, feeling indifferent about being late for Mass.
It was annoying to find out that I wasn't alone, though. Because behind me, in this pouring alleyway, you found me.
The harsh splashes from the puddles could be heard from this distance. In need of shelter from the rain, you sprinted all the way to the arch where I was and halted right beside me, catching your breath. I must admit— I was a bit irritated of your abrupt presence. Having my peace disturbed as you scrutinize me with those mysterious, prying eyes of yours.
How the Hell did you even find me? A student like you was not supposed to be here.
My nonchalant, dead gaze remained on the cobblestone pavement as I inhaled. Part of me wanted you to leave. Gone. It's rude to stare, do you not know that? I assumed that my cold, aloof behavior from a Reverend like me was rather perverse and intimidating, especially when I'm smoking on these "sacred" church grounds without giving a damn. But you... you kept your gaze onto me like a moth to a flame.
I was a total stranger. You should've known this all along. But you still chose to stay with me here, and we stood in strained silence as the rain palpitated.
"Never seen a priest smoke before," you suddenly pondered, but your voice was loud and clear enough for me to hear amid the heavy rain.
I give a furtive glance from the corner of my eyes. A beam from the glowing streetlights nearby hovered over your face, the depths of your features visible for me to see. For a minute, I was intrigued. Piercing, beautiful eyes with a lurid gaze on me, evoking such curiosity as I have right now. I am once again met with the bitter taste of arson between my lips and exhaling the grey stench to the mist.
"Not a priest. Reverend," I deadpanned.
"Oh, sorry. Have I seen you before? I don't think I've seen you around at church. Were you just recently ordained?"
I had no desire to reply because I really don't care. It was pointless of me to since I wasn't in the first place. But something clicked in my mind once I took it to all in. You, an unsullied woman— gullible of the prospecting, flagrant danger you've now encountered. A student like you was never supposed to find me, yet here you are.
I hear a sigh fall from your lips, exasperated from how awkward our encounter was. "Nevermind, then. I'll just be heading to Mass now—"
"Don't," I retorted suddenly, completely nonplussed of the words that just slipped out of me. What the hell am I doing? "The walk to the cathedral from here is… too far. There's nowhere else for you to wait ‘til the rain dies down."
You scanned the area again, rubbing your arms as the chill from the mist crawled down your skin. "Are you sure you don't want me to go? I don't wanna bother you..."
How apologetic. Just like most of the sheepish Catholics here at St. Reze that practice a religion dedicated to forgiveness. Perhaps my hint of interest for you was enough to entertain me as the storm subsides. Encountering me while I'm slightly under the influence of drugs... Usually I have no desire to associate with pesky Catholics and students, but you...
I don't know why, but hearing your voice for the first time was like dipping into radiant honey and velvet. I felt inclined to speak my mind just so I can hear it again, tossing the worn out cigarette to a puddle and making the effort to face you completely.
The sky was now melting into darkness, shadows filling the angles of my face as I turned to you. "I think it'd be dumb of you to leave when it's raining this hard. And hopefully you're not a dumb girl, are you?"
I was expecting a more sheepish response, but you chuckled instead like it was a rhetorical question. Even the subtle grin stretching across your face somehow softened my nonchalant expression.
"How are you even a Reverend? You seem more like a layman to me."
"I wish," I mumbled. "But I wouldn't be making more money if I wasn't in the clergy."
"Just in it for the money? You're not… committed to serving the church?"
Fuck no, I replied in my head. But I decided to stay silent and stare at the sky, noticing you studying my emotionless face in the corner of my eyes. Naievety and gullibility is really in your nature, just like all the pathetic Catholics and penitents here. I fucking hated it, but your curiosity was just... delectable to me for some reason. It made a wave of questions rush in my head that I was tempted to solve myself.
"Are you?" I spoke sardonically, side-eyeing you.
“Yes. I am,” you replied confidently with a smile. “Serving God and attending the church has been a big part of my life.”
How sad. How pitiful. A lost little lamb like you, blinded by the wrong truths of an absurd religion just like everyone else here. Living by this pathetic promise of an eternity without sin, pain, and fear… But such servile mannerism from you strangely amused me; I wanted to provoke it just for the fun of it. Derisively taunt your beliefs little by little and take away that religious burden; almost like corrupting you…
I need to stop.
The heavy rain had finally subsided and the puddles on the ground were now gentle and smooth that a water lily can bathe in it. There was a soft rattling sound coming from the palm of your hand that I did not notice before. Something smooth and ivory, almost like pearl beads glimmering from the dull alleyway lamp posts.
"Anyways… Aren't you supposed to be at the church early?"
“Don’t really feel like going right now,” I prompted with a small smirk. “What’cha got there?”
“This? My rosary.”
Your hand opens to a sterling silver crucifix rested on your palm attached to luminous pearls and red beads shaped like rosebuds at the “Our Father” mysteries. I didn’t know that these “sacred” objects could be customized as decorative jewelry instead.
“We like to have our own decorated rosaries here,” you suddenly explained like you’ve read my mind. “You can tell a lot about a student’s personality with how unique they are.”
My gaze suddenly wonders to your face that was emerged from the shadows. Even though my eyes were tense and my jaw was clenched, it felt as if my expression was gradually softening. Maybe it was the cigarettes slowly easing me. Who knows? But perhaps something clicked in my mind tonight; the unexpected scenario of you rather beguiling me. A woman with shameless passion for some deity capturing my attention— that's something I'll never forgive myself for doing.
"Can I see yours?" you suddenly asked, your eyes meeting mines for the first time it felt like you eroded my senses. Such an innocent and mindless question, but yet here I am; taking in your curiosity that was just as deadly as lethal drugs were to humans.
I dig into the pockets of my cassock and open my lifeless hand without a word. This was the rosary I was given when I was ordained; acrylic resin beads of black enamel and a translucent smoke color, glassy and polished like gunmetal. You scrutinized it like you were in an endless trance. I couldn't understand what a stranger like you found so fascinating about it.
“It’s so… you,” you mused.
I frowned slightly, not really understanding what that meant either. “Well if you like it so much, have it.”
But I guess I have emerged from the shadows too. Maybe the cigarette was enough to ease my palpable mood from such a fortuitous encounter with you. I didn't want our conversation to end, though. I didn’t want any of this to end so soon. I was starting to feel some sort of amusement. But it wasn’t until you looked at me, really looked at me; your sultry eyes simmering as you met with mines.
No words. No words at all. It was just the soft rain and your fingers grazing my palm ever so gently. Those lingering wet fingertips as you unravel the beads like how a god would trace the outlines of spiritual blood vessels. I look down again when my palm meets a cooler surface. Your pearl rosary was dropped right in my hand.
"Mine for yours," you muttered with a soft smile. "I'll give it back at the end of Mass."
And just like that you head down to the cathedral, leaving me alone to contemplate everything. It makes me realize how I didn't want anything to do with you at first. How I barely cared for people like you… But it wasn't until a wondering sheep like you made its way through the darkest route, like the valley of the shadow of death, encountering your sin and fate right there…
It makes me wonder. Would a stranger like you worship me like you worship your god?
When the rain had finally cleared and the light of the monochrome moon poured over, I decided to come to Mass a few minutes later. The Saturday Communion prayer was being recited as I sauntered to the pew where the rest of the clergy sat while. As much as I hate this job and find these practices meaningless to me, I needed to get paid for this shit.
"Most glorious virgin Mary, mother of god and our mother, turn thine eyes in pity upon us miserable sinners. . ."
There were different ways Catholics receive the blood and body for the Holy Sacrament. We let the devotees take the chalice by hand at the altar, store it until they get back to their seats to drink, or let us place the chalice on their lips. But such practices were painfully unappealing to me who gets bored and impatient easily.
Drifting my attention from the service, I scrutinize the gothic architecture of St. Reze. The rays of the moonshine from the mosaic suddenly coruscated the pearl rosary you gave me. The light captures my gaze as it shimmers in the palm of my hand. My thumb grazes the glassy material and the memory of us under the rain immediately lingered in the edges of my mind. I look through the crowd of heads to find your familiar face.
There you were.
I found this all so amusing of you; that redundant devotion you display so proudly for your god. When the prayer finally finished and the devotees walked out of their pew, I watched as they kneel at the altar with their elbows pressed on the mahogany bar as they await for Holy Sacrament. Majority took the chalice by hand while others took it to their seats. After giving out the elements of consecrated bread and wine, repeating the words, it was finally your turn.
You shot a quick glance at me as you kneeled at the altar and signed the cross; the pure epitome of surrender and submission. Never in my years of this life have I met a woman with this kind of sensuousness. Both of your hands laid on your thighs and your neck was arched back, lips parted like an invitation for the wine.
Titillating. The way look at me from below with a half-lidded gaze. Your eyes have betrayed your true nature, more prurient than the last time we stared at each other.
Exhilarating. The way your lips travel to the moist spout of the gold, letting the bitter wine ravish your tongue. I watched your neck, the way how you swallowed. A small drip escaped, trailing down your chin.
It was lucky for you nobody has drank from that chalice before. But nothing about this was holy. If anything, this was sacrilege. I'm not one to crave for anyone's attention, especially from one like you; but I've finally got to taste it this very fine night. If only you knew what you were doing to me right now…
No words. Just the intense undertones of temptation we have suddenly surrendered to. Because that… that felt like worship.
That was what worship feels like from a stranger like you.
Then you were gone. I couldn't recall much after that, but I do remember, how my eyes followed you the whole night, diverting my attention to you at a distance where you could never leave my sight. Only then had I come to realization of your luscious features and a savoring body, like the essence of sweet nectar and ambrosia.
I couldn’t wait to see you again at confessionals.
TAGS: @suget @azanthys @haezen @heavenlyevil @saturniac @vampnyx @emomanswhore @divinedabi @slut-manifesto
ALL WORKS BELONG TO VILSOO/POISEUNS © 2023. originally published April 10, 2021. do not steal, plagiarize, or translate without permission. do not repost/share any of my works where minors have access.
#ཐི♰ཋ�� ⋆ 𝐆𝐎𝐃’𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄. ๋࣭ 𖤐#toji fushiguro smut#toji fushiguro x you#toji fushiguro#jujutsu kaisen toji#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk toji#toji x reader
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GHOST LIT
Melissa had never thought she would meet the love of her life, fall instantly in love and get married so quickly, (especially after being single for so long) - but all her dreams had finally come true. Dan was gorgeous - a well-read and well-spoken gentleman who had an impeccable taste in fashion and interior decoration and was the CEO of a small, but successful limited company.
Melissa was a piano teacher, and she'd met Dan when he came for lessons. As he brushed back his sexy hair and grinned at her with his confident smile, she'd felt her stomach flutter and known she had finally met the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Her heart had sank when she'd seen the wedding ring on his finger, but he'd blushed at her gaze - almost reading her mind.
"I... was... married. She died in an accident. I still wear the ring, though I don't know why. My former wife... well she wasn't a very nice person. It wasn't until she died that I realised she'd been dominating my life, gas-lighting me into thinking everything was my fault. She had me totally under her heel and treated me very poorly. Sorry, I shouldn't speak so ill of the dead, but I'm glad she died, I finally feel free. That's why I'm having these lessons, I want to live - I want to finally do all the things I should have done when I was married to Cassandra."
They'd hit it off immediately and begun dating a week later. A year later and they were married - and Melissa was finally moving into Dan's amazing mansion home. She didn't care that he was rich, or that he'd lived here with his evil ex-wife... all that mattered was that she was finally with the man of her dreams.
Still - as they passed into the house, Melissa couldn't help but shiver. The house still bore the marks of Cassandra's spoiled influence. The more Melissa had learned of the evil, manipulative, vain and cruel Cassandra - the more she was glad she had never met the bitch. She wondered how Dan had ended up with such a bad girl - or why he had allowed her to gaslight him for so long. Dan had told him that Cassandra had even fucked other guys, but somehow made him feel it was his fault for being an inadequate lover.
"She gets into your head and makes you her puppet," he had sighed sadly. "Sorry - I mean, got into your head. You know... it's funny, but sometimes I almost feel like she is still here. Crazy I know! Just ignore me, I'm being a fool of course."
That had really made Melissa shiver. The thought that Dan's ex-wife might be haunting the house - watching them like some malicious purveyor really made her feel uncomfortable. Good job she didn't believe in ghosts.
"This is our home now baby," she had smiled. "We're going to be happy here. Now forget all about your ex-wife and lets start our new life together."
****
In the dark corners of the bedroom an evil spirit gloated as it watched Melissa innocently unpack her things. At last - a woman was here. A weak, willed, goody-two-shoes of a woman. A foolish little slut with no idea of the transformation she was going to undergo. Cassandara smiled as she drifted close to her victim and tasted her innocent spirit. Sustained by spite and bitterness, the spirit of Dan's former wife looked appraisingly at Melissa as an artist might look at a piece of clay. So much potential... so much fun to be had.
Melissa shivered and she turned her head, almost as if she sensed something. Weird, it felt like she was being watched. For a moment the tension seemed to stretch out and then Melissa shrieked and nearly jumped out of her skin, as with a clatter, something fell from the top of the wardrobe... almost as if it had been pushed off. Regaining her composure, Melissa convinced herself the object had fallen naturally and walked over to pick it up. It was a jewel case containing a DVD. Why it had been hidden on top of the wardrobe, she wasn't sure.
"What the hell is this?" she mused, walking over to the bedroom TV and sliding the DVD into the player beneath. It whirred up and Melissa sat on the bed to watch. To her surprise when the screen came on, it showed a video of the very bedroom she was now sitting it, only it was at night. Red candles and soft lighting lit the room, and the sheets were white satin.
Melissa gasped and her hand went to her mouth as she saw two figures on the bed. One was Dan, only slightly younger looking - the other was an amazing looking woman with a perfect, toned, body and firm full breasts. Her body oozed sensuality as with a moan of pleasure she lowered herself onto Dan's cock and began to ride him.
Melissa watched in horror as the woman in the video fucked her husband. Fucked. That was the only way to describe it. When she and Dan had sex it was gentle love-making, this was like watching a porn video. Dan's face was a mask of ecstasy, the woman on top of him moaning as she thrust her hips obscenely like she wanted to suck his dick up into herself and she took his straining cock deeper and deeper inside her.
"Oh Cassie, fuck me," he moaned... "I need you so badly."
"That's right Dan," she hissed, "my pussy controls you - only I can make you feel this way. Say it."
"YES! OH YES, CASSIE, your pussy owns me - you're better than every other woman. Only you can make me feel this way."
"Mmmmmh, good boy - I will ALWAYS be in control of your life."
Melissa felt sick to her stomach, yet she couldn't stop watching. Cassie bounced on top of Dan with hot wet slaps, moaning and laughing as she squeezed her tight pussy around his dick and made him hers. Dan was shaking, his uncontrollable lust for his bitch wife clear to see. His eyes shone with devotion and with a wracking sob, Melissa realised he had never looked at her like that.
"Oh my God Dan, why did I have to see this?" she sobbed. "I thought we had a special connection, but now I see what you were like with her... you'll never need me like you needed her. I can't believe this, I can't compete with that bitch!"
Hearing movement downstairs, Melissa quickly turned off the DVD, ejected and hid it under the bed. She used some tissues to quickly blot her tears and put on a fake smile as Dan entered the room. He walked over and put his arm around her lovingly. "Everything okay baby?"
"Of course," she lied, "everything is fine."
****
It was hours later and Melissa couldn't sleep. She couldn't stop thinking about the DVD and what she had seen. The scene seemed to replay in her mind again and again and again. As she lay in the bed, tossing and turning, with Dan snoring next to her, she wanted to scream but she couldn't.
Grinning maliciously, Cassandra floated over to Melissa and took a position up behind the bed-head. Reaching down she slid her spectral fingers towards Melissa's brow and sighed pleasurably as her phantasmal digits slid into the other woman's head. She'd tried this before, but Melissa's unconscious mental defences had been too strong. Now her mind was wide open.
Melissa groaned in relief as a sudden cool sensation seemed to slide into her head. After hours of restlessness, she suddenly felt drowsy, and though the sex scene in her head continued to play - it no longer made her feel sad. Instead she began to feel horny as she watched the lovers fuck.
The memory became a dream, and as she watched the lovers rutting - Cassie's face seemed to melt like wax and then reform. With a gasp of astonishment Melissa realised she was now watching herself riding Dan - only, with a body like Cassie's. Melissa couldn't believe how good her face looked on that bitchy body, all tanned and perfect. She felt her heart beat faster and a sudden yearning to be like the woman in her dream and make this fantasy come true began to fill her mind.
Why not become more like Cassie? Why not see if you can make Dan lust for you like he used to lust for her?
Melissa sighed happily in her dreams as strange thoughts and whispers filled her mind and her lips twisted into a unfamiliar smile. Finally she slept, and her dreams were sooooo naughty that night...
*****
Dan blinked in surprise as he walked into the kitchen to find Melissa on a stool whistling and doing her makeup. For a second he was struck by deja-vu then he realised why.
"Melissa, are you wearing my ex-wife's clothes? What the hell? I packed all that stuff away in the garage months ago! Did you go unbox it?"
Melissa looked at him in confusion. "Baby, I found this stuff in my wardrobe, I thought since you'd left it out, you wouldn't mind me wearing it. I never thought of wearing clothes like this before, these leather pants feel really nice. Don't you like how they look?"
Dan had to admit that Melissa did look good in Cassie's bitchy clothes... he felt his cock twitch. There was something kind of hot about nice girl Melissa being a bit more like his nympho-ex, but why was she lying to him?
"Melissa, tell the truth - I never left those clothes out - you must have got them from the garage."
Melissa frowned, "Dan - I promise you, they were in my wardrobe when I woke up this morning. Are you accusing me of being a liar?"
"Of course not," he said reluctantly - but full now of spite, he snapped - "They don't fit you anyway, you'd need to lose weight and tone up to pull those off."
Melissa scowled. "Maybe I will then!" she snarled, stomping off back up to the bedroom.
Dan immediately regretted being mean to Melissa, but he was too proud to go apologise, so he left her to fester.
Cassie smiled as she invisibly watched - it had all played out exactly as she had known it would. Floating through the wall into the bedroom she smirked as she floated behind Melissa and slid her fingers into the other woman's head. They slid in easier now, like Melissa's mind was embracing their touch - almost pulling them in.
Melissa's eyes widened slightly and a lovely relaxed feeling throbbed through her body as Cassie's evil influence pulsed into her body. The clothes seemed to pulse with the same corruption, Melissa was now encased in Cassie's bitchiness and it was starting to transfer into her body.
He's right - you do need to tone up and shape up - and you will. You know you deserve to wear these clothes and you only want to dress like this. Throw away all your old clothes, go to the garage and take all of Cassie's things - replace your entire wardrobe with hers. Dan will only lust for you if you become more like Cassie. Do it...
Melissa moaned as her brain pulsed with pleasure. Standing up she walked to her wardrobe and with a sneer, began to rip her old clothes out. It was time to upgrade... and join a gym.
****
"Yes, this is more like it," smiled Melissa as she admired herself in the mirror a few weeks later. The amount of weight and toning up that she had achieved in such a small amount of time was incredible. In fact, it was almost supernatural. If she didn't know better she'd say that some outside force had been assisting her - speeding up her physical transformation from a slightly frumpy housewife into a toned and athletic looking hottie.
Dan had certainly noticed, but not complained - their sex becoming more ambitious and his pleasure in her superior body noticeable. Melissa had almost completely stopped playing the piano or taking lessons in order to shape up and Dan hadn't objected when she had told him she wouldn't be contributing to the finances this month.
In truth, he felt guilty that he had told Melissa she needed to shape up, and his guilt gave her power over him. Power Melissa was starting to enjoy.
She walked into her bedroom and sat on the bed. All at once the delicious tingling throbbing feeling she got in her head whenever she was in this room came back and she smiled happily. She always had her best ideas in the bedroom - it was almost like someone was projecting ideas into her head and the more she relaxed and welcomed it, the faster the ideas seemed to come.
"Yes, I should try on some of the tighter, bitchier, clothes that Cassie used to own. I can probably fit into them now," grinned Melissa as she opened the wardrobe where she had put all the naughtiest clothes she had found - but had not quite been able to fit into - in. Now she was about the same body build as Cassie though, it should be easy.
Melissa shivered as she stroked the latex clothing, faux-fur, leather boots and bougie jewellery on display. Could she really wear this stuff? It seemed like something some sort of slutty bad bitch might wear.
"Hurry up and try them on... you're going to feel sooooo fucking hot and horny in those clothes. Haven't you seen how Dan has been responding to your physical improvements, next you need to start acting like a bad-bitch. He enjoys being bullied and pushed around, it actually turns him on. Try it. Put on an outfit and go tease him."
Melissa shivered and nodded. Sometimes it felt like there was a voice in her mind whispering such deliciously evil things to her, but she had to admit - everything the voice told her to do worked. With shaking hands she reached out and chose a bitchy outfit.
It was tight - far tighter than anything she had ever worn. A tight black one-piece black and white bodysuit. It was funny how the suit seemed to squeeze her tits up and out - she was sure they seemed bigger these days. High heels shoes also pushed her up - her feet felt smaller and more arched since she moved in with Dan and a generous application of expensive makeup made her look like a total bitch.
She was immediately aroused and she felt hotter and more powerful than ever before. With a confident stride, she clip clopped around the room, smirking at the feeling of power Cassie's clothes gave her. It felt like the old her was being smothered and something cruel and bitchy was taking over. She loved the feeling and wanted more.
Striding next door, Melissa felt arousal as Dan gasped at her outfit. His eyes lustfully drank in her body and she smirked to see the effect she was having on him. He came towards her, but she disdainfully pushed him away. "You'll spoil my makeup, keep back. You've been pissing me off lately, so if you want a piece of my ass, you're going to have to start treating me better."
For a moment Dan looked like he might object... then he licked his lips nervously. "Yes... dear, whatever you say. I'm sorry."
Melissa felt her pussy tingle and her nipples get hard. Wow - making your man do what you wanted, felt really good. "Good boy, perhaps later, if you're good I'll reward you - but for now I'm going shopping and I want to spend some big money. You don't mind do you dear?"
"Of course not baby," muttered Dan.
Melissa was acting more and more like his old wife every day - yet somehow, that was really turning him on.
******
Cassie looked around the shop in delight - her hold over Melissa had grown strong enough that she was now finally able to leave the house. A thin cord of energy, steadily growing thicker and heavier was growing between them and Cassie could feel her influence pulsing into the other woman, feeding Melissa's lust, ambition and cruelty.
Melissa's body had changed so much in the last few weeks and the stupid bitch hadn't even questioned how her tits had got three sizes bigger. Instead, she was proud of her sluttier body and thanks to the constant corruptive thoughts Cassie was sending into her protegee's head - she was getting worse by the minute.
"Yes, I deserve nice things and for Dan to pay for it all," hissed Melissa in glee as she tried on a pair of $500 boots that felt so nice over her latex bodysuit. She knew she didn't need the boots but she wanted them, so she took them. It felt great to get what she wanted and be a spoiled bitch.
Melissa admired herself as she passed a mirror. She'd been for a full body-wax this morning and her perfect abs, big-booty and huge tits were straining to break free of her super tight bodysuit. She looked amazing and she revelled in feeling the hungry stares of men and women alike as they passed her. "I'm a fucking Goddess," she laughed as she strutted down the street in her new boots, heading for home.
Entering the house, Melissa found Dan in the living room and beckoned him with a finger. "Come with me. I'm horny and I want you to fuck me."
They entered the bedroom and Dan excitedly unzipped Melissa out of her latex suit - her smooth, naked body ready to be ravished. She smiled excitedly as she pushed him onto the bed and drawing the curtains lit a number of candles. There - now things looked exactly as they had on the DVD. Dan seemed confused, but also turned on as Melissa straddled him and with an excited gasp lowered herself onto his cock.
"Oooooh, yes," she groaned loving how good it felt to finally be the bitch of her dreams as she began to gyrate her hips and ride her husband, just as she'd seen on the video.
"Oh my God Melissa, your pussy feels so tight... it's amazing," groaned Dan.
"I've been working out," purred Melissa as she fucked her man. "Tell me that you like the bitchy new me, tell me how much you love that I've become more like your ex-wife."
"Ohhhh yes, I love what you've become, I don't know why or how, but it turns me on so much."
"Good boy," purred Melissa as she increased her bounces. "I love what a bad girl I'm turning into and it feels like there is still so much more for more to do."
Cassie watched proudly as Melissa took control of Dan and made him her pussy slave. Corrupting the other woman had been so much fun and there was still so much more to do. A bit more gas-lighting and Melissa would be even bitchier. Cassie was wondering if eventually she could even make the other woman worse than she had ever been.
It was definitely going to be fun to try...
****
EPILOGUE (Weeks later)
Ghosts don't sleep - but they do fade in and out from time to time. Cassie had been somewhere else when she was suddenly rudely pulled into reality.
She was in a room - her living room - only there were candles lit everywhere. This wasn't something she had planned... what was happening?
In the middle of the room around the table sat Melissa and Dan. They were holding hands and Melissa had her head thrown back as in rapture.
"Hear me... spirit of this place. I summon thee and bind thee. Thou shalt obey me."
"Honey are you sure this is a good idea? You don't really believe there is a ghost do you?"
Melissa's lips twitched into an evil smile. "Oh yes honey. There is a ghost and I know who she is. But don't worry - I know how to deal with her."
Cassie felt a flash of panic and admiration. How had Melissa learnt of her existence - she thought she had been careful.
"Oh spirit of Cassie. I bind thee and summon thee into my body. All your bitchiness, all your knowledge shall be mine. I absorb thee and consume thee. Make me even more powerful!"
Cassie tried to fight, but her spirit was being pulled towards Melissa. She screamed as she was sucked into the other woman, her personality and consciousness unravelling as Melissa greedily sucked her up and consumed the concentrated evil.
Melissa screamed in pleasure, her tits swelling up even bigger and her body becoming hotter and stronger as she absorbed all of Cassies power, knowledge and memories.
In moments it was done. The ghost was no more and now only the fully evolved bitch Melissa remained.
"Mmmmh," she giggled stretching her slutty body with pride. "I love how it feels to be such a fucking bitch. Now I have ALL the power."
"Did you banish the ghost my love?" stuttered Dan.
"What ghost?" smirked Melissa fake innocently. "You must be imagining things. There was never any ghost and if there was - well she isn't a problem anymore."
Laughing cruelly Melissa strode off leaving her pussy whipped gas lit husband to tidy up the room.
She was the only bitch around here now and she wouldn't be manipulated by a ghost.
She was the gas-lighter now... and she loved it.
#evie hyde#bitchification#f2f transformation#f2f corruption#ghost#influenced#personality change#evil bitch#good to evil
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have yourself a merry little christmas (jamie tartt x f! reader) ficmas 2023
꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 1 of ficmas!
prompt: you and jamie are forced to participate in a holiday talent show
a/n: feeling very sad bc i'm not at i was feeling festive in mystic falls but this made me feel slightly okay. i wish this was better but i hope it's okay though *cries* also here are the videos i was referencing throughout this fic video 1 video 2.
↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2023
You're still determining whose idea it was to have a holiday talent contest with the Richmond team, but whoever it was had your most profound hatred. Not because you wouldn't enjoy watching the team make fools of themselves, but because now you were pressured to participate.
It happened about a week ago when you stayed late at the facility. You stayed late to finish a project for Rebecca and noticed later how low the sun had gotten. Peering out your window, you swore over the passing sunset. Fatigue plagued you, and you knew you'd probably just pass out in bed when you got home. Deciding to freshen yourself up, you ventured downstairs to the kit room, where you knew Will kept extra towels. You just wanted to wash your face, waking up your bleary eyes for the road. As you entered the room to grab a towel, you could hear voices from the showers.
Should you have walked into the men's room? Probably not. But you were always curious, and you were already in the room by the time you felt any hesitancy. Peering around one of the corners, you could hear the soft sounds of singing coming from one of the stalls. The raining water dampened the sound slightly, but it didn't suppress the beauty of the voice you heard.
"Birds flying high, you know how I feel..."
Whoever was singing sounded like an angel. You didn't even know that any of the boys were singers, but now you were more than intrigued. You got lost in the singing, your back pressed against the tile wall, to the point that you were late to notice the sound of the shower turning off. Snapping out of your reverie, you waited until said player left to compliment their singing. Of course, said player ended up being Jamie Tartt.
"What the hell, Y/N!" Jamie swore, a hand held over his heart as he came around the corner and saw you.
"Why didn't you tell anyone you could sing?" You slouched off the wall, arms crossed, as you looked at Jamie with a sly smile.
"Why'd you got to hide in the men's bathroom like that?" He looked at you with furrowed brows, a slight blush coating his cheeks. You had never caught Jamie off guard before, and it made butterflies dance in your stomach. Having a crush on Jamie was a given; anyone with eyes could see how gorgeous he was. The difference is you've had the pleasure of seeing him grow.
"Does anyone else know you can sing?" You inquired.
"No, I keep that to me-self," Jamie mumbled, shoving his hands in his shirt and avoiding eye contact.
"You have a beautiful voice," you said smallly. "See you around, Tartt." You walked out of the bathroom, leaving him behind as you daydreamed about Jamie's voice all the way home.
The next day was when he got payback. Office days can be extremely long and tiring; sometimes you just like to hunker down with some tea and focus on finishing your work. You had your door closed, feet curled up under you as you worked on finishing your reports. You sang softly to yourself to pass the time.
"I've been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted; your dad is always mad, and that must be why."
Jamie burst in the door, finger pointing at you and expressing I-got-you-now.
"Bloody hell," you swore, jolting back and almost knocking over your tea.
"Well, well, look, whos been keeping a secret?" Jamie smiled, sauntering over to your desk. You gave him a pointed glare.
"Were you eavesdropping?"
"Maybe," He said, his accent making it sound like 'may-bay.'
"Have you heard of privacy?" You sighed.
"Have you?"
"Touche," you smiled. Jamie was still looking at you, as expected. You gestured for him to spit out whatever he wanted to say. "Spit it out."
"You'll see soon enough," Jamie cooed, walking backward from your office. You didn't trust whatever he had up his sleeve, which was proven later by Ted bounding in with his usual enthusiasm. You liked Ted; he was unbelievably kind and hilarious, but you were pretty suspicious when he came in with a shit-eating grin.
"Y/N! I'm so excited to hear the news," he smiled, hands in his pockets.
"Uh, what news?" you raised your brows, fingers stilling on your keyboard.
"That you'll be performing in our little holiday talent show that Higgins is putting on this year," Ted laughs. "When I saw your name, I have to admit I was surprised. I didn't expect you to sign up-- but I'm so glad you did."
Jamie fucking Tartt, that little shit. You knew this was his doing. By the heavens, you wanted to tell Ted right now that this was all a mistake, but seeing how excited he was made you pause. You had never performed in front of people before, not since you were 8 years old and forced to be in a school-wide production of Peter Pan. But you could work this to your advantage. If Jamie thought he could get away with this, then he was in for a treat.
"I'm also glad I signed up," you chuckled, clasping your hands on your desk.
"Be warned though-- Beard and I have a pretty nifty performance up our sleeves," Ted finger-gunned, skipping out of your office with a wave. Oh, you were in deep shit.
The holiday talent show was later that weekend. It was Higgin's idea to get everyone together, especially since many of the boys couldn't go home for the season. Keeley was the one who thought having a friendly competition would be exciting. The prize was, of course, a ridiculous crown someone bought and dinner on the team. It was being hosted at Higgin's place, a very comfy home near Nelson Road. You were dressed in a simple but classy maroon velvet dress that you paired with boots and a sparkly clip pulling back your hair. Christmas crackers were exploding from the tote bag you carried, the gifts for the team and your co-workers. Gift-giving was in your nature, and you couldn't come empty-handed.
Keeley was the one who answered the door, dressed in black with pearl accessories and looking every part a gorgeous holiday ornament.
"Oh my gosh, Y/N, you look amazing!" Keeley gushed, pulling you inside and suffocating you in a hug.
"I could say the same for you," you laughed, taking off your coat and shucking it in the closet.
"This old thing? Just something I found lying around," Keeley smoothed down her dress, sending you a sly smile as she wrapped her arm in yours. "Did you bring gifts?"
"Of course, that's my MO," you playfully smacked Keeley's arm as she took the bag out of your hands, putting it under the tree directly to the right of the foyer. Several people were already there, and you took time to say hello while graciously sipping the sparkling wine that was provided. When Jamie came in, you ended up in the corner with Sam discussing your favorite holiday movies (you were trying to convince him that Die Hard was a Christmas movie and that any other opinion is wrong). Your voice got stuck in your throat.
You had seen Jamie dressed up before, but somehow, in the warm light from the fire, it seemed so different. He was wearing a simple black blazer and button-up, but it's like he was stripped bare for you to see. He looked devilishly handsome, and you would be lying if you said you didn't have butterflies dancing through your chest and lungs.
Unfortunately for your sanity, Jamie noticed you and took a pause before sending you a small smile. You waved back, a flush crossing your cheeks as you turned away to continue your conversation with Sam. You were saved from any more awkward reactions by Beard announcing it was time for the talent show to commence. Everyone gathered in the living room, some boys sitting on the ground like kids listening to story time and others (like yourself) standing in the back, excited to watch the festivities commence.
"Thank you for coming to my home tonight," Higgins started, taking a slight bow when everyone whooped and hollered. "I'm excited to spend the season with my friends and family and even more excited to see what you guys have in store for us! Without further ado, I'm pleased to welcome our esteemed coaches to the stage."
More cheering commenced as Ted, Beard, and even Roy "ascended" to the stage (a carpet thrown on the ground). Roy looked exasperated to be there, but Beard and Ted were putting on their game faces as the music started, and they performed "Love Shack" by the B-52s. You couldn't stop the laugh from leaving your throat as you saw them honestly give their all.
"I am so glad I am here to see this," Jamie whispered, coming up on your right and sending you into a mini heart attack.
"Gees, you scared me," you sent him a glare, for which he only winked back.
"Roy looks so happy to be here," Jamie smiled, pointing to Roy, who was playing the tambourine with the same enthusiasm you had for paying your taxes.
"I'm sure it was all his ideas," you answered, bumping Jamie's shoulder with your own.
"Oi, when is Roy Kent going to sing!" Jamie yelled, proceeding to get flipped off by Roy right as Ted and Beard broke into choreographed dancing.
The night continued in much the same fashion, with you and Jamie giving your commentary the whole time. Sam did spoken word poetry, several of the boys did dances, and Rebecca, dropped the mic with a chilling performance of Holy Night. You were having so much fun with Jamie that you forgot he had signed you up to perform.
"Okay, okay, we got a treat tonight. Our very own Y/N is performing with a special guest-- Jamie Tartt!" Higgins announced, gesturing for you two to get on stage. Jamie looked at you with confusion, and you suppressed the laugh that wanted to escape.
"Oh, didn't I mention I signed you up to perform with me," you smiled cheekily, winking at him as he looked at you flabbergasted. You hopped on the stage, ignoring the nerves spreading throughout your body as Jamie reluctantly joined you. The rest of the team was having the time of their life watching Jamie be uncomfortable, and you were enjoying your revenge. He sent you a death glare right as the music started, and you kept your eyes on him to not die of stage fright.
"Have yourself a merry little Christmas; let your heart be light."
"From now on, our troubles will be out of sight."
Your voice carried across the room, and you saw a few surprised looks as everyone registered that you could actually sing. Feeling more confident, you turned to your friends and sent a small smile.
"Oh, here we are, as in olden days, happy golden days of yours."
Jamie came in with that croon that you couldn't get out of your head, and the jaws that dropped in the room were astronomical. He started playing it up for your friends as you made up your own dance on the "stage," even figuring out a harmony at some point.
The energy was palpable, and, by its end, it received standing ovations. You took Jamie's hand in yours, taking a bow. Ted came onto the stage, holding paper crowns and silencing the audience.
"I think we have a unanimous winner, don't we?" Ted asked, earning applause and a 'hell yeah' from Rebecca somewhere in the room. Ted crowned Jamie a red crown that he situated perfectly lopsided. He gave you a smile as he took the blue crown from Ted. You bowed your head as he placed it on, ensuring it fit perfectly. The kindness in his eyes was suffocating, and without caring for everyone in the room, you grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him. You could vaguely hear everyone in the room cheering, but you didn't care as Jamie kissed you back, wrapping an arm around your back.
You both smiled at each other and laughed at your friends' faces. Dani even took photos, which he was already sending to the team. Wrapping your arms around Jamie's neck, you looked at him and buried your face in his jacket.
"We're never going to live this down."
"I'm still going to get you back for making me sing," Jamie whispered, earning a chuckle from you.
"I'll look forward to it."
꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ tagging people who liked original post
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#jamie tartt#ficmas 2023#12 days of ficmas#ted lasso#ted lasso fics#ted lasso imagine#jamie tartt imagine#jamie tartt fic#jamie tartt x reader#phil dunster#my writing
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Day 29: corn maze
Masterlist flufftober 🎀
Reblog if you liked it!
“Are you sure we should go this way? That corner over there seems familiar to me”
“For the umpteenth time today, you can't possibly recognize a place because they all look the same. They are cornfields”
“Your response only confirms to me that we are fucking lost.”
In reality, you knew you weren't lost and even if you were, you trusted that your friend would be able to get you out of there. You and Spencer had known each other for practically as long as you could remember and when he told you that he would be in Vegas for a few days you practically begged him to go out with you. You didn't even care where you guys were going, you just wanted to spend time with him and enjoy the fall weather like when you were children.
In the midst of it all Spencer looked at a sign advertising a haunted house and a corn maze on the outskirts of town and he thought about the last time he had gone to either. He talked to you and in the end you decided on the second option, feeling an adventurous spirit that was not very fueled right now.
“We’re not lost. I have an eidetic memory and I know perfectly well that since we arrived, we have made one turn to the right, three to the left, we walked forward along the path on the right side, then we made another turn to the left…”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” you whined, smiling slightly at your friend’s jabbering. A couple of people walked past you and waved at you, looking a little more lost than you.
Spencer was wearing a long coat that day, a garment you weren't very used to seeing him in, a themed scarf and a pumpkin-colored hat that you had knit for him a couple of years ago but that he still seemed to appreciate.
“Don't worry, these camps always use a Global Positioning System with satellites to help identify the location of all the people in the camp and are designed so that you can leave halfway if you panic.”
“This reminds me of that novel by King and his son, In the Tall Grass, have you read it?”
"No. Is it good?"
“It's a little scary if you live in the country. Or if you go into a corn maze, like a couple of fools thought of it” you joked and that seemed to amuse your friend, who giggled.
You moved a little closer to him and decided to wrap your hand around his arm, an approach that he gladly received.
“I'm glad we're here, I really wanted to see you.”
“I know, you hardly come to Las Vegas anymore. When was the last time?"
“Eight months and thirteen days”
“Too long,” you said, with a certain melancholy, and Spencer raised his opposite hand to put it on yours, as if he wanted to apologize for having taken so long to return.
“To the left,” he murmured kindly to you, pointing his head in that direction.
“I'm following you without questioning you, you know? If we get lost, I won't even know."
“We arrived at the third checkpoint, right there,” he pointed out, with a proud smile. “Relax, don't you trust me? I am a genius"
“You're a show-off,” you laughed, resting your head on his shoulder for a second and feeling his do the same on the top of your head.
It felt good to be with him like that, like two old friends who know that no matter how much time passes, things won't change at all between them. You didn't know it, but Spencer had been going through a lot these past few months, and being with such a familiar face comforted him immensely, as if he could remember a time in the past that seemed happier and simpler.
“I think it's this way!” you heard next to you. It was a group of teenagers who were pointing down the path to the left at a fork and who seemed quite excited by the discovery they had just made. “We are going to win, it shouldn't be too far away”
“Stop,” Spencer murmured, surprising you and them. “It's not that way. "You must take the other path”
The young people debated for a moment whether they should follow a stranger's advice or their own conclusions and you believed that, in their place, you would have done the same; I mean, a couple of adults advising them is always strange, since they feel like they know everything in the world. Still, you decided to support them a little.
“Listen to him, we haven't gotten lost even once. He's a genius for these things.”
You almost saw Spencer make fun of you when he heard you call him a genius, when just seconds before you were calling him a braggart.
“What if you are lying to us?”
“I'm so sure it's that way that I'll greet you at the exit,” Spencer responded, with a small smile “It's not too far away, but if you want to take that path and it leads you to nothing, you just need to go back to the right one.”
After thinking about it for a while, the group made the best decision and after saying thank you, they began to walk on the side that Spencer had recommended, where you saw them get lost a couple of seconds later.
“Why did you help them?”
"Why don’t do it?" he responded with amusement.
You continued advancing while you held him and when you reached the place that had caused discord, he guided you to the opposite side where the teenagers had gone. Your brow furrowed and you tried to mutter something, but Spencer beat you to it.
“I know this isn’t where we should go,” he pointed out, as if wanting to calm your questions.
"And then?"
“I thought that if we take the right path, we will spend less time together.”
Your heart skipped a little when you heard what he was telling you and you smiled unconsciously, like you always did when you were with him.
You continued to hold his arm carefully and chatted the rest of the way, not even having to worry about where you were going because you knew that in the end he would guide you to the right place.
And you thought, maybe, that was part of the magic of being with Spencer Reid.
taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove @vivian-555 @r-3dlips @rhiannonhippiegirl @taygrls @simp4f1 @sdddoobydoobydoo @taintedstranger @missabsey
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ii. a game of westerosi chess.
pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader
synopsis. the six chess pieces in the king’s game and how your uncle calls checkmate. read the first part here !
warnings. niece!reader, targcest, possessiveness, themes of sexual/romantic ownership, alicent slander (im sorry, i love her, but this is daemon’s pov and we all know that man wakes up every morning and makes the conscious decision to be a hater), daemon being a filthy pervert (affectionate), smut ( masturbation, breeding kink, voyeurism, dacriphilia, virgin kink- if that's even a thing-, implied bi!daemon )
word count. 11.3k
taglist. @nyctophilic0vitnir
hyde’s input. yes, i could have just made them get married after the events in part one. no, that wouldn’t be as fun as watching daemon suffer. i went and fucked myself over a little though because i never realised how much i’d struggle to write from his point of view without the fear of making him too out of character or his behaviour feel, idk, fake? empty? idk what the right word is but yeah. i caught the flu and have had sick-brain the whole time while writing this so who knows if the writing is even comprehensible lmao :)
disclaimer: i’ve never played chess (i'm too dumb for that) so pretend any incorrect comparisons are simply because there’s different rules for chess in westeros <3
when daemon targaryen was five years old, no more than a mischievous little babe who haunted the halls of the red keep, there was no one greater in his eyes than his older brother.
his older brother who bonded with the largest dragon; who snuck wine into his cup when the adults were occupied with their political indiscretions; who stood up for him even in times where he was the culprit.
his older brother who had the longest winning streak in the whole of the red keep when it came to chess.
from maesters to the king, and ladies in waiting down to his own mother, there was not a single person within the castle who could face viserys targaryen in the game of strategic moves and walk away undefeated.
it was an understood fact: viserys targaryen was a master at chess.
one day, after catching his younger brother, moon-eyed and fresh-faced from wondering the dragonpit in search of a dragon to claim, and now spying upon his winnings against a pretty maiden, viserys had called the boy over. with daemon captivated by the sight of the chess board, the older of the two felt the cogs in his brain turning, an idea spawning.
you see, when one becomes the best at something, there is no more challenge. no fun to be found when you’re no longer sat at the edge of your seat wondering if this person will finally be the one to best you. and, so, viserys thought if no one else was good enough to beat him, he’d need to create a worthy opponent.
enter onto the scene, daemon targaryen.
with him being but a child still, viserys began his teaching with what captivated the little boy most: the figures which sat atop the checkered board.
“this, brother, is the pawn. it’s the least worthy piece, but do not let that fool you into thinking it is weak, for anyone may wield power if they work hard enough. a pawn may become a queen, just as a fool may become a lord.”
the rogue prince, now a man of three and thirty, awakes with one thing on his mind: his niece.
he’s always been a restless sleeper, not even in dreams would he escape the havoc of his own head and the inner-workings of it. and, though he’d scarcely recall the images his sleeping mind would conjure, the evidence comes in the state he’d find himself in: sprawled diagonally across the bed, the pillows which had once provided rest for his head now scattered along the floor and the bedsheets- which scratched uncomfortably on his skin, a slick of sweat oozing from his pores and leaving him looking glazed, like a freshly cooked hog at a feast- now a wrinkled tangle around his waist, trapping his legs in the cotton confines.
he spies the familiar lick of sunlight casting through the closed curtains, affirming that dawn has indeed passed and a new day is upon him.
running a hand over his face, a disgruntled sound escapes him, sluggishly moving himself to sit up right, that familiar yet new ache in his back flaring up and begging for release in the form of stretching limbs and extended muscles. age has begun to sneak up on him, grabbing him in it’s clutches and reminding the egotistical man that he is just that: a man, not a god, much to his own displeasure.
the hand departs from his face only to pause midair. a smell, heady and musk infused, reaches his nostrils. it’s dirty and grimey in every way yet enticing him to seek it out again, to sniff out wherever the odour is coming from and bury himself in it till he suffocates.
tentatively, he retraces his movements till his fingers dance over his face once again and realisation kicks him like the hoof of a horse, hard and with a lingering pounding.
only, the pounding comes from his crotch rather than his skull.
the smell is you, in all your dribbling, soaking, honeysuckle glory, stained on his skin like the slaves of volantis are stained with ink.
another inhale floods his senses with the memories from last night, replaying the feel of your bodies pressed together in dance, and your hand squeezing his almost painfully tight as he leads the way to your chambers, and the eager spreading of your legs as he at last satisfies his hunger for you- a hunger which had started sometime after you’d first began to present the figure of a woman, all supple breasts and pouting lips and silhouettes made of dresses that hid from view the naughty parts of you your uncle’s cock ached to see.
the voice in his head, which more often than not drives him to behave erratically, this time is but a whisper, a seduction of craving and curiosity that has him slipping his hand further down, brushing over the fine line of his lips and awaiting entrance as he parts his mouth open, brushing his stained digits over his tongue.
a jolt of heat burns down his spine while the sweet tang of your taste invades his senses. like biting through a lemon, the taste should repel him in every way, flood his soul with shame and leave him disgusted in himself.
instead, he licks his tongue in a silent plea for more.
the thought of never bathing again crosses daemon’s mind, unwilling to wash away the evidence of the peak he’d driven you to with nothing but his fingers. gods help the world when he finally gets his cock in you, for he’s likely to become a deranged, dirty shell of a man too busy getting fill after fill of your pulsing cunny to ever plunder himself into the oil-infused waters of a bath.
you’d be so sweet for him, a little harlet for him to mold and bend and break into every which-way he desires you. and it’s that thought, plus the taste of your dried essence, which has the rogue prince’s cock stirring beneath the tangled sheets.
desire awakens much like a dragon would: slowly and, then, all at once, eyes wide, chest huffing and puffing, and body arising from the ground.
the prince kicks the tangled sheets off, no thought given to whatever corner in the chambers he tosses them towards, eyes and hand and mind too focused on the once flacid organ between his leg growing more solid and red in the tip as the moments pass.
“fuck...” he means to only think it, yet speaks it aloud into the solace of the room as the warmth of his hand makes itself familiar with his cock.
he gives himself a tug, dry hand meeting the movement with resistance yet the layer of skin which conceals his soon-to-be seed soaked slit retracts enough to allow the blushing head of his cock to poke through. while he’d typically prefer to wet it with a whore’s cunt, or slicken it with whatever mindless ointment he could find laying around, daemon finds himself gathering his own saliva and spitting a fat drop of it into the palm of his hand.
the glide of his digits over the organ becomes easier, allowing him to work himself into full-blown hardness, cock taking over the use of his brain and sending him into a state of restless lust, demanding to be fed and satiated with the emptying of his stones, preferably into the warm, pulsating, tight cunt of his little dove.
while the prince does debate his ability to throw on a robe- or, even, roam the halls in his nude glory- and seek out your likely sleeping form, to watch as you startle awake with the breaking of your maidenhead and cry out for your uncle to fill you with his spend till you’re swelling with his bastard, he decides he prefers the thought of making you wait a little longer, see how much he can test the limits of your impatient desires.
after all, a maiden always feels best when her cunt’s as soaked as her crying eyes and her mouth’s spewing plead after plead, begging for his cock.
while one hand works over himself, the other sneaks it’s way back into his mouth, lust bursting into bright colours as he licks over the taste of you, soaking it into his bloodstream and making you part of his genetics- just as he is part of yours.
daemon allows his eyes to slip shut, sinking into sweet fantasies and mental pictures of bouncing tits and blood stained sheets, only to reopen them within an instant at the sound of his chamber door slamming against the solid wall.
“oh my!” a young girl dressed in rags turns her back on him as quickly as she notices his naked form, as if allowing him to compose himself and make himself presentable. “i’m so sorry, my prince! i would have knocked but he said i should simply let myself in!”
daemon makes no attempt to find cover.
“do whatever it is you need to do.” he speaks with a tone far too relaxed for a man who’s still got a grip on his cock. if anything, the raggedness in his breaths comes from his frustrations of losing the flavour of you on his tongue. “don’t stop on my account.”
she hesitates upon facing him again, eyes clearly wandering off from her own commands and glancing down at his exposed crotch more times than he imagines she’s comfortable with. from the look of her, she’s young in age- likely only recently blossomed into a woman- and, at the thought of his being the first cock she’s ever seen, he feels himself grow closer to his peak, a sick and twisted satisfaction buzzing through his veins at the possibility of giving the sweet girl her first sense of visual arousal.
when the shock passes, yet still lingers in her features like a harsh cough irritates the throat, she makes her way fully into the room. in her arms, a tray with a mass of food, enough to feed a lord and his men for several nights. without a word, she lays the assortment out on the large table within his chambers, hands shaking under her own nerves.
meanwhile, daemon slows the flick of his own wrist, teasing his cock with the impending satisfaction. a smile, too faint to be seen yet present enough that he feels the slight stretch of his lips, births itself as he considers who this offering of a feast may be from.
“what’s this about, girl?” he throws the question out into the air, clear amusement in his tone.
“the king, my prince.” just as he expected. “he’s ordered this be sent to you.”
and so it begins, he thinks.
his brother is buttering him up, showing a sign of good-will to have daemon in his good graces when he orders the rogue prince betroths himself to the king’s pretty daughter, her supposed virtue now a pile of crumbled ruins in the eyes of the court. as if he needs convincing to take such a sweet young thing to wife, the perfect little bird made of blonde hair, valyrian blood, sugar-coated cum and the sweetest song of whimpers and pleas.
“then make sure you let my brother know how eager i am to receive his feast.” he can feel himself reaching the edge of his peak, tethering off the edge and seconds away from painting his hand white with wasted seed.
perhaps the serving girl will lick it clean for him.
“of course, my prince.” once finished with the arranging of the feast, the maiden straightens out some wrinkles in her skirt- though it does nothing to clean up her looks- and begins to make her way back toward the entry to his chambers. “the king will be surprised to see you so agreeable, though it will help soothe his unease, my lord.”
“his... unease?” daemon’s movements stop, the air runs dry and the girl visibly stiffens, hand curling around the door handle and clenching it as if it is the only thing giving her support.
clearly, she’s said something she shouldn’t have.
“i must go, my lord.”
“unease over what, girl?”
“you... you don’t know, do you?” she’s beginning to irritate him, speaking in riddles and shaking like a leaf in the winds of winter.
“answer me clearly or i’ll have your tongue.” the girl can not see the way he moves off the bed, nor the way he spies his eyes towards his trusted sword propped against a wall, but she certainly hears the loud thud of his feet meeting the floor, feels the darker shift of energy in the room as the rogue prince makes a threatening advance towards her.
“ser gerold royce, my prince...” he’s near certain she lets out a pathetic whimper, like a wounded doe. “he’s proclaimed himself as lord of runestone.”
the world comes to a stand still as her words flood over him.
while the prince is frozen in his spot, face an empty canvas devoid of emotion, the young girl makes a swift exit, wise enough to not wish to stick around long enough to bare witness to the hot-headed prince’s reaction. the slamming of the door on her way out seems to startle him back into motion, naked limbs striding across the room and grabbing at the door. he twists the handle and gives a harsh tug, strong enough to have the wood smash as it collides against the wall.
the door does not open.
he attempts again, and again, and again, and is met with the same resistance each time. only then does it dawn on him- the feast, the unease- this was never about his brother keeping him in his good graces.
this was about the king keeping him locked away in his chambers.
“next, you’ve got your knight. while still not a very point-worthy piece, this holds power in the way it moves, jumping over pawns like a real knight slices through his enemies with the point of his sword.”
four days pass by slowly within the confines of his chambers.
at first, he rages. pacing the floor till the plush carpeting runs thin, hacking away at hand-crafted furniture his ancestors had sat upon and broken fast at, mouth dropped open in a bellow of impassioned words of all the things he plans to do once he gets his hands on his older brother, most of which start and end with his grip on the king’s neck.
then, he tries rest.
it’s a hopeless attempt, though, as the thoughts are running far too rampant for him to ignore the fact he’s confined within his room, not a clue of what his brother has done in regards to runestone’s rebellion. then come the thoughts of you, his little dove, likely hurt, and confused, and needing your dear uncle’s guidance on how to continue onward, how to outsmart the wretched ladies within your father’s court, how to ensure you do not wind up married off to some boring oaf of a lord, with not a drop of valyrian blood in his veins.
after sleep evades him, and rage consumes him once more, he switches to pleasuring himself, hand squeezed tight around his cock and working over the sex organ till he’s completely spent, his sack drained and nothing but pathetic droplets of seed painting his skin by the eight, ninth, tenth peak he drives himself too, fuelling the fire of his lust with past rendevouz- the pentoshi whore he’d fucked in front of her own husband, the nights he’d spent in the streets of silk in rooms where cups and cunts were shared amongst the crowd, the young knight who’d sought him out after a tourney and cried out as daemon stretched the tight pink hole of his arse- and with future desires- the slapping of his stones against your pearl as he takes you from behind, your pretty eyes struggling back tears the first time he fucks his cock into your silky wet hole, the sick, and nasty, and down-right degenerate want to bend you over the small council table and shoot his seed into your womb for all those wrinkled cunts to bare witness to.
ultimately, it’s the memory of how you taste that sends him spiralling for a tenth time.
the rogue prince is a sexual deviant, that was the very first whisper that had flooded the keep about him. and oh how he’s worn it with pride over the years, a twisted joy found in watching their outrage each time he speaks of crass and acts on sin.
even so, there is only so much he can take until he reaches his limit. and, thus, with his cock feeling like it may fall off if he does not give it some recovery time, the prince returns to raging.
that is how the king finds him, sword in hand and the expensive fabrics that once made up the curtains leading onto a balcony now nothing but tattered rags on the floor.
“i must say, daemon, this takes me back.” viserys’ tone carries amusement, which licks at daemon’s ire and coaxes it back to life, hand gripping the hilt of his sword as the prince reminds himself- despite how infuriating the king may be- that he cares deeply for his older brother. “me entering your chambers and finding you amidst a temper tantrum.”
the prince is quick on his feet, turning on his ankle till he finds himself gazing upon the face of his brother. he’s dressed in his finest robes, a mixture of reds and blacks, yet daemon does not miss the green jewel on one of his fingers. the crown upon viserys’ head reflects the sun, shining offensively in the prince’s face as if to more harshly remind him of the inheritance he’ll never claim, the throne he’ll never sit.
“what is the meaning of this?” daemon bellows and instinctively raises dark sister, the tip of the blade pointed directly at his brother.
the sound of kingsguards drawing their own weapons floods the room yet the raise of viserys’ hand halts them all in their defence, calling his brother’s bluff.
“i had some business to attend to.” the king speaks so casually, as though he’s discussing the recent weather or what he’d eaten for his supper the evening before.
“so you imprison me in my chambers as if i am some ill-behaved child!” daemon means to question him yet his words come out as more of a statement, an acceptance of the matter at hand.
“yes, well, what kind of idiot would i be to let my brother wander free in my castle while i’m grasping at straws to prevent a war?” the room grows more tense with every exchanged word between the two brothers, a feat which doesn’t go unnoticed by the guards who stand by the king nor the maidens who had rushed in after the reopening of daemon’s chambers, scrambling around to tidy the place up. “a war which you started in the first place.”
it irks something in daemon, the way viserys remains level headed whilst he’s pacing the room, and gripping his sword, and releasing his frustrations in bursts of loud voices and disgruntled grunts. condescending in every way, it sends daemon into a headspace where he’s no longer a man-grown and, instead, a tear-stained child being reprimanded by his king and grandsire.
he liked to torture young daemon who, despite his best efforts, was always prone to outbursts of emotion- outbursts the old man liked to meet with calmed expressions and tired words of disappointment, dismissing his grandson to bed.
it seems to be a commonality shared among kings, antagonising daemon.
“a war i started?!” and yet he falls for the trap every time, meeting viserys’ passive with his aggressive, striding those few steps closer till he’s a hair away from touching the king with his blade. still, his brother holds off his guards. “and how do you suppose i done such a thing while being imprisoned!?”
“cool it with the theatrics, brother,” viserys punctuates his exhaustion with an eye roll and gives a single nod of his head, giving the kingsguards the go-ahead to swarm around daemon.
a pair of them, both young in their knighthood and matching in face, grab at the rogue prince’s arms and hold him in a stand-still while another guard plucks the weapon from his hand. daemon shoves against their hold and is met with more resistance.
dark sister is passed among the guards, each hand that touches it being added to a tally of people on daemon’s list of men to disembowel. finally, viserys holds the weapon, examining it like it is the very first time he’s seen it.
“daemon, it brings me no joy to do this,” the king starts up again, eyes meeting the glaring amethysts of his brother. “but with the tensions arising and war creeping over the horizon, i can not afford to risk anything going amiss.”
“get to the point, brother. you’re speaking in rhyme as if you were some bard.”
“very well. from now until i decide you are not a threat to this kingdom, your confinement will be stretched from your chambers to the red keep. you are to carry no weapon and you will step no foot out of this castle.”
“you’re a fool if you think i’ll agree to this.”
“it is an order from your king!” viserys lets the mask slip, intentionally or not, and his irritation shines through like the stars paint themself across the dark sky. “and if that’s not enough to keep you in line, you will also be monitored at all hours of the day, every move you make within these walls will be shadowed by that of a knight of my choosing.”
daemon targaryen considers murdering his brother.
“and i see no man more fit for the job than ser criston cole.”
for the first time in his life, daemon targaryen may just go through with it.
“the bishop may be similar to the knight in it’s point count, yet it moves differently. while a knight can not move three times in the same direction, a bishop must stay within the colour it started in. think of a bishop like a maester: chained to an oath it can never break”
he’d rather be forced to endure a lifetime of self-flagellation than another moment of this conversation.
“it is in your best interest, your grace, to cut this state of anarchy out from it’s roots before any other houses chose to follow in the footsteps of runestone.” the new hand of the king is certainly an improvement from the hightower cunt, daemon can’t deny it. yet a part of him feels the knife of betrayal twist deeper into his back upon realising his brother had not only ignored his own warnings of the green lord till rhaenyra brought them up too, but he’d once again given the role to a random lord in his court rather than his own brother. “we have cause to believe that the dandarrions may be next to follow, given the less than kind words your daughter had for them during her tour for a marriage.”
“then there is the matter with the lannisters and, of course, the never ending tensions with the dornish folk. they’re more weary than ever, since someone,” maester mellos has never been a subtle man, despite all his supposed wits and knowledge, and so it flies over no one’s head when he takes a glance at the rogue prince and his standing guard, the insufferable man who’s made himself daemon’s shadow. “went to war with the triarchy.”
“my apologies for riding you all of that tyrant crabfeeder!” daemon speaks for the first time since he’d been forced to sit at the small council. “i’ll be sure to stand by and allow the next one to rip you all to pieces.”
daemon drowns out the rest of the meeting, uninterested in hearing his brother grovel at ways to keep his subjects at bay, as though they are the ones that rule over him.
gifts of gold for the dandarrion, a knighting for the lannisters’ youngest lords, peace-offerings in the forms of poetic words, and sweetened fruits, and lavish silks for the dornish. each gift more empty than the last.
it’s the mention of your name that brings him back into the room.
“were she here, we could have used her as a bargaining plea for one of these stronger houses,” ser lyman beesbury is the one who speaks and, with each word, the rest of the councilmen grow wider in the eyes and stiffer in their seats.
daemon explains their otherwise odd reactions away with them simply feeling uncomfortable discussing you in his presence, everything changed and nothing the same since sometime between the night he had you pressed against your door and his confinement within the keep.
upon release back into the castle, he’d searched for you first of all, paying no mind to criston cole as the knight struggled to keep up with his rushed footfall, mind too focused on the renewed anger he wished to placate with his cock in your mouth and the further destruction of your purity, all in the name of spiting your father.
when he’d reached your chambers, however, he’d found nothing but a mess of emptied trunks and an unkept bed.
“the princess is not here.” ser criston had spoken between gasps of air, chest heaving beneath the unnecessary layers of chainmail and armor his position forces him to wear.
daemon had demanded an answer for your whereabouts, only to quickly realise the knight was none-the-wiser. it was the new hand, ultimately, that clued him in, over sips of wine and looks of caution from other council-men amid a private feast.
“driftmark, prince daemon.” he’d dabbed at the corners of his mouth with poise and composure, everything about the man seemingly perfected for politics, serving only to irritate the prince further. “the princess has accompanied her older sister and her new husband on their trip to laenor velaryon’s home.”
that was the last daemon had heard of you.
a near moon later and you were still out of reach, likely turning your nose at the smell of salt that coated the walls of the velaryon household and wondering why a certain red-speckled dragon had yet to swoop in on the island, carrying the cause and answer to all your problems upon it’s back.
“dare i say i agree, your grace,” another of the men chimes in, his words barely a whisper at first, glancing nervously toward the king. “perhaps we may write for her return and see to it that a betrothal be made.”
daemon chooses to observe viserys in this moment, eyes trailing over his features and taking note of every wrinkle in his brow, every greyed hair within his unshaven face, every upturn and scorn of his lip. there’s a wave of unease that’s fallen over his brother, and it only grows with every moment that the lords speak of you in the rogue prince’s presence, the air thick with the discussion the two brother’s had yet to have regarding the rumours of your deflowering.
“and, tell me, my lords, what you suggest we tell the princess’ current betrothed?” maester mellos, ever incapable of holding his tongue, barks across the table, deathly unaware of the looks that befall the council nor the tensing of daemon’s shoulders. “the king is trying to avoid war, not further instigate one by implying her current betrothal is not good enough, that house-”
“that’s enough!” the king rises from his chair all at once, slamming his hand down on the table and commanding the attention of everyone in the room, more so when he recoils in pain. all at once, the rumours of his declining health and the effect it’s had on his body feel all too true. “there will be no further discussions of my daughter nor the prospect of a new betrothal. what’s done is done and i will not go back on my word to appease your fear-mongering speculations. we will continue our diplomatic relationship with these houses and ensure they do good to remember who sits the iron throne.”
the men obey like sheep, each bowing their head and mumbling false reconciliations.
one by one, they all take their leave.
first, lyman beesbury, who with pale face and solemn eyes lays apologies at visery’s feet. next, the master of laws and maester mellos, neither of them wasting time with niceties and opting for a mere bow towards their king. when all the chairs lay empty, save for daemon’s and the king, silence runs thick through the room. neither brother moving, each testing their unnamed opponent and awaiting the first blow through the tension to be made.
daemon grows impatient.
“unless corlys velaryon fucked a new son into our lady cousin and had the babe birthed in a matter of days, i do wonder who you’ve betrothed my niece to on driftmark.”
“do you know what your problem is, daemon?” though viserys’ words come out with inquisitory tones, he leaves no space for the prince to answer. “you’re so busy with your own schemes and plans that you fail to see when you’re the one being played.”
daemon feels small.
for a moment, he’s no longer a man grown into a soldier, with a mighty sword and a fearsome dragon. instead, he’s frail and weak, and staring across at his older brother as he beats him once more in the game of knights and checkered spaces, a taunting look on his face as he knocks over the little boy’s king piece and declares himself victor.
when the moment passes, he straightens his posture and rises from his seat, and reminds himself of the words his mother would comfort her crying babe with each time he failed to win, whispers of how there’s always something to be gained in any loss he finds.
he settles with leading his brother further into the trap of rumours him and his niece have conjured up together.
“i hear your new wife is fond of the seven, brother.” the prince reaches to grip the hilt of his sword, only to find an empty space and the reminder that he carries no weapon as of late. “ask her to pray for your daughter, i don’t believe she tasted the bitterness of moon tea after our evening together.”
the king does not call daemon’s bluff.
“this right here? the rook, worth more than the bishop or knight, yet less than the king or queen, it is an allusive piece. play the game wisely and your rook may trap the king, leaving it with nowhere to run.”
with the passing of another moon, daemon plunders deeper into insanity.
he’s always been a man of possession, the kind who owns and conquers and takes. objects, lands, people. they’re all the same in daemon’s chequebook of ownership. and, while living a rather messy and unkept life, he enjoys the pleasantness of having his possessions in his line of sight, like the sword he’s worn at his hip since the old king bestowed it upon him, or the seating he takes at every royal feast, chair angled perfectly to keep his eyes on the brother, nieces, family he possesses.
with dark sister out of reach and his most recent favoured family member out of sight- the pretty niece he’s silently layed his claim on-, destruction is imminent.
no longer does he debate with his own inner-turmoil over if he will go against the king’s orders but, rather, he questions when.
when will he redeem his previous loss against ser criston cole, beat the knight to the ground and steal his weapon as he lays unconscious?
when will he slip through the cracks in the castle walls, making use of the secretive halls built by maegor the cruel himself and slice through any guard who may attempt to get in his way?
when will he take the skies atop his fire-breathing mount, fleeing the city of whispering cunts and chees-playing fools?
the answer to each questions comes back to one thing, one person, one possession he needs to locate first.
you.
the events to follow the council meeting had lead him to several conclusions.
the first, and most obvious one, was that you clearly were not on driftmark, as lord strong had so boldly claimed. the second took him a few sleeps to fully decide upon but, remembering the words spoken of your betrothal among the council men and the apparent greater houses they could have given your hand to, daemon crossed off the possibility of you being in winterfell, the young stark lord likely too prideful to entertain the king’s earlier propositions of marriage after the way you’d left him amid a feast to go and- falsely rumoured- fuck your uncle.
with the dandarrions, the lannisters and the dornish folk already ruled off the list, it left daemon with few options.
his strongest lead is the baratheons, a long-standing connection between the two houses and a recently widowed lord who’s previous wife had gifted nothing but girls from her womb, it took no genius to assume a targaryen bride would serve him well.
daemon will soon find out he's wrong.
there’s an unease that takes over someone’s chambers the moment they notice something has been tampered with, whether it be as silly as a glass moved a few inches across a table or something as significant as a chest of drawers laying open when they’d clearly been left shut.
it tickles the back of the prince’s neck this very evening, skin rising to mimic that of a goose as he trails his eyes over his surroundings.
he’d returned to his chambers later than usual this evening, the day spent cornering council-men and threatening them- daemon had quickly discovered they feared him less with no blade to slice through them and his own personal minder at his back, that ridiculous kingsguard armour reflecting every ray of sun and every burn of candlelight.
daemon had taken to tormenting the poor ser crispin only a matter of days into their forced companionship. he figured that, if he may no longer seek joy in the streets of silk or the bloodshed of his enemies, let him at least take pleasure in the squirming discomfort of a man he loathes entirely.
“my niece,” he’d spoke as the two sat through their usual quiet supper together. “did you enjoy fucking her?”
“i did not fuck princess y/n.”
“well, of course not,” daemon pushed his spoon back and forth, passing time while he thought up his next taunt. “my younger niece has always had the more refined taste out of the two of them. rhaenyra, on the other hand, well she’d fuck a hound if it licked her the right way.”
“all this from a man who preys on his own blood for his sexual deviance. you and i both know what you done to your niece, how you seduced such a-”
“my nieces have always seemed so alike. both pale haired, both sharing the same smile, both wearing the same dresses.” the knight and the prince had long abandoned their food now, discussion heavy with daemon’s accusation of ser criston abandoning his own vows and committing what he can only imagine would be declared treason, deflowering a princess. perhaps soon the two will share something in common. “now i wonder if they feel the same. you must know, so tell me, did rhaenyra’s cunt grip your pathetic cock in a vice that threatened to ruin any other woman for you? or is that a trait only my youngest niece possesses?”
even now, hours into the late night and several more cups of wine drowning in his system, daemon can not bite back a dry laugh as he recalls the astound look upon the knight’s face, a mixture of disgust and discomfort.
he’s seated- more accurately speaking, he’s draped- upon a chaise, muscles tense and mind racing, in need of distraction. most of his nights end like this now, several emptied pitchers of wine along the floor, red staining his mouth and his own figure collapsed over whatever surface he finds first. occasionally, he’d attempt to have his way with a serving girl, ignoring the looks of ser criston as he stands guard outside his chambers and watches the prince enter with his partner for the evening, yet most were dismissed before daemon could satisfy himself, a mixture of his own drunken incontinence and their far too placid natures.
at least the whores of the silk street make him believe they want him.
letting out a groan, he sinks further into the seat, legs bent at the knee and feet planted firmly on the ground as he lets himself lay back fully. he’s contemplating taking rest here for the evening, and weighing the likely-hood of awakening with a new pain in his neck.
it would certainly be a more comfortable sleep than the would he’d taken last night, back slumped against a wall and body sat atop the cool marbled floor.
he makes his choice, limbs too tired to make the few paces to his bed, and resigns himself for the night, twisting once more to find the most comfortable position upon the chaise and closing his eyes.
only to reopen them instantly.
something rustles. that feeling of unease creeps in once again, slow like fog over the horizon, hazy and threatening, and cold in every sense of the word. someone has been in his chambers, is in his chambers, and they’ve left something askew.
his eyes dart over the room, trying to assess every nook and corner and crevice within it in hopes of spotting a pair of spying eyes or unsettled objects. struggling due to all the blind spots his position has created, daemon heaves himself back into the upright position, figure slouched and back curved uncomfortably.
the rustling happens again.
he shoots up from his seat, wondering if his inebriated state has begun to create delusions, or if the psychosis caused by staring at the same red walls of the keep nonstop has finally begun to take over. he must be going mad, he thinks, eyes scanning over the whole of his room as he turns in place, cursing the more he notices nothing out of the ordinary.
until he sees it.
there, placed exactly where his tired limbs had been mere moments ago, lays a note.
it’s folded over and sporting a strange yellow blotch in one of it’s corners while, in the centre, written in the blackest ink so delicately and flowery it near stirs his cock in his breeches, kepus.
he snatches at the paper, near tearing it in two with the speed he unfolds it, eyes racing over every scribble and every swirl of pretty inked words.
the rain is the only thing that brings me comfort these days.
the letter begins and, while the writer has still not identified themselves, the prince is more than certain he knows who is speaking.
i’ve never been a fan of change (i’m sure you recall my horrid tantrums as a child whenever my mother assigned me a new handmaiden), yet never have i faced one so large. where in the capital i spent my days with books and needles and rides upon dragon’s back, here i am told to sit quiet as a mouse, as though i am merely another ornament within the lord’s home. where i once spent nights rolling my eyes and wishing to be excused from public feasts, here i cry and ache for a morsel of socialising outside the lord’s inner circle. where once i slept sound over the small folk screaming and cheering into the late night, here i sit awake by the window and listen to each raindrop.
i am not built for the cold, both in weather and in people. they frighten me here, which is a thing i never thought i’d need admit to. there are no whispers here, only silence. but their eyes, they speak paragraphs of hatred and disdain and ill-intentions with a simple glance. i need not worry if they will eat me alive here, but rather whom will be the one to do so. in the capital i’ve always felt untouchable, first because i was my father’s daughter, a princess of the realm, and, when that began to lose effect, you stepped in and taught me safety can be found in another, with your advice and your combat training and your inability to let me fall asleep without you on my mind.
i’ve developed a sick obsession for you, uncle, and it is entirely your fault.
he’s sunk back onto the chaise, hand gripping the letter tighter as a mixture of worry and anger stirs up in his loins. worry over the tales you tell, anger for the possibility of this being a sick game, a note written by some pathetically bored serving wench aiming to ruffle some feathers.
he decides he must keep reading to uncover the truth.
and so, now, it is with heavy heart that i must admit i’m disappointed. don’t perceive me as foolish, for i am wiser than some maiden who believes the things i feel for you to be love. but i always believed there was understanding between us, two different souls yet so completely immersed and knowing of each other’s drives and needs. even when i was a child, you were always the first to notice once i was too tired to continue with the festivities or when i craved the thrill of sneaking down to the dragonpit to spy upon the great beasts. i thought you’d understand, too, that this is not the life i wishfor: a husband with the personality of a wet piece of parchment and a life of silence and gloom.
i am a dragon, just like my sister, and my father, and our ancestors. and a dragon can not grow in a cage, so why have you let them put me in one? you agreed to help me, to ruin me for any other lord so that my father would have no option to but to wed us, leaving us both to our own devices. you, gaining that valyrian wife you always wanted while not changing your whorish ways, and i, earning the freedom i would not find shackled to some low achieving, overbearing, egotistical man. yet i now have a betrothed who’s hair is brown and who’s house has no dragon.
i will risk writing this only once, for the spiders may not spin their thread here but they still bite, and ask this of you: speak sense into my father. tell him i’m with child, tell him i’m a threat to the realm, tell him i’m plotting my own death. tell him any lie you need to put a stop to this betrothal and bring me home, to where i belong.
or, outsmart him and simply come rescue me yourself, like some knight on his white stallion (caraxes would likely singe my hair off if i ever dared call him such a thing in his presence).
i’ll be awaiting your next move, uncle. be sure you play wisely and don’t lose both your princess and your king.
coldest regards,
your little dove.
p.s. i have cum to learn that, while my fingers are indeed skilled, they are nowhere near as good as yours were, kepus.
the intensity behind the stare he holds the note under may just set it alight.
no longer does he doubt who could have written such a thing, the mentions of your joint ploy to deceive the courtiers and the wording used to describe the connection shared between you both marking the undeniable truth of the letter’s author.
perversion brings him to reread the final sentence, mind fully registering them and flooding him with pink hued paintings of his pretty niece, as nude as the day you were born, now flushed skin and hardened nipples and honey dripping down your thighs as your dainty hands fail to fuck themselves as deeply as his had.
daemon can’t help but wonder what his little dove must think of in moments of self-pleasure, questions of whether you were depraved enough to think of men doing unspeakable things to you or if you merely blush over the memory of your uncle.
reading over the last part two more times, his eyes scatter back up the page- first, in an effort to avoid having to deal with his own impending arousal, and then because he feels compelled to read over the letter once more, eyes scanning over every detail.
it takes an unknown number of reads for him to notice a code among the words, a subtleness of ink layered to appear harsher, darker, more noticeable than the other words upon the parchment.
i’m, where, you, once, were.
i’m where you once were.
an inexplicable sense of pride comes over him, the fact his little dove has found a way to tell him something whilst, simultaneously, telling him nothing. were your worries true of spiders and the risk of one of them reading this letter in the time it took to reach him, he doubts any of them would be wise enough to notice the message, much less decipher it’s meaning.
and, while he applauds your display of wits, he despises his own inability to comprehend it. if you are where he once was, where had he been?
just about everywhere in the seven kingdoms, is the unfortunate truth.
by the time sleep at lasts takes over him, daemon has gained two things: the letter you’ve sent and the unbreakable will to move in on the king at last.
“the objective of chess is to protect your king while attacking your opponent’s. you must back the king into a corner, leave him with no way out, place him in check. only then will you be able to call checkmate and win.”
daemon nudges the knight with his foot.
as they’d sat for supper that evening, the prince had felt doubtful of the contents in the vial. he’d pinched it from the grand maester himself and, though he payed no real coins, the prince would argue he payed a grater price: feigning interest in conversing with old crone. a near three hours he’d sat, listening to the man drone on and on, till at last he’d excused himself to relieve his bladder and left daemon with a window of opportunity, his ointments and medicine all in a neat little display.
having little time, he’d grabbed at what he was sure to be milk of the poppy- a significantly smaller dose remaining within the vial compared to the rest- and tucked it in his trousers, at last excusing himself from the bore of a lifetime.
it wasn’t difficult to slip the liquid into a cup of wine, nor was it particularly hard to convince ser criston to drink from it, inviting the knight to join in on his empty toast towards the hightower queen and yet another pregnancy.
hours later and ser crispin lays slumped over outside his door.
daemon gives one more nudge for safety and, when the man merely slouches even closer to the ground, he grabs at the knight’s weapon and nestles it in his own scabbard, making use of it for the first time in two moons.
the hour is late and most of the keep have given in to the temptations of rest, yet the prince still travels the halls with caution, one eye looking over his shoulder. he half expects every guard he passes to seize him on sight, spewing some nonsense of his wrongful weapon or non-permitted solitude. with luck he reaches his destination, no one to spy upon the way he enters into the emptied library nor to witness as he shoves a bookcase aside and steps into the tunnel.
his memory serves him well, even after all these years, navigating himself through the interconnected secrets of the keep. he passes rooms of lords laid in bed with women they do not call wife, and ladies disrobing for the evening, and the still empty chambers of his little dove, till, at last, he reaches where he wants to be, not bothering with patience before barging his way out of the tunnel and into the regal chambers of the king.
“it took you longer than i expected.” daemon had counted on his brother being the one wearing shock upon his face, yet it is the prince who plays the fool, stepping into the room to find his older brother sat at a table, goblet in hand and a familiar checkered board in front of him.
it irks him to hear the king even imply he’d been expecting his arrival.
“don’t you have a wife to be bedding, brother?” he steps deeper into the chambers with caution, eyes on the empty bed and the lack of sight of his brother’s breeding mare.
“pregnancy, daemon. it works wonders on a woman’s body,” he takes a sip of his drink before reaching to pour a second cup meant for the prince. “it’s just a shame one of those wonders comes in the form of my wife snoring louder than a lion roars.”
it’s strange to hear his brother discuss details of his new bride.
daemon had never sought answers for their marriage, yet he’d forever questioned what had driven his brother to marry such a girl, childhood friend of his eldest daughter and so clearly lacking the backbone needed to stand up for herself against the injustices forced against her by her own father. were the prince a more gentle person at heart, perhaps he’d find it in him to pity her.
instead, he sees her as just another thorn in his brother’s side, waiting for the chance to poison his mind and seat one of her wretched babes upon the throne.
“come, come,” dragging him out of his thoughts is viserys once more, now half-hovering over the table and moving his limbs back and forth, hands carefully placing each piece upon it’s designated checker. “sit down! let us play!”
only as he’s seated across from viserys does he notice he’s been bestowed with playing the blacks on the board. never before was he allowed, the older of the two always insisting black was his lucky colour and refusing to play the whites.
in truth, daemon has always suspected his brother had been to fearful to play white, not knowing how to make a good first move and relying on his opponent to instead kickstart the game and give him places to move his pieces.
“isn’t it a beautiful board?” the elder must confuse his staring as a sign of fascination, gawking at the splendour of it. “it’s the very same one mother gifted me after i bested her for the first time.”
there it is, that familiar lick of envy, a sick and cruel twist in his guts as he stares down at an object viserys gets to remember their parents by, while all daemon ever got was disapproving looks and half-hearted embraces. perhaps the rumours are true and the prince has a complex which forces him to pity himself, to cast a shadow upon his own image and declare that it was a wrong forced upon him by others.
or, more likely, the consequences of watching his parents prop viserys up on a mantelpiece whilst leaving him in a corner to collect dust had lead him down the path to the destructive man he’s become.
even when he’d claimed caraxes, he could only imagine what his father’s reaction would have been, were he still alive to witness it.
impressive, but your brother claimed the greatest dragon to have ever lived, the one who the great conqueror rode upon and forged a throne under the black dread’s flames.
“‘tis exactly the same as any other chess board, brother.” he lets petty feelings spin lies on his tongue, rolling his eyes and disregarding the clear etherealness, the intricate carvings on each piece and the extravagant linings of the board, and each of it’s shimmering onyx and quartz squares.
daemon downs half his cup in one sip, eyes trained on his brother’s first move.
king’s pawn forward two spaces, a strong start and an immediate attack to the centre.
it’s fitting, daemon thinks, for this to be the first move his brother makes while leading a game. while a powerful start, it’s rather obvious, one he’d seen viserys defeat in a manner of mere seconds. perhaps age has taken away his astute mind and skill for the game.
daemon retaliates, moving one of his bishop’s pawns forward two spaces.
with the crease that forms in viserys’ brow, daemon delights. his brother was not expecting him to move in such a way, likely expecting him to do something erratic like bringing his queen’s pawn forward.
the pair continue to move in silence, sips of wine and scratching of pieces echoing around the chambers. it’s deceivingly peaceful, nothing like the confrontation the rogue prince had geared himself up to walk into. while he’d awaited bursts of anger and scathing accusations and marks of betrayal, the two sit like children once more, moving empty objects in an imitation of politics.
the only difference is daemon appears to have the upper hand, a growing collecting of white pieces stored to the right of his long-ago emptied and refilled cup.
as always, it’s daemon who takes the first bite.
“i’m afraid i must pay you your dues, brother.” his words slip through his own smirking lips, satisfaction rolling in by the hundreds as he spies the white king, slowly losing places to hide on the board. “it’s truly applaudable how you managed to not only secure one daughter a marriage amid questions of her virtue, but two! young helaena will follow in her half-sisters’ footsteps, surely.”
viserys’ hand pauses mid-air, his remaining bishop held in his grasp. his grip tightens with each passing second. the older has always been more level-headed, that no one can dispute, but the rogue prince will forever swear up and down, high and low, that it is his brother who carries the more foul temper.
viserys’ anger is just harder to weed out from behind false niceties and calmed breathing.
“if you mean to say that helaena will be so lucky as to marry a noble man, filled with honour,” he lays his bishop down at last, not managing to capture any of daemon’s blacks. “then yes, i should hope so. both the betrothal of my eldest daughter and my middle-born were to good men, faithful lords. my helaena will be lucky to do the same.”
“you never did quite tell me about y/n’s betrothal, brother.” the king chuckles at daemon’s words, empty amusement in the obvious statement the prince makes. still, he makes no attempt to stop him, letting him string the conversation along to the dreaded topic between them: the rumours of what daemon had done to you. “last i spoke with her, she was rather... occupied with something other than the prospect of marriage. when you announced her future union to her, did she drop on her knees and kiss your feet in gratitude? or did she spit at you and-”
“did she drop on her knees for you?” the raise in viserys’ voice is minimal yet enough to have daemon smirking over the rim of his cup, amused to see his brother being led into his trap for once.
he makes his next move on the board fist, plucking his knight and moving it over one of his own pawns. if he plays is cards right, messes with his brother’s head just the right amount, perhaps he won’t notice how he’s moving in on his king.
his only hope is to keep talking about his little dove.
“so that’s what you wish to discuss, brother? how it felt to fuck your young daughter?” for the first time he speaks the lie out loud, no hiding behind innuendos nor insinuations. they need to believe you’ve stolen my virtue, kepus, were the words you’d whispered to him, face still fresh from dried tears and teeth stained purple with the wine he’d let you sip from his glass late into the night as the rest of the world had slept, they need to think that you fucked me. he’d sworn an oath to you, to put on a show and ruin you beneath the judgement of others. he’ll be damned if viserys becomes an exception to this oath. “because i can go into detail, you needn’t beg. i can tell you of how it felt to have her squeeze around my cock, and how she arched that little back like a cat, spine curving deeper each time i pounded into her. i can tell you of how she begged for her uncle, her kepus, to shoot his spend into her aching womb and-”
a screech rings out as viserys’ chair flies backwards, the king rising to a stand and glaring down at his brother, who only sinks deeper into the velvet lined seat and allows himself another sip of his glass, face painted in pure amusement as viserys’ reflects that of an angered dragon.
“enough! i will not have you speak such atrocities about your own niece!”
“oh spear me the lecture of the seven, brother!” the hypocrisy to shun him for lusting after his own kin, it has to be the hightower cunt’s doing. feeding lies into her new husband’s head, any means to have his true-blooded targaryen daughters removed from the line to the throne. daemon at last feels himself begin to irk, a scowl engraving itself into his forehead. “your own beloved, your late wife, shared blood with you and you never once objected to bedding her. it is our family’s birthright to keep the blood of the dragon burning hot, not dampen it with that of lesser folk. i mean our parents, for gods’ sake, they were siblings! are you going to tell me it’s wrong?”
“this is not about you being her uncle, daemon. this is about you being you! and her being my sweet girl, one of the last pieces of aemma-”
daemon can’t help himself, flying out of his own seat with the slam of his hand on the table. the pieces rattle under the impact, the white queen toppling over and sending her pawn flying off the board.
“your sweet girl who you let be slandered by the same lords who break bread at your table and drink from your cups!” the prince stands taller than the king, shoulders straight and head held high as he flips positions, becoming the one staring down upon his older brother, who’s slouched and frailer than he once was, hands searching for the steadying hold of the oak table. “tell me, brother, where were you when she drank herself sick as they spoke on her fertility? what did you do when they mocked her for being scared after an attack on her life, in her own chambers!? did you even ask her what happened between us before you shipped her off like cattle to the slaughter, let her tell you it was she who asked it of me? she detested the thought of marrying some unknown lord so much she’d rather destroy her maidenhood and her honour, but you wouldn’t see that, too blinded by your own downfall into becoming a boot-licker for all these cunts who hold land in your realm.”
viserys can only stare, frozen where he stands and eyes widened in bewilderment at his brother’s own outburst, chest heaving in anger and hands shaking with adrenaline as he points towards the king.
“are you in love with her?”
no more than a whisper, so quiet the rogue prince is almost sure he imagines it.
till the king repeats himself.
"gods, don't be ridiculous!" it’s neither a yes nor a no, and daemon is so painfully aware of this, aware that he gives no real answer to your father nor himself.
the concept of love and all it entails has never appealed to the prince, at least in the way it’s presented in song and written of in history. all his life he’d heard of knights who’s lady love was a gem they sought to hold, to sing songs of faithfulness and dance around with hands entwined by marriage. of men who made themselves better, kinder, more gentle, all in the hopes of pleasing their lover and winning her hand. daemon had never experienced such a feeling.
while love is something most feel in their heart, daemon feels it in his loins.
it’s a hunger that consumes his very being, aching, and growling, and demanding to be fed with bursts of passion and shouts of anger. it’s a possession he needs to take, to mark someone as his, in every sense of the words. his to own, his to touch, his to drown in expensive gifts. his love is not kind, but brutal, and loud, and forceful, never leaving room for the rest of the world to doubt it. it makes him want to march into battle, to burn down cities, to spill the blood of any who dare harm the object of his obsession. his love is a fire that burns him from within, spilling out from his skin and scorching everything in it’s path.
the prince is not sure if he wants you to burn in its flames.
“but i could give her a greater life than any other man in this realm.” what he is certain of is that he will not stand by as your father let’s you be ruined by someone other than him. “a good man means nothing if he can not keep her safe, or even happy. at the very least, wedding her to me would mean her husband is someone familiar. she wouldn’t have to leave her home, or change her ways, or even bare a child if she does not wish to.”
viserys sighs, tired body dropping back into his chair and his mangled hand reaches up to brush over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeeze shut. the prince almost believes he sees a flicker of resignation, winning his brother over at last or exhausting him so deeply he sees no choice but to accept his words as truth, if only to silence him.
instead, the king reaches for the board once more, an airy laugh escaping him as he examines the placement of each piece. leaning over, he sits his queen back up and drums his fingers on the table.
he laughs once more.
"after all these years, daemon, you still struggle to capture my queen."
“but your queen, daemon. the queen is where you hide all your power, look for where your opponent keeps their queen and there you shall find true victory.”
the words of years ago spin round and round in the prince’s head.
his eyes, glued to the board, watch as the king moves his queen out two spaces and captures daemon’s knight, snatching it off the board and tossing it over his shoulder. viserys looks up, awaiting for daemon to continue the match, to put an end to it at last.
but he’s too stuck on the phrasing his brother had used, stubborn in his belief that it’s meaning has little to do with the game upon the table and, rather, the one that’s being played with words and whispers and undisclosed betrothals.
the prince thinks of the queen, the hightower girl who parades around the courts in green silks and upon swollen ankles, face downtrodden each time she foolishly thinks no one is looking. if ever he believed viserys held true affection for her, he’d wonder if she was who the king refers to, if otto hightower had truly been sent back to oldtown empty handed or with a new bride on his arm.
but any fool with a set of eyes can see the king loves his second wife like he loves the iron throne: through duty and obligation.
it is, instead, the late queen aemma who viserys must speak of.
and, while her maiden home, house arryn, where she’d spent her girlhood in the days before she’d been betrothed to her cousin, possesses no lord nor man awaiting a wife, a neighbouring house had just recently named a new wifeless lord.
a house which remembers, especially those who wrong it.
“no…”
i'm where you once where.
“you have to understand, daemon, that the actions you take leave me with consequences to bare. after what happened to lady rhea… after what you done,” his brother, so clearly exhausted with the secrecy and the scheming, folds like a house of cards against a gentle breeze, collapsing further into his seat and shaking his head. he does not notice as daemon moves his own queen along the board. “the vale were at an unease. threatened, was the word they used. so when lord royce staked his claim over his house’s seat, demanding i compensate runestone for the marriage agreement you destroyed and the lady you took from them, i had to give them a show of good faith. i had to reassure them of the longstanding trust between our houses.”
“so you gave her to them, sold her like some slave!”
“i made a political deal!” he attempts to defend himself in both words and on the board. in both, he fails. “one where lord rhoyce gains a bride, i avoid war and my daughter gets to finally take on the duties bestowed upon her at birth.”
“you’re a fucking fool, viserys. you would have been better delivering her to the triarchy. least they would make her death a more swift one. that rhoyce twat’ll have her head on a pike, and her tits and cunt will be hand delivered to you. they’ll slaughter her, as payment for their-” daemon swallows every ill coloured word and expression of his despise that comes to mind at the memory of his bronze bitch, giving no out for his brother to twist this conversation into a matter of his own wrongdoings. “late lady.”
with no more hesitation, the rogue prince moves his queen one last time and delights in watching the white king fall into check.
he knocks the piece over, quietly declaring checkmate.
“brother, please,” the king’s words are as fragile as his health, failing and mute against daemon’s scowling features, which refuse to play nice any longer. “do you think this is what i wanted, for my daughter to be used as a bargaining tool for peace? but there’s no going back, what’s done is done.”
“then undo what is done!”
“how can i when they threaten violence and-”
“you’re the king! who gives a shit what they threaten, they have a dozen men to your thousands. you have dragons! if the threat of fire worked on the men of the vale once, it’ll do so again. so regain your pride and write to that cunt royce. tell him to have your daughter cleaned up and sent back to where she belongs, to find fulfilment in his new lordhood and to drop this notion that he even deserves to gaze upon a targaryen princess, much less stick his shrivelled cock within her. i urge you to send this letter post-haste,” that familiar blade of his sits neatly by the entrance of the chamber, attracting the prince over till he clutches it in his grasp at last, quickly returning dark sister to her rightful spot by his side and discarding the blade he’d stolen from ser criston. he glances back at the king, now risen once more, and twists the doorknob. “and pray, dear brother. pray that it reaches gerold royce before i do.”
with the slam of the door, daemon plunders into the halls of the keep, footsteps heavy and echoing with each one he takes. jaw clenched and hands fisted, he paints the image of a man enraged, sick and fed-up with the games being played.
by the time he reaches his chambers, shoving his way past the sleeping knight at it’s doors, there’s bound to be a flurry of gossiping fools who speak of the prince and his defiling of the king’s commands, but he cares little as he straps himself into leathers and steel, hell-bent on reaching the dragonpit before day breaks and the sun paints the sky alight.
daemon is done sitting idly by, waiting for the king to see reason.
because while at the age of five, naive and easily influenced, daemon targaryen had looked up to his chess-genius of a brother, it was at age five and ten that he realised why his brother kept winning, why pawns and knights and rooks would conveniently move to the places he needed them to be.
he cheated.
#daemon targaryen smut#house of the dragon smut#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen fluff#daemon targaryen fic#daemon targaryen oneshot#daemon targaryen imagine
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moodboard by @chennqingg <3
Rules To Break
Jotun!Prince!Loki Laufeyson x fem!Æsir!Princess!Reader
Summary: Prince Loki of Jotunheim - son of King Laufey and heir to the throne is assigned to train a bunch of Asgardian men, in order to turn them into warriors. What happens when Odin's daughter, Princess Y/N crosses his paths in ways he would've never expected? While the Prince is completely unaware, the Princess struggles to keep up her several masquerades...
Warnings for this Chapter: fluff, bit of suggestive smut... I think that was it! Let me know if I forgot something!
Word Count: 2k
a/n: This is it, guys! The grand finale! 😁 I hope you all like it! ☺️
Divider by the lovely @fictive-sl0th 💚
Tagging: (in the comments!)
Ice Flower Masterlist ❄ Masterlist
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
You would've expected a lot of people to step inside your chambers. Estrid, your father, brother, guards - but you would've never expected to see the tall, bulky and handsome frame of the man who haunted your dreams and occupied your mind on no end - Loki. You couldn't believe your eyes at first, blinking heavily and literally staring holes into him. "L-Loki?" You asked in disbelief; quite shocked. You didn't know how to feel about this. Feeling the urge to yell at him on one side. To tell him to go away and never come back. You wanted to let him know how much you hated him. Spit it right into his face. Though, on the other side, you couldn't deny the way your heart skipped more than just one beat, when you laid your eyes upon him; or when he gave you that smile.
"Hello, princess Y/N." Loki started, taking a bow. "I am sorry for disturbing you and being so rude to just barge in - and I'm certain you wish to know why I am here at all." The moment his deep, yet soft voice urged to your ears, your memory immediately took you back to the lake all those weeks ago. Especially to that one night, where he kissed you. A tingly feeling spread all throughout your belly at that thought. "I-I... Yes." More words weren't able to leave your lips. You were way too overwhelmed by all those feelings and thoughts coursing through your system - and by his sudden appearance.
"Well, first of all, I... I would like to apologise. I am the reason you are trapped inside your chambers. I regret informing your father. I really do, but I-I had no other choice. You must understand this. I had my duties and obligations, unfortunately. So, I beg of you... Please forgive me, my princess." His kind and gentle words touched you. There was, without a doubt, honesty swinging within his voice, telling you that he really meant what he said. This wasn't one of his macho shows, no... That was him, showing you his probably most vulnerable side. You could feel that he was truly sorry, but... Could you forgive him? It was a difficult question, but then you remembered, how you actually lied to him. You didn't tell him who you were. You kissed Loki, without him even knowing that you were the princess. Hence, you almost slept with him. You put on a mask and more or less fooled him. So... Was it fair to be still angry at him, when he wasn't angry at you anymore? Both, you and him made mistakes.
You looked up to meet his ruby eyes, nodding. "I understand you, prince Loki. I forgive you - and I-I hope you can forgive me, too." The prince's lips twitched into a smile; visibly relieved. "I forgave you already a long time ago, Y/N." You couldn't help the blush, which spread over your cheeks; his charming smile causing your heart to skip another beat. But the look in his eyes told you, that this wasn't the only reason why he was here today.
"You, uh... You didn't just come all the way from Jotunheim to apologise, did you?" Loki chuckled, shaking his head. "No, I didn't. You are right," he said, stepping closer. Blinking, you frowned, as the prince reached for your hand and gently - almost cautiously; afraid to make a mistake - took yours into his big one, swallowing it whole. You were confused and yet you felt those butterflies within your belly again, as he touched you; never wanting him to let go, because it felt so good. So right. As if your hand belonged right there. You saw that he was quite a bit nervous - something very unusual for the usually so confident and sassy prince, you thought. You could've sworn you saw his heart beating against his bare chest, as his stunning eyes met yours once more. "Y/N, I... I just couldn't stop thinking about you the past weeks. I tried to occupy my mind; take my thoughts elsewhere, but... I couldn't. I think about you day and night. In fact, I find myself thinking about you even at the most inopportune moments of the day. I was blind at first, didn't know what was going on, but then I realised... I... I love you, Y/N. Ever since those nights we spent together at the lake. I fell in love - hopelessly, and... And for some reason I feel as if a link exists between your heart and mine, and should that link be broken, either by distance or by time, then my heart would cease to beat and I would die."*
His words echoed in your head, repeating themselves over and over again. Loki is in love with you. Loki loves you. He is in love with you. Hearing this, caused your heart to almost beat out of your chest. He loves you. You never anticipated, that he would ever feel the same. That you could be more to him than just an 'adventure'. Another fling. Nothing more. But now... Now he told you that he loved you - and the feeling was mutual. You didn't want to admit to yourself and neither to Estrid, but it was true. You knew that now. You loved him, too.
"I-I really hope that my heart didn't betray me and that you are feeling the sa-" You didn't let Loki finish his sentence. Enough talking, you thought and freed your hand from his gentle grasp, wrapping both your hands around his neck. Standing on your tiptoes, you pulled him down and silenced him with a kiss. The second your lips collided with his, fireworks exploded within you. It felt so good to finally kiss him again. So right. Like home... It felt like home.
Loki sighed into the kiss, relieved. That was all he needed to know, in order to ask you the important question, which was still lingering on his mind. But first, he enjoyed the kiss; unable to resist the urge to pull you closer. So, the prince did just that, wrapping his strong arms around you. "I take that as a yes then." Loki chuckled breathlessly, after letting go of your alluring lips. "You better will." He smiled; couldn't help but to kiss you again. It was more than clear, that you loved the prince truly and wholeheartedly - and yet, there was still nervosity running through his veins, given the fact that he still had to ask you the probably most important question of both, yours and his life. "There's... There's something else, darling..." Loki started, tracing the clothed skin of your hips with his thumbs. You looked at him expectantly; waiting patiently for him to continue to speak. "A question I have to ask you..." "You may ask, my prince. Whatever it is." He took a breath, eyes never leaving yours. "I really hope this isn't too bold to ask, but... Would you like to marry me, princess Y/N?"
You blinked, couldn't quite believe the words which had just left Loki's lips. "M-Marry you?" He nodded. "I know this is quite rushed, but yes. I really wish to marry you." "I-I..." "If you need more time or don't want to marry me, it's completely fine." You shook your head. "N-No! I... I do want to marry you! It's just so... surprising. I'm a bit overwhelmed." Loki's brows furrowed in compassion. "I'm so sorry, my love, for catching you off-guard." You squeezed his shoulders, giving him a soft smile. "It's the best surprise since years. I always wished to marry out of love - not because I had to. I just hope my father agrees to this..." "He does, my princess. I already talked to him; asked for your hand in marriage." Your eyes widened. "Y-You did?" "Yes. We have his blessing - and my father's blessing." A light-hearted giggle left your lips, as you felt happiness flooding your veins. Was this really just happening? Or were you dreaming? "So, we are going to get married?" "We are, darling. I'm never letting you go again. I don't want another prince to have you. It's time for me to make you mine."
"And that's how I met your father." You finished telling the love story of you and Loki to your eight-year-old twins, Áki and Váli. The boys were sitting on the fur, criss-crossed in front of you and the fireplace with wide eyes, hanging on your every word. Of course, you told the story more 'romantically' and left out the juicy, 'dirty' and 'dangerous' details, of course. They weren't meant for children's ears. "Wow..." Váli gasped. "So you are actually a warrior, mommy?" Asked Áki. You chuckled, running your hands through both boy's curls. "If you wish to call it that, yes." "Is that why daddy fell in love with you?" You had to suppress a giggle at your son's sweet, innocent question. "Perhaps, sweetheart, but I'm afraid you have to ask your father." "Ask me what?" You flinched as Loki's voice was suddenly echoing through your chambers. He had been away on royal duty for three days and had just come home.
"Daddy!" Both boys jumped up; excited to see their father again. "Hello, little princes." Loki smiled and squatted down, opening his arms for them to run into - what they did, of course. Your husband lifted them up easily, cradling each son in one arm. "I missed you." "I missed you, too, daddy," Váli whispered, cuddling closer to Loki.
Both boys didn't leave Loki's side from then on; clinging to him. He spent some quality time with his sons, of course, before he sent them to play outside a bit. He had missed his own flesh and blood, without a doubt - but he had also missed you.
"What was it Áki should ask me?" The king asked, wrapping both his arms around you, as you stood in front of the mirror, getting ready for the festive dinner tonight. You smiled at the mention of what you had told the twins. "Well, I was telling them our love story, because they asked me how I met you; being all curious about this and Áki was very enthralled by the fact that I was a 'warrior'. He asked me if you fell in love with me because of that... I told him to ask you." Loki chuckled. "So, you told them our fairytale-like love story?" "I did - but of course I left out certain... details." "Certain details?" "Yes... Certain details, which are not meant for children's ears." Your husband spun you quickly around in his arms; a cheeky smile spreading over his lips. He knew of course exactly what you were talking about.
"I should've devoured you back then." You looked up at Loki, giving him a playful frown. "I beg your pardon, my king?" Another low chuckle left his lips; hands dipping to skim the clothed skin of your hips. "Back at the lake. I should've ravished you. It wouldn't have been wrong, given the fact that I became your husband anyway." A loud giggle rumbled through your chest, causing Loki's heart to skip a beat. Oh how much he loved you. "Good point, my love, but we didn't know that back then. And we both know that we shouldn't have risked it. I did what was right." "I know, my sweetness, I know." "Besides, you didn't even know who I was." Your husband nodded. "That is true, but it wouldn't have mattered. Even if you had just been a maiden, working on a farm, I would've made you my princess. My wife. The mother of my children. My queen, you are the only woman I truly ever wanted. You being the princess of Asgard just played into our cards. Nothing more, nothing less." You wrapped both your arms around his neck, smiling and blushing. "I love you, my king. More than words can say."
* Disclaimer: The last line is actually a quote from Guillermo del Toro's 'Crimson Peak' and therefore isn't my writing. It belongs to Mr. del Toro. ☺️ I just found it very fitting.
#loki x reader#loki laufeyson#loki x female reader#loki x you#tom hiddleston x reader#loki fanfiction#loki x y/n#loki#loki laufeyson x reader#loki fluff#jotun loki x y/n#jotun loki x you#jotun loki x reader#jotun loki#jotunheim
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I'm Right Here
Sebastian Sallow x f!Reader/MC
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: Murder, Guilt, Injury, Depression.
Summary: Just before Sebastian killed his uncle, she was injuried. Now Sebastian has to deal with the guilt of not only the life he took, but the life he almost couldn't save.
A/N: hahahahaha this is pain. But also some fluff.
He shouldn’t be her. He shouldn’t be seeing her take deep breaths, shouldn’t be grasping her hand like a lifeline.
Shouldn’t be watching his best friend lie unconscious in the hospital wing, because it was all his fault.
He’d led her to that blasted place—he knew she would follow. When hadn’t she? He was the one who stole that relic, who let his anger get the best of him. Now she was paying the price.
It had all gone wrong so quickly. He’d barely had time to process the terror on her face when she looked at him, the Inferi pressing in around them, before his uncle came swooping in. And then the fighting had begun.
Solomon had been the first to cast a spell—Sebastian had clung to that fact as an excuse for his actions, but the more he looked back, the flimsier it seemed. She had fought hard alongside Sebastian. Spells flew left and right, and Sebastian relied on pure instinct. Then there’d been a yell—a desperate cry—and she was down on the ground.
And Sebastian Sallow killed his uncle.
The rest was a horrible blur—she’d lost consciousness soon after that. What would she remember, he wondered, when she awoke? Would she recall the horrible look on his face, the flash of sickly green light, the sound of a body falling?
And would that be all she remembered when she looked at him?
But those thoughts didn’t come until later. No, after the fight, after her eyes had closed, despite his pleading, he took her and ran. He brought her to the hospital wing, and prayed to any being that would look past his sins to save her.
She would live, he’d been told soon enough. He didn’t know what he would have done had the news been otherwise.
As he watched her, his throat began to constrict. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He shouldn’t be there, he had to get out.
So he did.
The next several days were a blur. He hadn’t spoken to Ominis at all. It was better that way, he kept telling himself. He had betrayed his oldest friend so completely, there was no chance for forgiveness. Why bother fooling himself? Ominis had warned him time and time again, knowing that the outcome was inevitable. That it only brought pain. Why couldn’t he have listened?
In addition, she was awake and well—it was a relief, but it also meant she could try to talk to him. Key word being try. He avoided her like the plague. They’d only had one full conversation since she’d awoken, and it was when she assured him that she would keep him out of Azkaban. He’d shook like a leaf for hours after that, so completely consumed by his guilt. It wasn’t even a full day until he regretted asking for her help in protecting him. Hadn’t he put her through enough? She should have sent him away. Like Ominis, she had voiced her concerns, tried to stop him.
The nail in the coffin was the letter Anne had left in Feldcroft. He’d spent hours staring at it, numb to the world around him.
He’d betrayed his best friend. He’d failed to save his sister. He’d hurt the girl he loved.
He’d lost everything. And it was all his fault.
He began to ditch classes, spending his time wasting away in hidden parts of the castle. He wished the professors would punish him for his absence, but he hadn’t heard even a whisper of it. Instead, they pitied him, let him mourn the death of his uncle. It just made him crave consequence even more.
There was a point where he stopped his pathetic sobs, where the guilt and regret were so strong he could hardly feel sorrow. The desperate sadness that had gripped him fell way into a cold emptiness inside his chest. He started to ask himself why he was still there, letting the walls of the castle haunt him. How long could he go on like this?
He thought about running, for a brief moment. He seemed to be rather good at that lately. But he couldn’t. Maybe he liked the pain of seeing her—maybe it gave him the tiniest flicker of hope that she could move on.
But over a month after everything had happened, he was still there. And when she stood in front of him in an empty courtyard, expression fierce, he knew he should have ran.
He’d let his guard down. He always tried to keep tabs on where she was, just so he could avoid something exactly like this. But he lost himself in a weak moment and he was about to pay the price.
“I can’t do this,” he told her. His tone was even and cold.
“Sebastian,” she said, voice stern. “I’m not letting you run off this time.”
“I’m not letting you stop me.”
But he didn’t move.
He felt frozen in place, seeing her so close. Had she always had that crease between her brows when she was angry? It was a flurry of emotions standing before her—every part of him contradicted himself. He wanted to cry. Scream. Run. Hold her. But he did nothing.
“You can’t keep avoiding me like this,” she said. “It… it’s driving me mad.” Her voice cracked on that last word.
His eyes darted down to the ground, unable to take the raw expression on her face as the anger slipped away. “It’s better this way.”
She scoffed. “Better for who? You’re wasting away, Sebastian. I can see that. And don’t you dare say it’s for me because you will never understand what seeing you like this does to me.” Her voice shook.
He couldn’t give in. Couldn’t let what she said get past his walls—he fought back. “I don’t need your pity,” he spat.
“It’s not pity and you know it!” she said.
He shook his head. “What else would it be? Why would there be any reason you’d want to have me around, if not to try to rescue me like one of your bloody puffskeins?” He was shaking. His fists clenched in an attempt to hide it.
“I know what you’re doing.” She took a step closer to him. “It’s not going to work. Stop trying to scare me away.”
“Maybe it should,” he growled.
“I don’t care.”
That fire in her eyes—the same fire that made him want to know her in the first place—burned brighter than it ever had. He only saw it clearly for a moment before his eyes started to blur, unshed tears forcing their way up. Her hand reached for his shoulder, but he pulled away, taking a desperate step back. He couldn’t let her in, he couldn’t—
Her arms wrapped around him and he broke down in sobs.
It hurt, letting all of the pain escape through the cries he had contained for so long. His throat felt raw and his head pounded—but it hurt less when he pressed it into her shoulder. He was holding her too tightly, he knew that, but he couldn’t for the life of him let go. Her hands come up to cradle his head against her, and he can’t help but feel like a child as she pet his hair, soft reassurances muttered into his ear.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright,” she said softly. “It’s going to be alright.”
That was a lie and he knew it, but he couldn’t help the way it seemed to soothe his aching heart.
“I’ve ruined everything,” he whispered. “Anne, Ominis, Solomon, you…”
“Not everything,” she said, pulling away just enough to look into his eyes. “I’m right here.”
He shook his head. “And I can’t understand it. I… I almost…. You could have died and it would have been my fault.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he kept going.
“Do you know what that would have done to me? I couldn’t… I don’t think I could—” He took a shuddering breath. “I know it’s horrible of me, but seeing you on the ground is what haunts me the most. But all of this is destroying me. I can’t take back what I’ve done. I can’t undo it, I—”
She shushed him softly, and he realized he’d been losing his breath again. He tried to follow her as she took deep breaths. “You’re right, you can’t undo it,” she said softly. “But we have to keep going.”
“How?” His voice broke. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.
“I… I’m still trying to figure that out myself,” she admitted. “But we can’t do it alone.”
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. “I can’t understand why we’re still here.”
“Because I love you.” She said it so simply. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world—maybe it was. Maybe that’s what it took to go to such lengths for someone.
“I love you, too.”
#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x mc#sebastian x reader#sebastian sallow imagine#sebastian sallow xyou#hogwarts legacy
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The Killing Moon (steve harrington x reader)
AHHhhh i've never written a fic before so i hope its alr 😭
its based off the song The Killing Moon by Echo and the Bunnymen
warnings: Unrequited (????) love, hurt no comfort, angst, kissing, alcohol, parties, swearing and a guy that smells like cabbage (lmk if i missed any) no use of Y/N, reader is described to be wearing a dress but no other description other then that
1.1K words <3
Steve Harrington is a stupid, stupid man. He knew that, really, he did. It was being proven to him time and time again, his own stupidity and poor decisions were being thrown back in his face. His poorest decision to date was not confessing his perennial love for you before you found someone else. It's not like he didn't have a chance to tell you, you're his best friend, you see each other everyday without fail. He'd had an infinite amount of chances but ultimately was too much of a wuss to do anything.
Steve sighed as he grabbed another drink from the makeshift bar that had been set up on Tina's kitchen table and started shoving through the crowds of people to find somewhere quiet to wallow in self pity. The banging music and general cheerful mood of the party was getting too much for him. Unfortunately fate was not on his side, it rarely was. Karma for being such a dick in highschool he supposed as he heard a laugh. A laugh he has heard a thousand times before. A laugh that haunts him. Your laugh.
You were here. With him.
You hadn't seen Steve, not when He was distracting your every sense. You looked….. Ethereal. Too good for this world, far too good for Steve and definitely too good for that guy. Steve didn't even know what you saw in him, you had told Steve about him, raving about how great he was and how you were sure that they'd get along. His name was James or Jake, maybe josh? Steve couldn't remember, it's Jeremy’s own fault really, he should get a better name. Steve watched as Jack-Josh-Jake’s half smirk bewitched you and his hands wandered to the hem of your dress. Steve stood staring, never occurring to him that he probably looked rather creepy, as he cursed whatever higher power there was for letting that smug bastard be born. He just couldn't understand, this guy was barely 6’, had god awful hair and vaguely smelt like cabbage. What was the attraction?
After around two minutes of Steve trying to explode Jason (?) with his mind he spotted the door to the back garden and started to make his way over there whilst vowing to brush up on his telekinesis skills so he could throw that guy through a wall or something.
He sat on a lonely bench on the porch facing the garden, watching the moon as it cast dancing shadows, holding his drink with white knuckles and trying not to let his thoughts linger where they shouldn't.
“Hey stranger”
The sound of your voice made him jump which made you giggle slightly. He would make a fool of himself again and again if it meant that he could hear that noise every time.
“What you doin’ sitting out here all by yourself hmm ?”
you said as you sat down next to him, close enough that he could smell the liquor on your breath and the heat radiating off you.
“Oh nothin’ just .. chillin’”
Steve grimaced at his response
“Well can I just chill with you? ”
You chuckle while nudging his shoulder slightly.
Steve looked you in the eyes for the first time that night and gave a small nod. He didn't trust himself not to say something absolutely insane like how he was so in love with you that the smell of your perfume was more intoxicating than the beer he had been half heartedly sipping on or that the feeling of your arm against him was occupying so many of his thoughts that he probably couldn't even tell you where he was right now or how-
“Stevie, can I ask you something ?”
Stevie, oh god you could ask him for his arm and he would saw it off and present it to you without hesitation.
“Yeah whats- whats up ?”
“I don't know, it's probably stupid, I'm just worried about you, y’know? you've been acting… different?”
“You're worried about me?”
“Steve, I’m always worried about you”
Steve couldn't fight off the grin that erupted on his face. His entire body felt hot at your confession. He was pathetic.
“Why are you smiling Steve, I'm serious, is something going on?”
It was his chance, probably his last one. He was going to do it, tell you he loved you and wanted to date you and have children and get married, well probably not all that, he might come off a bit intense. You sat looking at him expectantly as he turned to face you. The words died on his tongue as he realised how close together the two of you were.
“I-” Steve started “ I just wanted to tell you-” he couldn't finish the sentence.
“Tell me what, steve ple-”
He cut you off as he cupped your cheek and kissed you.
A surprised sound left your mouth before you slowly close your eyes and sunk into his lips.
Your kiss was cruel, cruel as he knew he would spend the rest of his life trying to find some semblance of it and would fail to. Cruel in the way your lips fit so perfectly with his, flawlessly moulding together and cruel in the way that he knew that there was no coming back from this. He was absolutely fucked. He was kissing his best friend, his best friend who was the one person he could not lose, his best friend who belonged to someone else.
Maybe it was fate ,he thought, maybe he was meant to be sat out here and you were meant to find him and this was meant to happen, or maybe it was the sheer might of human will and his lack of self control or maybe it was cheap beer and hormones. Whatever it was he was glad of it.
Slowly, you pull away, your forehead resting against his, eyes closed and expression unreadable.
Steve had never felt so content, he was in such a state of bliss that it was a rather rude awakening then the patio door banged open shattering the delicate bubble that surrounded you both.
You jumped up at the noise, whipping around toward the door.
“babe, i've been lookin’ for you”
His speech was slurred as he sauntered towards you. Steve thought Jackson’s face had never looked so punchable.
You walked towards the unwelcome intruder and grabbed his arm, giving him a small smile as you dragged him back inside, not sparing Steve a glance.
Steve felt his heart crack and dread fill his stomach. This was it, you would never speak to him again, he would become a drunken mistake, a mere annotation in your story. His own thoughts devastated him as he looked back up at the sky, the blue moon looking back down at him. The only thing that comforted him now was the knowledge that he was yours, unabashedly and perpetually, his heart lay with you and it was yours to keep. Steve just hoped you would be a little more careful with it from now on.
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington#steve harrington smut#stranger things#steve x reader#steve harrington x you#unrequited love#angst#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington imagine
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i was so excited to listen to glass animal's new song 'creatures in heaven' today and instead my heart has been ripped out because it's so awfully painfully fitting for our mota boys (i'm currently making an angsty heartache–y edit to it lol whoops) BUCKLE UP because i need to yell (and keep scrolling if lyric analysis/song fics aren't your thing <3)
also tumblr keeps screwing with the formatting ignore that pls lol
What do you think about when you think about love?
I'm dumbstruck when you're tender, but
It's three in the morning, be in the moment
It tears through my head, does it haunt you too?
i mean, the imagery. pillow talk, sneaking off base before dawn, vulnerability and raw honesty laying side by side in a field, looking up at the stars and wondering which ones are the people they've lost looking down at them, every peaceful, happy moment laced with the knowledge that so many friends will never get to have another one.
You held me like my mother made me just for you
You held me so close that I broke in two
fuck my life. dave bayley count your days. these lines are just so viscerally painful and stunning? john feeling like every core of his being was made to fit gale, like puzzle pieces slotting together, the gaps in his life filled the moment gale enters his orbit. both of them never having experienced being treated so gently and with so much reverence, feeling taken apart and put back together in each other's arms.
You pass through my head, does it haunt you too?
Never really said that I loved you, too
heavy on the angst here because this reads like post–war john pov, filled with regrets but plastering on a smile as he watches gale marry someone who isn't him, aching to tell him how he feels but knowing it will only make a mess of things. and more than anything, he wants gale to be happy, and if that means staying quiet and loving him at arm's length, he can do that. but late at night he can't help but wonder if gale ever thinks about what could've been, if all the moments they shared haunt him too.
Lucky, lucky you, 'cause I'm fortune's fool
Such small words but they hit so huge
this reminded me of gale's father and his gambling and how despite everything he falls in love with john, a gambling man. such small words (don't count on it) but they mean everything :(
I don't think I realize
Just how much I miss you sometimes
We were young and so in love
this hurts on SO MANY LEVELS. i immediately read this as curtbucky– john never gets time to grieve, everyone just has to keep trucking on. but sometimes late at night it hits him so hard he feels like he's drowning, realizing how empty of a space curt's left, how much he truly loved him, the first person to make him feel that way.
but also can be read as buckbucky, both of them properly feeling the emptiness of not being by each other's sides for the first time before they reunite at the stalag, maybe both having a feelings–realization moment when they're hit with how wrong everything feels when they're apart.
or, post–war, john aching for gale and wishing on everything that he can just fall out of love. he knew that it would be hard, going back home and going their separate ways, even with the promise to stay in contact, but it's so much harder than he ever could have imagined.
Three in the morning, safe inside
Bury me here in your laundry pile
ouch ouch ouch. a few images: john seeking out one of gale's worn shirts after his plane goes down, falling asleep with it pressed to his chest in his bed. or john stealing one of gale's shirts before they all go back home post–war, shoving it to the bottom of his suitcase, sleeping with it every night despite the way his stomach turns, feeling hollowed out as the smell of him slowly fades away. or, john staying at gale and marge's house for the wedding, having a breakdown the night after, finding himself on the floor of their laundry room at three am, curling up in a pile of dirty laundry just to feel close to gale one last time before he goes home in the morning.
I don't see the point in a subtle romance
Ten tonne heartache sitting on your back
john is so all or nothing with love; when he's in, he's in, barrelling full speed ahead, giving it all up for his person. maybe the secrecy when they first start seeing each other is okay at first, little midnight rendezvous, but he craves more, he wants a future with gale so badly, he wants a house and a wedding and kids and a dog and sitting side by side on a porch at eighty years old. but he knows that gale is giving him all that he can right now, and it's better than nothing, so even though he wants so much more, he'll settle.
Scared of the crack where the light comes through
I'm only really me when I'm here with you
ughhh both of them being so scared to be really seen by someone that it's terrifying how quickly they grow close. that nauseating feeling you get right after opening up to someone for the first time, the feeling of holding your breath waiting for rejection– but it never comes. they accept each other with open arms and patience and unconditional love and they show each other what it's like to be able to be so fully unapologetically real with someone for the first time. a shell of themselves when they aren't together, like they're missing one half, and it's so obvious that everyone around can see it. they share the same name for a reason.
And it gets into your head like a cosmic zoom
Coat on the door like an old space suit
So long cowboy, you're so cool
Cash in hand with a memory of you
okay, ngl this just made me think of john ditching his coat that gale hates– even in the heat of going up on a mission, it's still in his head, enough to go through the motion of swapping it out. so long cowboy just sounds like something sweet he and curt would've said to each other honestly; thinking about john saying it again when he looks up at the stars the night he finds out curt didn't make it.
cash in hand with a memory of you? come onnn it's literally the lucky deuce. may as well have just slapped that bit of the song behind the scene of gale going through his belongings when he makes it back to base, picking up the cash and thinking about his man. </3
–anyway! apologies for the word–vomit, sometimes i just get a song wedged into the front of my skull and i am paralyzed from doing anything else until i get my thoughts out about it. and it's truly such a gorgeous song, 10/10 recommend if you feel like crying, been listening to these guys for a decade now and they never disappoint.
literally gonna agonize over making an edit for this for hours to get the vision just right and would not be surprised if i end up writing a oneshot inspired by it lol i adore every song they've put out but this one just gripped me so strongly the moment i pulled up the lyrics with how perfectly it slotted into the mota–verse. <33
#i don't even know how to tag this#curtbucky and buckbucky pain ig lol#johnslittlespoon brainrot#this is so funny literally no one cares i just needed to get this out of my system#thank you and fuck you glass animals for another stunning song#also i was looking at the album tracklist and one of the songs is called 'how i learned to love the bomb' watch that give me brainrot too#july nineteenth will be my last day on this earth methinks#johnslittlespoon musicrot
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Okay my Silvio suggestion is "what is it going to take for you to talk to me" but I honestly just constantly want more Silvio on my dash 😌
Bastard
Silvio/Reader [His POV]
Angst
WC: 500-600~
A/N: This was longer.. but it's already past the limit I sent so I hope this is still good. And another first for me, writing in his POV too. :3
Silence. Zero eye contact. The cold shoulder.
I kept looking at you from the corner of my eye during the whole damn carriage ride.
Tch, it was driving me up the fucking wall. I had spent the whole day doing everything possible to make ya happy. Shit was confusing; other women would be wagging their tails endlessly and drooling to be given and even do half of all we did today. So why were you so damn annoying and different about it?
And why did I kind of like that about ya?
Fine, whatever, be difficult. You won't see me crack.
At least, that's what I initially thought... damn it. My sneaky stare found its way away from you and out the window by my side, and a sudden achin' feeling clutched at my heart. I started to get consumed in my thoughts, glaring at my own reflection.
I always knew I could be an abrasive asshole. It wasn't completely my fault. Fight or flight became the air I breathe to survive. If words couldn't do it then money could. If I wanted anything I desired, I got it. One way or another. People, or should I say royalty, were money hungry dogs; greed pulsed through the veins. If you showed an ounce of emotion or weakness, you'd be broken down and stripped bare for the world to see.
But not me, I wouldn't allow it. It's happened too many times to count and I'd be a fool to ever allow it to happen again. Even if I had status, I didn't know love. I wasn't given it, I wasn't shown it, I haven't felt it. So once I treated you like I had everyone else, you weren't receptive. Why were YOU different? Why was it when you were near, it felt easier to breathe, my throat didn't feel tight and my heart felt lighter. I had to keep you near, I had to learn more, I had to get you to want me and me only - but instead of gettin' you on my good side, I pushed you away. You weren't going to see me tick. But you wasn't beggin' for my attention either.
I sighed to myself. I wasn't completely heartless. I should say something before you completely hate me.
"Hey, what's it gonna take for ya to talk to me, huh?" I tried a soft approach, "I was just jokin'." Maybe I could salvage this somehow, I'd prefer if you sassed me off instead of completely blow me off. I started to actually feel a little on edge, so I reached for your hair to ruffle it. But you catch me by surprise the next second.
"Stop the carriage!"
I nearly face plant into the chair next to you, catching myself last minute and as I recovered, I caught sight of the last thing I wanted to see. Ah shit, I really fucked up this time, didn't I? Rio was awaiting for you with his hand, and your gaze bore a hole through my head with anger. A look I've seen all too many times before. This memory stayed with me, however. "I really wanted to believe in you, Prince Silvio. I really did. But you're nothing but an arrogant bastard who can't read a room. Or maybe just doesn't care to. The world doesn't revolve around you. I hate you. Grow up."
What you said was nothing new. I've heard it so many times, shit like that never bothered me anymore. So.. why has it been weeks since I've seen you? Since I've heard you say those words to me - they haunted me. Someone I started to feel an inkling of something for, someone who wanted to believe in me; and I completely screwed it up and don't even understand how I managed that. She chose my mutt of a brother over me but if I'm being honest with myself.. she made the right choice.
After all, everyone leaves me. Who'd choose to be with a bastard like me?
taglist; @nightghoul381, @yvelk, @celiciaa, @drachonia, @alvieeru, @aquagirl1978, @here-for-gilbert, @widowbunny, @exhausted-courtroom-mom, @randonauticrap
#silvio#silvio ricci#ikepri silvio#ikemen prince silvio#ikemen prince#ikepri#mini drabble event.#asks.#fics.#my fics.#ikemen prince fanfic#honestly not my best work i dont think#i had to pause and start this so many times today
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5 years earlier
Last night was fun, probably a little too much fun. Marie Moreau might be a grade grubbing, social climbing pain in the ass (pot meet kettle, they know), but she sure can dance, not to mention kiss. And she’s the sort of pretty that knocks them on their ass every time. Dancing with her at the club wasn’t the plan, the plan was to glare at her from across the floor while silently resenting Luke for inviting her along, but after a few too many drinks, and lines of coke and a shot of Molly for good measure, something weird happened.
Breathy and glistening from a straight half hour of sexy dancing with Cate, Marie came up to them, similarly loosy goosy from various substances that only Supes could safely metabolize. And she took their hand, her stacked silver rings clicking against theirs.
“Come on, do something spontaneous for once in your life, dance with the girl you hate.”
“I don’t hate you,” they said.
“Could have fooled me.” She said as she led them up from their chair and to the thumping, strobe lit heart of the club. She didn’t take no for an answer, but also, it wasn't certain that they actually said no in the first place.
The DJ was playing Capsize, a song they liked a lot more without the dancehall bells and whistles, and yet, in the moment, it wasn’t so hard to be carried by it.They were hypnotized by the sounds and the constant motion around them, and by the girl in their arms oscillating like troubled water.
Up at night I'm awake cause it haunts me/That I never got to say what I wanted/Oh my God, oh my God/I’m not the same as I was with you/I would jump out my skin just to get you/Oh my God, oh my God
Her voice rose above the music, “You know, it makes me mad sometimes, how handsome you are.”
“Excuse me?”
“I only mean because you’re such a dick.”
And they didn’t really know why, probably because they were both obliterated at the time, but Jordan laughed, a genuine, almost sweet laugh, because it wasn’t everyday someone called them a dick and it sounded like a term of endearment. Also, it wasn’t lost on them that handsome was another word she used. Being called handsome chafed sometimes, it only fit part of their story. But it was also the only part they chose to share with her, or anyone for that matter.
Jordan wasn’t much for dancing, on the occasions someone convinced them to get up and move to blaring EDM, they relied on guarded, understated moves, a head bop here, a shoulder sway there. But her closeness, and her scent and her big brown eyes looking right into theirs as her wrists rested against their neck, made them want to lose themselves in the machine beat, let their hips and their hands move more than a conservative amount.
I'm fine/Drop tears in the morning/Give in to the lonely/Here it comes with no warning/Capsize, I'm first in the water/Too close to the bottom/I'm right back where I started/Said I'm fine
“I don’t hate you either,” she leaned in to say into their ear. And before she could pull back, Jordan’s lips landed on hers, almost as if by accident, like they had a thought and acted on it before their common sense could catch up. They’d blame it on the drugs, they’d pretend in the morning that it meant nothing, because a kiss didn’t matter much at the end of the day, not even one as good as that.
Something about the way she opened her mouth along with theirs made Jordan’s head float away, swallowed by the music and the feel of her soft curves under their hands, and before they knew what was happening they were sucking the space beneath her ear like a horny vampire, they were calling an uber, they were backing her into her her dorm room and untying the little laces on her top, they were laying her down on the blankets.
It was more than a fun night, it may have been the best night. But it’s over now, time to get up, get dressed, drink a full gallon of water and drag their ass to class…
…except this isn’t their dorm room, because when they peel their eyes open Marie is looking down at them, her preternaturally expressive face skewed in unmistakable confusion. They’re still in her room, and the Jordan she brought here is noticeably different from the Jordan she’s looking at right now.
Shit shit fuck. This is why they don’t fall asleep with people.
They launch up from the bed, wrapping the sheet around their chest, they would switch back but they aren’t sure if the fact that they can turn from a boy to a girl is more comforting than the possibility that a random woman sneaked into her room in the middle of the night.
“Jordan slow down, just tell me what’s going on. Is this not the first time this has happened?”
She knows it’s them, maybe she saw them change while they were sleeping, maybe it’s because their jewelry is the same, or maybe she can sense it with her sweet ass powers, but she knows. Why are they still here? Why isn’t she freaking the fuck out and ordering them to leave right now? Sure she’s a supe, she knows that weirder things than this have happened, but as far as they know she’s never woken up next to those weirder things.
“I don’t know what happened, I’m never this careless. And I mean never.”
“Jordan, hey, come here, sit down.”
After a few moments of hesitation, they obey. They aren’t really sure what else to do, they can’t exactly pretend this never happened, it’s not like they won’t see her in class in a few hours.
“So you mean this is just something you can do whenever you want?” She asks.
They shrug a shoulder in response, “Yeah, pretty much.”
“That’s fucking rad, why don’t you tell people?” It’s not the response they were expecting, and yet somehow, it is. After all, she knows exactly what it’s like to have an ability that people don’t understand.
“I want to be in The Seven,” Jordan explains. “I want that more than anything and no matter how much they try to act like the greatest superheroes are all special and different, the less special and different they are, the better.”
Of course that’s what they tell themselves, and it’s mostly the truth. But that wasn’t exactly how all of this self doubt started. It started the night of the robbery. Marie doesn’t need to hear all of that though.
“But–
“Listen, this doesn’t have to be anything okay?” They say, and switch back before they can get too used to this. “We both got pretty trashed last night and some stuff happened. We don’t need to talk about our secrets and our feelings. It’s cool.”
She looks almost hurt, and Jordan wants to say something else to make that look go away, but they can’t. This is for the best.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she says, and Jordan stands up to leave, holding the sheet in place, gathering up their clothes and thinking this is the end of whatever the hell this is.
But it isn’t the end, because they won’t be able to stop thinking about her. And a week from now they’ll be back in this room, kissing her on the bed, touching her, letting her touch them. And there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. Their fate was sealed on that dance floor.
~From How To Be Liars In Love ch. 6
#limoreau#jordan li#marie moreau#gen v#this is the first time i posted the excerpt before updating but only because i thought it read like a oneshot
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Idk abt pained but that anon's right!! There's just something about the way you draw kaito's smiles that feels like running headfirst into a brick wall - it's great!!
On that note though - I'm absolutely obsessed with the bit "he’s got an expression of scrunched-nose focus on his face that looks, for some reason, incorrect—like it’s not how his face actually looks when he’s concentrating, but the emotion underneath is the same. A mask of a feeling to obscure the same feeling, entirely purposeless"
because like! YES! That's EXACTLY it!! Kaito LOOKS like he's super expressive, emoting with his whole face and body, and then you just - get punched in the face when you realise, OH, he feels like neither him nor anyone could ever get out of the shadow his dad casts, OH, he DOES remember the clock tower meeting, this whole ringmarole was to save it, OH, he was trying to get Aoko to act more natural, OH, he was playing the fool at billiards (I GENUINELY doubted for a moment whether he Actually sucked at billiards or just cheated for the poetic justice)
It's a bit sad, to be honest, that Kaito can never put his masks down no matter what face he's wearing - even if it is his own. He said he's a fan of Lupin but imho he'd do well to reread the first book - there is a line there about disguises and ceasing to know yourself Kaito would do well to remember, bc I very much he's taking the time to rest, eat and become himself again between disguise and disguise.
THANK YOU!!! genuinely that’s such a huge compliment ajfjdhd
THANK YOU! AGAIN!! AND YES YES OKAY—I was going to say I have an essay on this, but I think ditto IS my essay, lol
BUT IM GONNA TALK ABOUT IT MORE ANYWAY!!! I won’t get into all of it now but Gosh I think so much about expressions. kaito appears to be an extremely expressive character, and it’s not that he Isn’t, but more that it’s Very intentional, like you’re saying—he’s a magician, he lives for misdirection, he’s always misdirecting and deflecting and reflecting.
moments like these Haunt Me!! he’s very clearly Being Kaito, enough that everyone around him believes him, but he’s also just… totally lying, in every single image. I really really want to capture the energy of these panels in writing and art, lol
LIKE. how good of an acting job did he do here that he managed to convince aoko that he didn’t want to see a magic show. lol.
THE POOL CHAPTER I think about that all the time. what an establishing moment for kaito. first of all because of what it reveals about how he is
(thank you toichi)
and second of all because I was also!!! bamboozled!!
the way he is portrayed when he starts winning in this chapter is Very interesting, because I feel like it comes across as kaito more,,, like,,, settling into the role. he’s not really actively trying to do anything, he’s following what he most naturally wants to do, which is somewhere between “be silly so that people don’t look too closely” and “I’d really like to see the people around me laugh and be happy.” once he starts being able to Perform, he succeeds. and yet we as the audience are still left doubting what really happened!!! kaito misdirects the audience just as much as any of the mk characters!
oooo I really need to read the arsene lupin books. but like YEAH! EXACTLY! kaito never really made space for himself to Not be acting. the closest he gets is with Jii, and maybe his mom. relevant to my OTHER ramble about how, in deciding to become kid, kaito ended up creating a character out of himself, a character that he Has To Be most of the time. and it’s WILD, because it’s a version of himself that’s fundamentally missing a lot of who he is, but nothing that anyone would actually know to miss.
#“kuroba kaito” just as much of a character as “kaitou kid” in the sense that kaito is both of them but neither are fully him#and yet he is always playing one or the other.#in this ESSAY I WILL!!!#ditto posting#im writing chapter 3 rn actually#dc#mk#schrasks
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I've been wanting to tell you this since yesterday afternoon.... 👌 I beg Tumblr doesn't eat my ask but, listen Dr. Stephen Strange, not the super sorcerer! , Just stephen with Taylor's song. You're losing me. He being a doctor and not noticing her heart is not beating the same for him
Hey! Your ask thankfully didn't get eaten! So, I'm not much of a Swiftie (plz don't eat me) but I did my best to incorporate the essence of the song into this story and it's written mostly from Stephen's pov. There's a lot of angst involved and little to no comfort.
One Half of a Broken Heart
Stephen comes to the realization that your feelings don't run as deep as his so he learns to cope and become a better person for himself.
All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, repost, copy, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03) Graphic by @firefly-graphics Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
We thought a cure would come through in time, now, I fear it won't
Remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light
Now, I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time
******
The letter in his hands burns, evaporating in a plume of smoke and cinders. However hard he tried, the words on the page are seared into his skull, forever imprinted on his heart. How he wishes he could forget but there’s not a chance. He should have known this would happen, perhaps could have predicted it, but not so soon.
Looking back, he hasn't felt a pain in his chest surfacing this bad in many years. Perhaps he never should have struck up that conversation with you at the party at Karmar Taj Wong drug him to countless times, yet the conversations you had about your studies fascinated him, your willingness to put up with Wong and his antics as you calmly explained to him he reshelved the books incorrectly.
“He’s not so bad,” you told him as you sipped on your drink. “He starts to grow on you after a while.”
“Tell me about it,” Stephen huffed in response, a smile had begun to form. When was the last time he smiled? He couldn’t recall. You intrigued him, fascinated him became his rock and now this was all you left him?
Let me go, Stephen, I’m not what you’re looking for. We were never more than what happened last summer. I’m sorry it had to be this way. Remember me fondly as you can. Don’t worry about me, I’ll take care of myself. I wish you nothing but the best. You know I bled countless times for you, you need to let me go. I’m sorry it had to be this way. xxx.
But your shadow remained, haunting him bit by bit, even as he stared into the fireplace, watching the letter burn. Would he regret doing so?
You are nothing but a memory in his mind now, perhaps one of the better ones. He was a fool to think he could be enough for you. Yet, you rescued him in his darkest time, the unrequited love tugging him to you as a source of comfort. As with life people came and went.
Maybe the universe had bigger plans for him and he sighed, Cloaky settling on his shoulders with a flick of his finger. Cloaky still smelled faintly like you, almost an agonizing goodbye that you truly weren’t there with him anymore.
Cloaky’s collar reached up, caressing his cheek for a semblance of comfort, but only then did he realize the quiet tears slipping from his eyes. He slipped further and further, his heart burning at the realization crashing back to him. Was he so alone? For now, but he had Wong and a universe to care after.
He took a few breaths, gripping the sides of his armchair to steady himself as he gazed into the fireplace, the hot flames licking his cheek. He can’t find the strength to move.
How could he? You mattered so much to him and now in this time of sorrow, he knew it was a losing game all alone. You made your choice, he made his to love you from afar even if you didn’t choose him. You left your imprint on his heart and there he would carry you.
He thought he knew what he had until it was gone, yet with you it’s different. You mattered and he had taken everything for granted, your kindness, your forgiveness, your friendship.
The tears fell harder this time, throat stuck in a silent scream as he flung himself on his bed, curling up into a ball, letting the emotions fall. It hurt how he knew he wasn’t enough for you, giving you what you needed, but he could pull himself out of this mess, there was still hope for him. Now, it didn’t feel like it at the moment, but he wouldn't give up.
That’s the trap of falling for someone who doesn't feel the same watching them walk away or leave, carrying a shattered bit of your heart you can’t replace.
It was too late for him to say anything, but under the tears, under the comfort of Cloaky, he regained his strength day by day, week by week, even when he saw glimpses of you next to him, felt you whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
He knew it was nothing but a figment of his mind, some shattered piece of you following him, his guardian angel a reminder of what he lost encouraging him to find his future. For his heart didn’t beat for you any longer.
******
Stop, you're losing me
I can't find a pulse, my heart won't start anymore
******
#selcouthangel#stephen strange x reader#doctor strange x reader#stephen strange x female reader#doctor strange x female reader#doctor strange fanfiction#stephen strange fanfiction#stephen strange#doctor strange#benedict cumberbatch#mcu fanfiction#writing request
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⠀ㅤᓭི༏ᓯྀㅤ ㅤㅤ𓂂⠀𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 ! — 𝗓𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗈 « 𝟣.𝟤𝗄 »
★ ! 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 · everything between you two was wrong. as much as you two try to pretend that everything was OK it wasn’t. you could dance all night long, but it wouldn’t help you to fix the problem you had.
★ ! 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 · zhang hao x reader
★ ! 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 · angst, some fluff
I don't want a friend…….just someone to give me that feeling. That feeling of being wanted. I want my life in two.
The dark filled the room……..waiting to get there. Waiting for you. A hand gripped yours. Fingers caressed your hand and your arm, you felt his warmth on your bare skin. His fingers sliding up your arm and then you felt his fingertips on your collarbone, the warmth of his palm on your cheek.
When I'm around slow dancing in the dark, middle of the night. You've been on my mind, you've been on my mind.
He pulled you into him. Your bodies pressed against each other, the feeling of his hard chest. He put his lips on yours and you melted. Don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms.
"I have no regrets."
"Not even me?"
"You're my greatest regret, and my greatest love."
His hand ran down your back, pulling you tighter. His other hand held the side of your neck, his thumb running across your jaw.
"This will be the last time I ask. Will you stay?"
"I'm scared."
"You can leave at any time. I will not stop you."
"Why not?"
You done made up your mind……..I don't need no more signs. Can you? Can you?! Can you see? See the way we shine?
Give me reason to believe that it's not over.
You took me by the hand and led me through the dark room. Your body swaying with mine, our eyes locked on each other. You pulled me close, our faces so close I could feel your breath.
As the music filled the room with its haunting melody, you found yourselves drawn to each other, moving in sync as if guided by an invisible force. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining as you swayed gently to the rhythm.
With every step, every turn, you felt a deeper connection forming between you, transcending words and doubts. His touch was reassuring, grounding you in the moment as you lost yourselves in the dance.
The soft glow of candlelight illuminated your intertwined figures, casting flickering shadows against the walls. In that moment, there was no past, no future, only the present shared between two souls entwined in a dance of longing and desire.
As the music reached its crescendo, he pulled you closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.
Give me reasons we should be complete. You should be with her, I can't compete. You looked into his eyes, "It was a mistake to come back."
He leaned closer, his breath was hot against your face, "If you don't want to be here, I can take you back." You shook your head. “Zhang Hao.” You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well. Can't you see?
I've been a fool, but still I have to wonder.
His lips brushed against mine. The kiss was sweet, soft, and passionate. The world disappeared. His lips on yours. Your hands held onto the sides of his neck, pulling him closer. I don't wanna slow dance. In the dark, dark. Give me one more chance.
To show you that it won't be the same. When you gotta run……just hear my voice in you.
You could feel his body heat through his shirt. He pulled back slightly and you both paused. "I know I've hurt you." You looked into his eyes. Shutting me out, you. "You have a habit of hurting people."
"I can't change the past." He whispered. Doing so great, you. You looked at the wall and saw the time on the clock, 2:30am. I don't wanna slow dance, I'll make this last. Used to be the one to hold you when you fall…..yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
You closed your eyes. "Hao, I've tried to hate you but I can't." Zhang Hao's eyes were filled with pain. He looked down at his hands. "I've loved you for years. I was happy with you, even when I wasn't."
He looked at you. I don't fuck with your tone. I don't wanna go home. He could tell that you were hurt by his words. His eyes filled with sadness and regret.
He pulled you close. Your lips inches apart. You felt his warm breath against your skin. You closed your eyes and kissed him. It was a long kiss, one that felt like an eternity had passed before he pulled away. Can it be one night? Can you? Can you?
"You are everything to me."
"Don't say things like that."
"Why not? I don't know what else to say."
I can't live without you. He put his hand on the side of your face and looked at you with a soft gaze. Give me reasons we should be complete. You should be with her, I can't compete. "We will never be complete without each other."
"Don't you have anyone else?"
"I love you, you idiot."
"Don't lie to me."
"You're the one who keeps running."
"You keep chasing."
"I'm not chasing anymore. If you want to leave, I won't stop you."
"You will."
"I won't."
"Yes you will."
You looked into his eyes and saw the pain and regret there. You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well. Can't you see?
You could see the anguish and the torment in his eyes, and it tore at your heart. You had never seen him like this before. It was as if he was seeing a part of himself that he had kept hidden away from the world, and now he was showing it to you.
Can't you see?
"I can't be what you need. You need someone else."
"You're the only person who can make me whole."
"You'll always need more than just me."
"I will never need more than you."
You were silent. "What about her?"
"I told you, it's not the same."
You were quiet, and then you started laughing. Zhang Hao looked at you, confused. You shook your head, and continued to laugh. You could feel the tears falling down your face, and you tried to stop yourself, but the laughter wouldn't stop.
Zhang Hao reached out and wiped away the tears. "You are so damn confusing."
You looked up at him, and he leaned in and kissed you. "I love you." He whispered, as he pulled away. You shake your head pulling away. He's not gonna be the one to make you stay. And I can't pretend that we're okay. Give me one more chance. To show you it won't be the same. When you gotta run.
"I can't stay."
"Then go."
You could feel the tears running down your cheeks. He was holding onto you so tightly, but you knew that he wouldn't let go. You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. You opened your eyes, and looked up at him.
"I'll always love you." You say. You turned and walked away. You couldn't look back, because if you did, you would break down.
You're gonna be the one that saves me. You're gonna be the one that saves me. You're gonna be the one that saves. Zhang Hao watched as you left, his heart breaking. He knew that he had lost you forever. I don't wanna slow dance…..In the dark, dark. In the dark, dark.
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