#anyway. fades away into nothingness

[ratcandy]

guess who may or may not submitted a guy to @ahatintime-oc-competition . hehe

behold. world's wettest most pathetic owl, delivering mail (very willingly, of course) in YOUR haunted forest today!

[misfortunegirl]

we do come alone and alone we do die. ☝️

[sunsburns]

kiss of life (ii.)

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter reader

part one

summary: i actually suck at writing summaries but basically this is part two of part one of that soulmate au fic i posted a week ago lol

—or: luke castellan is being haunted by kronos and... well, you.

word count: 6.42k

warnings: sorry for any spelling errors, i haven’t checked yet, suppperrr angsty, luke castellan pov as he's slowly being corrupted by kronos, long reading time, descriptive injuries, blood, pre-tlt, luke is stubborn and a dick, loser!luke, annabeth smacking some sense to luke, grover being an icon, reader is lowkey unreliable tbh... cliff hanger (again... lmfao sorry)

a/n: part two!!! thank you guys for all the love on the first part! i am so grateful for everything and i love reading all the comments and reblogs. i hope this one doesn't end up flopping lmfaooo. i honestly wanted this to be a short angsty fic but i got carried away and now i'm planning a whole multi-part fic for this, phew. anyways enjoyyy <;33

At eighteen, Luke was cursed with nightmares. 

They clawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to unravel the fragile front of peace that he had fought so hard to maintain. Each night, he would awaken drenched in a cold sweat, the echoes of his tortured dreams lingering in the corners of his mind like a haunting melody.

The Hermes cabin, once a sanctuary from the outside world, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in around him with each passing moment. The moon, a silent witness to his torment, cast its ethereal glow through the window, illuminating the slumbering forms of campers. Some were children of Hermes, like himself, bound by the tenuous ties of blood and kinship. Others, however, were unclaimed, their parentage shrouded in mystery and uncertainty.

And as Luke lay awake in the stillness of the night, a sense of loneliness washed over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in a sea of doubt. In the depths of his troubled sleep, he could feel the tendrils of darkness closing in around him, threatening to consume him whole. And try as he might to deny it, he knew that his nightmares held a deeper significance, a harbinger of events yet to unfold in the shadowy pits of fate.

His nightmares were callings. A taunting voice would echo through the corridors of his mind, its insidious whispers weaving a thought of deceit and manipulation. It masqueraded as a voice of reason, a beacon beckoning him towards a destiny that promised demigods everything.

At first, Luke dismissed it as nothing more than the ramblings of a tortured soul, the byproduct of his own restlessness. But as the whispers grew louder and more insistent, he could no longer ignore the chilling realization that they were something far more sinister—a call to arms, a summons to embrace his role as a harbinger of the new world.

The nights he wasn't shaking from night terrors, he was tossing and turning at the thought of you. And he didn’t know what was worse. He couldn't escape you. The haunting image of you lingered in his mind even during sleep — your lips, your eyes, your skin, your voice, and that shared scar and your demise.

But at least, you'd given up on him by then. Your persistent efforts to reach out to Luke gradually dwindled into nothingness. Though you were still everywhere, a shadow that seemed to torment his every move, you no longer gave him even a fraction of your attention.

Gone were the days of you seeking him out, your footsteps no longer echoing in the halls of Camp Half-Blood in search of him. You refrained from asking for Chris's help, no longer burdening him with questions on Luke's whereabouts. The notes you once left behind were now relics of a time long past, their words fading with each passing day.

And as the full moon rose once more over the waters of the lake, you no longer waited by its shores.

Luke turned in bed, his mind restless as he tried to shake the image of you. He pulled the covers tighter around himself, seeking comfort in the warmth they provided, but the chill of unease still lingered in the air.

His gaze drifted across the row of beds, each a testament to the diverse personalities that inhabited the Hermes cabin. The floor was strewn with a chaotic array of sleeping bags, toys, and discarded clothing, while a collection of rocks adorned one corner near the closets, and drawings adorned the walls.

Despite the usual chaos that reigned during the day, the cabin now lay quiet and still. The children of Hermes, along with the unclaimed children and the ones of minor gods, had finally settled into the embrace of sleep. 

But amidst the calm, a sense of unease gnawed at Luke's consciousness. He couldn't shake the feeling that had settled over him after he noticed the empty bed and the slightly ajar door. 

Luke pushed back the covers and rose from his bed. His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way toward the empty bottom bunk, hoping not to wake anyone. The sight of an old penguin stuffed animal discarded at the foot of the bed made him edgy. His eyes trailed to the traces of blood splattered on the hardwood floor, stark against the dim light filtering through the cabin windows.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Luke picked up the toy, its soft white and black material now stained with crimson. Clutching it tightly in his hand, he made his way out of the cabin, the urgency of his steps echoing in the stillness of the night.

He knew all too well who the missing camper was – five-year-old Penelope, one of the newest arrivals to Camp Half-Blood and possibly one of the youngest campers. Found wandering alone in the woods near the camp hill just a week ago, she had been brought to safety by a group of fellow demigods on a quest. Luke couldn't shake the resemblance she bore to a younger Annabeth, with her wide eyes and insatiable thirst for knowledge. He wouldn't be surprised if Athena claimed her as her own one day–that is if he ever found her.

Luke's worry for Penelope weighed heavily on his mind, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest as he combed through every inch of camp. The traces of blood he discovered fueled his unease, each droplet a stark reminder of the dangers lurking just beyond the safety of the camp's borders.

In his search, Luke traversed familiar paths and hidden corners, his footsteps echoing in the quiet stillness of the night. He scoured the armour, the climbing wall, and the camp store.

Luke had known all about campers disappearing, whether it be on a quest or to escape and try to live a normal life with humans that never really lasted long enough as monsters would dwell within the shadows outside of camp. 

It was in the dim glow of the kitchen lights that Luke finally caught a glimpse of Penelope, perched on the counter in her pyjamas, her hair adorned with two loose pigtails. A sense of relief washed over him at the sight of her safe and sound, yet it was short-lived as he noticed she wasn't alone.

His hand hovered over the door, hesitating as he listened to the soft murmur of conversation from within. With a steady breath, Luke pushed the door open ever so slightly, peering through the crack to catch a glimpse of Penelope. And you.

You, who looked older than when you first met in the infirmary. There was an air of maturity about you, a gracefulness that hadn't been there before. Your features seemed more refined, your presence commanding attention in a way that spoke of inner strength and resilience. Luke couldn't help but notice how your beauty had blossomed, surpassing the standards of mere mortal allure. It was a beauty that seemed to defy classification, uniquely yours yet undeniably captivating.

Despite this, Luke sensed a shift in your demeanour—a resignation, perhaps, to the reality of his ignorance. You had lost any hope you once harboured for him. His guarded nature would forever keep you at arm's length. And while part of him knew that this was for the best, a small, almost imperceptible part of him couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret.

For in the crossroads of his heart, amidst the shadows that threatened to consume him, there lingered a faint glimmer of longing. The thought of being intertwined with someone who could offer solace in his darkest moments, who could bring light to the depths of his despair, held an undeniable appeal. And as much as he tried to deny it, the chance of you approaching him once more tugged at the fringes of his resolve, tempting him to let down his guard and allow you closer than he ever dared to imagine.

"So, you wanna tell me what you're doing up this late?" You approached Penelope with a gentle smile, a cookie in your hand as a peace offering. 

Your words hung in the air, gentle and coaxing, as you tried to draw Penelope out of her shell. Luke watched from the shadows, his gaze flickering between you and the young camper, a sense of admiration stirring at how you spoke to Penelope.

Penelope hesitated, her gaze shifting between the cookie in her hand and you. 

"You don't know?" You persisted, your voice a soft murmur that carried a hint of playfulness. You settled beside Penelope on the counter, your posture was relaxed as you leaned in closer to her. "Is it... a secret?" you whispered.

Luke noted the subtle change in your demeanour, the way you seemed to adapt effortlessly to Penelope's shy nature. It was a side of you he hadn't seen before, one that resonated deeply with him.

As Penelope nodded in response to your question, you continued, your tone gentle and reassuring. "Let me tell you a secret," you offered, holding up your pinky finger as a symbol of trust. "I am the best secret keeper in this camp. I pinky promise."

After a moment's hesitation, Penelope tentatively reached out, her tiny finger linking with yours in a hesitant pinky promise. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Penelope murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I got hurt."

"What?" You gasped in genuine concern, your eyes widening as you shifted your attention to the young camper. "Can I see?"

Penelope nodded silently, her arm outstretched towards you. Luke observed from his vantage point, his heart twisting with worry as he noted the faint hint of red near Penelope's elbow.

You took Penelope's arm into your hands gently, your touch tender and reassuring as you rolled up the sleeves of her pale pink pyjamas. Luke couldn't help but notice the familiarity of those pyjamas, a subtle reminder of Annabeth's kindness and resourcefulness in making Penelope feel at home.

"Oh, wow, that looks like it hurts," You remarked softly, your brows furrowing in sympathy as you retrieved a first aid kit from the nearby cabinets. "You're handling it very well," you praised Penelope, your tone gentle and encouraging. "So brave of you."

Penelope watched you attentively as you began to clean her wound, her small frame tense with discomfort. "I don't feel brave," she admitted quietly.

"No?" You glanced up at her, "why not?"

"I miss my mommy."

Her words were tinged with a sense of longing that struck a chord with both you and Luke.

Luke chewed on the inside of his cheek, his thoughts drifting to his own longing for his mother. Penelope's admission resonated with him deeply, reminding him of the ache that never truly faded, no matter how many years passed, no matter how deep he tried to bury it. 

It was a sentiment shared by every demigod at camp, a silent ache that echoed through the cabins and training grounds. Yet, it was a pain rarely spoken aloud as if verbalizing it would make it all too real, too unbearable.

The yearning for a parent, for someone to fill the void left by their absence, weighed heavily on each camper's shoulders. It was a burden they carried silently, masking their vulnerability with bravado and determination. But for Penelope, the longing was raw in its innocence.

At just five years old, she was too young to fully comprehend the extent of her emotions. She couldn't grasp the complexities of her situation, the world of gods and monsters that surrounded her. All she knew was the absence of a mother's embrace, the absence of a comforting presence to soothe her fears and wipe away her tears.

It was a pain she didn't deserve, a burden too heavy for such a young soul to bear. The gods, in their arrogance and indifference, seemed oblivious to the lives they had shattered, and the pain they had inflicted upon their own children.

"Yeah?" You responded gently, "How much do you miss her?"

"This much," Penelope replied, her small hands spreading wide.

"Wow! That's a lot," you remarked, a sombre note underlying your tone as you processed Penelope's words. After a beat of silence, you shook off the heaviness of the moment and mustered a smile for her. "There we go. All cleaned up," you announced cheerfully, pressing a bandaid onto her elbow.

Penelope's smile widened in response, a glimmer of gratitude shining in her eyes as she kicked her feet. In a quiet voice barely above a whisper, she murmured her thanks to you.

"So, you wanna tell me how you got hurt?"

"I don't know." This had been the most Luke had ever seen Penelope talk, and while her voice was still timid, the words slipping out hesitantly, she seemed to confide in you. "I woke up because my arm hurt."

"The cut was just there?" You asked, and when she nodded, you hummed sympathetically. "...I get those too, you know."

Penelope's eyes widened, "You do?"

"Yes," you affirmed with a soft chuckle. "A lot of people do. You get them from your soulmate. Did your mom ever tell you about soulmates?"

"Sometimes."

"Well, a long time ago, humans used to have four arms, four legs, and two faces," You explained.

"What?"

"I know, right? Super freaky. So freaky that Zeus decided to split them in half. So, now we have two arms, two legs, and one face."

"What happened to the other half?"

"That's our soulmate. Our other half. And Aphrodite gave us a gift to help us find our soulmate." The smile that had adorned your face slowly waned, "Every time you get hurt, your soulmate gets hurt too."

"Is that why you have a cut on your face?"

The question lingered, hanging in the air like a whispered secret. Luke held his breath, his gaze fixed on you, waiting for your response. But instead of answering, you reached out to Penelope, a bittersweet smile gracing your lips as you guided her off the counter.

"Let's get you back to your cabin."

Your words were gentle, a soft reassurance for Penelope's sake, but Luke could sense the undercurrent of sadness that ran beneath them. As you led Penelope away, Luke's heart ached in a way that felt so familiar yet foreign at the same time. It burned the same way it did when he returned from the quest when he hated the world and everyone in it, but this time, the only person he could find himself hating was himself.

He retreated from the door, clutching the stuffed animal in his hands. He felt a fleeting reminder of the times he would hide from the monsters with Thalia.

Luke's mind swirled with discordant emotions, each thought a whirlwind of uncertainty. He knew he didn't deserve your answer, didn't deserve the solace of your words. He had made it clear too many times to count that he never wanted a soulmate, never wanted you.

But despite his protests, despite the walls he had built around his heart, Luke couldn't deny the tug that pulled him to you, the hunger in his soul that refused to be ignored. It was a longing he couldn't shake, a yearning that whispered of a connection he dared not embrace. Knowing that keeping you away was the only way to protect you from the darkness that lurked within him was what kept him sane.

"Luke?"

The sound of his name tore Luke out of his thoughts like a violent gust of wind. He spun around, finding you standing on the porch to the kitchens, Penelope at your side. She held your hand, a small beacon of warmth and light in the dimness of the night. 

It seemed too perfect, too surreal, and Luke couldn't help but feel a pang of disbelief. Were you trying to kill him? It had been too long since the last time he spoke to you, let alone stood so close to you, and here you were, the epitome of what a demigod should be, even if you were still in the dreaded bright orange camp shirt.

"Hey," he managed to say.

You continued to descend the stairs, each step cautious and deliberate. "What- uh, what are you doing up?"

"I was actually looking for Penelope." Luke motioned to the girl hiding behind your legs. When he caught her eye, Penelope grinned and let go of your hand, darting over to Luke and jumping into his arms. He lifted her easily, a small smile tugging at his lips as he handed her the stuffed toy she had left behind. 

"Oh." You hummed, "I didn't know you're a Hermes kid?"

"I'm unclaimed," Penelope chimed.

"For now," Luke's voice was gentle as he held Penelope in his arms. "And what were you doing up?"

"I was looking for a bandaid. I got lost." Penelope's words were punctuated by a soft yawn, and she nestled her head against Luke's shoulder, her exhaustion evident in every movement.

You hesitated, your gaze shifting to meet Luke's. "I found her by the canoes... near the dock."

The silence that settled between you felt heavy, suffocating almost as if it threatened to engulf you both. Luke found himself wandering back to the memories of you waiting for him at the dock during the summer nights and the regret that weighed heavily on his heart for never approaching you. He remembered the countless times he stood among the trees, watching you from afar, paralyzed by his own insecurities and fears.

Were you waiting for him there tonight? 

No, you couldn't have.

Guilt gnawed at him, threatening to consume him whole. "Listen, I-"

"I'm gonna go." You cut him off abruptly, your voice carrying a hint of tension. "Counsellor duties and all. I've got cabin checks in the morning so... you know, I gotta print papers... and stuff..."

Luke frowned at your lame excuse. "It's midnight."

"It's never too early to start now." You huffed defensively. "Bye, Penelope."

"Bye," Penelope mumbled sleepily, her hand lazily waving in your direction as you walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the night and the trail leading to the Aphrodite cabin.

As they made their way back to the Hermes cabin, Luke held onto Penelope tightly, feeling the weight of her small body in his arms. The night air was cool against his skin, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of shame for the unease he noticed in you earlier. He wanted to say something, to bridge the gap that seemed to have formed between you, but the words remained trapped in his throat.

Once they returned to the warmth of their cabin, Luke moved with a careful grace, mindful not to disturb the sleeping campers around them. He gently placed Penelope back on her bed and tucked her in. But as he began to step away, her small hand shot out, wrapping around two of his fingers. Luke froze, eyes wide with surprise.

"Luke?" Penelope's voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence of the cabin like a knife.

"Yeah?" Luke's voice was equally quiet.

"I think your soulmate is really cool." 

Penelope's words hung in the air, a simple statement that carried more weight than he could have ever anticipated.

Seven hours later, the memory of your face lingered in Luke's mind like an unshakeable ghost. Tossing back and forth in his bed, he tried to rid himself of the image, but it clung to him like a shadow. Each time he closed his eyes, your face flashed before him, haunting his thoughts. Even when he turned away, the spectre of Kronos lurked in the depths of his subconscious, a reminder of the choice that still loomed over him.

As morning broke over Camp Half-Blood, Luke found himself seated at the breakfast table, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of his fellow campers. Annabeth's presence brought a brief distraction.

She slid into the seat in front of him during breakfast and gave him a strange look, slightly out of breath from the morning rush, a half-eaten apple in hand.

"Hey," she greeted him, her voice carrying a note of concern. Pausing to tie back her braids, she studied him intently. "Who you looking for?"

Luke's response came too quickly, "No one," he replied, his voice strained. Thankfully, Chris had left earlier because he was in charge of the climbing wall in the morning, he wasn't there to tell Annabeth that Luke had been looking for you. His eyes scanned the sea of faces in the dining hall, a futile attempt to catch sight of you amidst the crowd. He felt pathetic. "What's up with you?"

Annabeth raised her brows. "Archery? Together? Remember? Or did you forget?"

"No. I didn't forget."

She only stared at him, skeptical.

"What?" he asked, "why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Oh, I get it," Annabeth's smirk hinted at a newfound understanding, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She let out a laugh, the sound echoing through the dining hall, as she shook her head and rested her chin on her hand. "How long are you planning to keep this up for?"

Luke frowned, confused.

"This entire act you have with... you know," She didn't need to say your name for him to catch on. "It's getting out of hand, no?"

"I..." Caught off guard by her directness, Luke hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Choosing to play dumb, he feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right." Annabeth's knowing look pierced through his facade. She was always too perceptive for her own good. Fixing him with a narrowed gaze, she gave him a playful kick under the table, the impact enough to draw a startled reaction from Luke. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she took another bite of her apple before teasing him further. "Well, Grover said you're killing yourself."

"What?" He blinked at her, taken aback, "I'm not killing myself. Grover's just being dramatic."

"I don't think so." She said, slowly, carefully forming her words. "I mean, if I had a soulmate..."

Luke's defences bristled at the mention of soulmates, a topic he preferred to avoid. "Is this all you wanted to talk about?" 

"I'm allowed to worry, "Annabeth reminded him, her words tinged with a gentle insistence. "Family, remember?"

The word 'family' carried weight, a reminder of their shared history and the bond they had forged over the years. It was a phrase Annabeth often employed to coax Luke out of his shell, to encourage him to confide in her. When they were younger, 'family' meant everything to Luke, thanks in no small part to Annabeth's influence.

"You don't need to worry," Luke assured her, though uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his resolve. "I know what I'm doing." But did he? Luke longed for the simplicity of a time before he met you when the idea of having a soulmate seemed like a distant fantasy. Now, every decision he made, every scar he bore, carried weight, knowing it could impact you in ways he couldn't comprehend.

"The least you can do is get to know her before she leaves."

Her words struck a chord within him, prompting Luke to cast a discreet glance around the dining hall, searching for you amidst the bustling crowd again.

"She's leaving?"

"Not forever, "Annabeth clarified with a chuckle, "Just on a quest. Search and rescue. Nothing fancy."

"...How do you know this?" he said after a moment.

"Chiron told me," Annabeth shrugged nonchalantly. "He also told me to tell you that the ceremony is tonight. I hope that doesn't kill you."

It did kill him a bit. At least, it felt like it did. Luke Castellan moved through camp with a sense of urgency, his strides purposeful yet tinged with a hint of apprehension. His fingers, calloused from years of wielding weapons, throbbed with a dull ache with the burn from the bow and arrow. 

Shoulders tense, skin prickling under the relentless glare of the sun, he scanned the bustling campgrounds.

The weight of his bow rested heavily on his shoulder, the familiar weight offering a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos. With practiced precision, he counted the arrows in his quiver, his movements fluid and sure. 

Then, he heard it—the sound that drew him like a siren's call. Your voice, lilting and laughter-filled, cut through the clamour of the camp, pulling him toward you like a magnet. There you stood, leaning against the doorway of the Hephaestus cabin, a clipboard clutched to your chest as you exchanged banter with Atticus, the skilled swordsmith whose craftsmanship had forged Luke's sword.

There was something different about you today, something delicate, more approachable than he had ever seen before. Last night, with Penelope, you had worn a similar expression—gentle, caring—but it was a side of you that Luke had never been privileged to witness. With him, you had always been guarded, reserved, as though afraid that he would cut or maim you.

As you scribbled something onto your clipboard, Luke found himself intrigued by the way your smile softened. It was a stark contrast to the confident facade you often wore, and for a moment, Luke felt a pang of guilt for pushing you away so soon.

Unbeknownst to you, you were drawing closer to Luke with each step, your path inexorably leading you toward him. Part of him craved to reach out, while another part hesitated, unsure of how to talk to you after all this time.

"Hey," Luke finally managed to utter as you drew near, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You paused, a hint of surprise flickering across your features as you registered his presence. "Hi?" Your response was tentative, laced with a hint of confusion. After a moment's hesitation, you glanced down at your clipboard, "I'm not changing my rank on your cabin. I know three is low, but I was being generous."

A ghost of a smile tugged at Luke's lips. He was all too familiar with the chaotic nature of Cabin Eleven, where overcrowding was the norm and taking turns on the sleeping bags was treated as a game. "No, no. I just..." He trailed off, suddenly realizing he hadn't thought through the purpose of seeking you out. "I think we need to talk."

The confusion in your expression mirrored his own, and for a moment, there was a palpable sense of uncertainty hanging between you. "Talk?" you echoed.

Luke nodded, his gaze meeting yours earnestly. "Yes."

"You want to talk...? To me?" 

"I hope it's not that bizzare."

He tried to smile for you, but it felt wrong. Luke couldn't shake the weight of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew all too well that he hadn't been the embodiment of an ideal soulmate. In his mind, there lingered a pervasive belief that you harboured nothing but hatred towards him, something that you made obvious with every interaction between you two.

He wondered if this was the way you felt during the days he avoided you. 

Luke had noticed the shift. There was a calculated recklessness to your actions, a deliberate disregard for your own well-being that bordered on self-destructive. You stubbed your toe on roots and table legs, tugged too hard at your hair, and scraped your knees. You started to pull your punches while sparring with Clarisse, just enough to ensure that he felt the sting of every blow. You never blocked a hit in the face, a twisted satisfaction in the knowledge that your pain mirrored his own. Together, you would limp into the infirmary, bloodied and bruised where you'd be grinning far too wide, barely offering an ounce of guilt when Luke held ice to his face.

You lowered the clipboard from your chest, letting it rest against your side as you faced Luke. The warm rays of the sun filtered through the dense foliage above, casting dappled shadows that danced across your features and forced you to squint against the brightness. The noise of children's laughter and the sound of feet pounding against the earth filled the air.

Your voice cut through the noise, "You've made it pretty clear that you want nothing to do with me, Luke," you began, your words carrying the weight of unspoken hurt. "You can't blame me for being surprised."

As you began to walk toward the next cabin, Luke fell into step beside you, "Can you just give me a chance—" 

"I think you're too late for that."

"I know, I just—" Luke's words faltered, his thoughts tumbling over one another in a desperate attempt to articulate his feelings.

"I have nothing to say to you," you declared abruptly, stopping in your tracks and turning to face him. Luke skidded to a stop just in time, his gaze meeting yours as you regarded him with a mixture of sadness and frustration. "Seriously. I understand, okay? Did I come on too strong? Maybe. Yeah, I'll admit that" you acknowledged, your expression softening slightly. "Maybe coming to you hours after your shit quest was stupid, but I gave you space when you asked—"

"I just wanted to wish you luck on your quest," Luke interrupted, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of remorse.

With a quiet "Oh," you stepped back, your eyes momentarily averting his gaze. Were you embarrassed? Were you disappointed? Did you want to fight? 

"Sorry," you mumbled, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Thanks. I'm, uh, I'm seeing the Oracle after this. So... not technically a quest yet."

"It's your first one, right?" Luke's voice softened, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

"If you're worried about getting another scar, don't worry, I doubt it's anything dangerous," you reassured him, though your words held a hint of hesitation. There was a fleeting moment where your gaze lingered on him as if expecting a sudden change in his demeanour, but Luke remained still, his expression unreadable. "I just need to find Eros and go from there."

"Eros?" Luke's pace slowed, curiosity dancing in his eyes as he raised his brows in interest. Yet beneath the surface, a seed of annoyance sprouted, tendrils of jealousy winding their way through his thoughts. Your quest sounded far more intriguing than his own, and a bitter brew of envy churned in the depths of his stomach. Despite his inner turmoil, he attempted to play it off with a forced chuckle. "Has Cupid gone missing?"

"Apparently," you muttered bitterly under your breath, the resentment palpable in your tone. Luke sensed the edge to your words, though he pretended not to notice.

You sighed, "Is this conversation going anywhere? I really need to finish these cabin checks. I'm busy enough as it is."

Your words held an unspoken plea for him to leave, and though Luke understood, a pang of disappointment nagged at him. He couldn't entirely blame you; after all, he'd been an ass for months.

Both of you hesitated just outside the door to cabin eight, and Luke could feel your eyes on him. When you began to step away, his hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. You froze, eyes wide with surprise.

“I also wanted to thank you,” He said, words rushing off his tongue.

“For what?” you asked.

“For last night.” He wasn't sure why he brought it up, why he felt like he needed you to know. "With Penelope."

"It was nothing," you said, voice barely audible. "We gotta look out for each other, right?"

Then, you left, you hurried up the short staircase to the cabin door, barely sparing him a glance before knocking. From his place, Luke could hear someone welcoming you into Artemis's cabin. He watched you until the door was shut behind you, vanishing you from his sight.

As the ceremony approached, the hues of twilight painted Camp Half-Blood in a golden glow, a serene yet foreboding atmosphere enveloping the surroundings. Luke's unease mounted with the setting sun, casting stretched-out shadows that seemed to carry something unnoticed. He couldn't shake the image of the figure from his nightmares, its monstrous visage haunting his thoughts with each passing moment. Yet, amidst the creeping darkness, there was an allure to the unknown, a temptation that beckoned him; its words, its promise of seeing the truth.

His gaze remained fixed on the white marble archway, half-expecting the nightmare to materialize at any moment, its twisted form emerging from the shadows with outstretched fingers. However, it was you who appeared, ascending the steps with graceful determination. Your presence seemed to dispel the shadows, bathing the surroundings in a radiant glow that eclipsed the fears that had once gripped Luke's heart. You were a blinding vice.

"Didn't think I'd see you here."

A sudden jab to his side sent him recoiling, a sharp pain shooting through his ribs. Luke winced, his gaze flickering to you as you flinched, subtly reaching for your own side. Quickly diverting his attention, he focused on the girl who had spoken.

Clarisse arched a brow at Luke, a smirk dancing on her lips. "Jumpy."

"Give him a break," Chris interjected, joining Luke's side and draping an arm over his shoulder. "Luke had a rough night, he lost a kid."

"Is that so?" Clarisse's grin widened. "And Chiron doesn't know? I'm assuming he doesn't otherwise, he wouldn't have picked you for this."

Luke scoffed and crossed his arms, "I'm the best swordsman at camp."

Clarisse's sarcasm was palpable. "Oh, I don't doubt it. The most humble, too," she retorted, unfazed by his glare. "But let's face it, a search and rescue isn't exaclty your thing anymore. You're more of an action kind of guy. You live off the glory of victory. Chiron knows that."

She was right, Chiron did know that. Which was why he rarely requested Luke to stand in unless there was a catch. Then, the flames in the torches flickered to life, and silence enveloped the candidates. Each demigod chosen by Chiron swiftly took their place, standing tall and resolute by a marble pillar, eager to showcase themselves as the prime choice for the quest. Anything for Kleos. Anything for glory.

Chiron nodded, his gesture sharp and decisive, as he placed a firm hand on your shoulder before addressing the assembly. 

"The Oracle has confirmed that this quest is a search and rescue," he stated, casting a brief, confident glance in your direction. "One where you will use all your best efforts to bring Eros back to the safety of Mount Olympus and restore the lost balance. I'm sure you know where to find him." His gaze then shifted to the rest of the candidates. "Here, I have selected some of our most compelling candidates from which you will choose one to join you on your quest, ensuring your success. Annabeth Chase, Atticus Brang, Chris Rodrigues, Clarisse La-"

As Chiron listed the candidates, you carefully evaluated your options, your eyes calculating. In the dim torchlight, Luke could just discern the thin line etched across your face, stretching from the end of your brow to your-

"I choose Luke."

The ensuing silence felt like something they could all drown in, leaving everyone stunned. Even Annabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes as she spotted Luke's bewilderment. Surely, he must have misheard. There couldn't possibly be any way you had chosen him, could there?

Chiron turned to you, his tone measured. "Are you sure?"

You never shifted your gaze from Luke, who refused to meet your eyes as he stared fixedly at the pillar across from him. Yet, the clenching of his jaw, whether from anger or annoyance or something else, was enough to elicit a satisfied smile from you.

"I'm sure," you affirmed.

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[ponderingmoonlight]

JJK men with a small-chested reader

Pairings: Toji x reader; Gojo x reader; Choso x reader; Nanami x reader; Sukuna x reader; Geto x reader

Word Count: 4,5k

Warnings: this is LONG so get seated; reader gets confronted with hate regarding small boobs so if that's not for you don't read, also this implies JJK men are into small boobs so if that triggers you don't read, smut mentioned in Toji's & Nanami's part, abusive ex relationship in Nanami's part, Gojo is a dick in Geto's part and in general I feel like this one isn't that great so sorry for all my Geto lovers out there I'm tired

Click here for the big-chested version

Toji Fushiguro

You can’t help but let yourself fall into his rough touch, enjoy the sensation of his body pressed against yours. How you ended up here? You couldn’t care less. Is it pretty bad to be minutes away from getting laid by your enemy? Maybe, but you don’t give a damn.

Until his hand yanks towards your breasts.

“N-No. Stop”, you whimper, pushing against his broad shoulders to get him off you.

“C’mon, what’s wrong babe? Don’t ya enjoy yourself?”, he purrs against your ear.

Oh god, just the sound of his deep voice lets your mind wander to places where it hasn’t been for ages, makes you arche your body towards him like a needy teenager.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

But just when he’s about to stretch his hand towards your chest again, you lift yourself off the couch so suddenly that you almost fall over. No, you just can’t do this.

Automatically, you cross your arms in front of your chest, eyes gazing down at the nothingness you hold. Since you can remember, you’ve got picked on for having small boobs. Oh, how desperately you waited throughout whole puberty for them to finally grow, how much you secretly begged for those delicious female curves you’ve seen all over media and anime. But every time you look into the mirror, you are greeted by basically nothing. If a man like Toji would see you like this. God, if he only touches your breast and realizes that your décolleté comes from nothing but a push up bra…

It’s impossible for a man like him to find a woman like you attractive. Why were you even stupid enough to consider a one-night stand with him, when looks are the only thing that really counts? If he sees you’ve been lying into his face, that you don’t look like those girls on magazines…

Would he make fun of you? The disappointed look on his face as soon as he unclips your bra would be too much to handle alone.

“I can’t do this. Sorry”, you mumble, fingers frantically straighten your clothes.

Just forget about what happened today. Get home, take off your bra and stare at the ceiling. You don’t need a man to satisfy your needs anyway…right?

He grabs you by your waist so suddenly that you aren’t even able to react when his other hand unclips your bra and pulls up your shirt.

You fail to breathe, glossy eyes staring into his unbothered face in sheer disbelief. Did that man just expose your whole chest within the blink of a second?

“Why are you actin’ all shy, huh? Those are some nice tits”, he speaks out with a sly grin.

“I…”

You are lost at words, lost at thoughts, lost at sight. This man is walking sex himself. Damn, he could probably pull any girl on this planet. But no, he decided to get into your apartment and he just said that…Your breasts look good?

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting all day for that”, he signs.

His usual so rough fingers cup your breasts gently, swallow them whole with ease. Toji’s eyes are completely fixated on the sensation between his fingertips, how your warm flesh feels against his palms.

“I thought you…you aren’t into…small boobs”, you moan, closing your embarrassed eyes to shield yourself from his intense stare.

“I’m a man of culture”, he comments.

Oh, you can tell he’s grinning like he always does. Slowly but surely everything seems to fade away. All the dumb comments about your body, all the times you looked into the mirror and blankly stared at your flat chest. No, everything that counts now is that the force of a man standing in front of you clearly enjoys your sight, that your boobs alone are enough bring a grown man onto his knees, to make him whimper against your heated skin and the bulge in his pants grow with every second.

“Fuck, I need ya”, he hisses.

Toji pully your top over your head before you’re even able to think straight. There he stands, his hand unzipping his pants in slow motion while you gaze up at him panting like a dog.

“I’ll show you how much I’m into you, babe…”

Gojo Satoru

You look yourself up and down in the mirror, mind raising. It’s your third date with none other than the Satoru Gojo. The men who turns women’s heads on a regular basis, the men who invited you into the most exquisite restaurant of the city, the man who even sent you a dress for the occasion. A jaw-dropping gorgeous black dress with a delicate waterfall neckline, just the right fit for a man like him.

But not with your flat chest. The fabric seems to hang on your body like a potato sack, filled by nothing but thin air. And because of the cursed deep back, you aren’t even able to wear a push up bra underneath. Fuck, what are you supposed to do? The more you stare at yourself in the mirror, the worse it seems to fit. Satoru chose this dress only for you. There’s absolutely no way in hell you’ll wear something else, that you disappoint him like that. But do you have another option?

You let yourself fall onto your bed, eyes darting to your phone. Shit, you have only 10 more minutes left before he gets her. How are you supposed to fix this? Will Satoru be disappointed? You never wore tight or unflattering clothes around him before, always hid your smaller chest well behind casual sweatshirts or push up bras. But this…You aren’t able to hide anything in this.

Will be there in 5. Can’t wait to see you in that dress &lt;3

Oh god, you feel like throwing up when reading his message. Everything went so well between the both of you, so unproblematic and genuinely fine. But are you even good enough for Satoru Gojo when he’s surrounded by so many beautiful women? Your hands wander up your stomach, come to a stand on your chest. No, you definitely can’t keep up with Mei Mei and the others. Will he lose interest in you after tonight? Will his facial expression drop the second he lays eyes on you in that dress?

Your palms get sweaty, mind overwhelmed by all those venomous thoughts.

“Fuck, don’t cry”, you hiss to yourself, angrily blinking into the mirror.

The doorbell rings.

Your heart drops.

Shit.

Didn’t he say 10 minutes?

Your feet carry you to your front door automatically, the tall frame of none other than Satoru clearly visible outside. No, why is he here? You didn’t have enough time to think about a solution, didn’t even try on that sticky bra you’ve bought a few months ago-

He rings again. There is no way of out this now. Like in slow motion, your shaky hand presses down the door handle, exposes yourself further and further to Satoru.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, (y/n)”, Satoru comments jokingly.

Hot tears slowly but surely start to take your sight while you stand there like an idiot, covering your chest with your arms. This will be the moment Satoru realizes you aren’t playing in his league, that he can do so much better. What was he thinking anyway, starting to date a girl like you?

“You look absolutely hot in that dress. Oh my god…”, he breathes out.

“Don’t lie to me”, you mumble.

No, you can’t take it. With a swift motion you turn yourself away from his gaze, away from his presence.

“What? I would never lie to you! Hey, are you cryin’? (y/n), look at me.”

Gently, he cups your face with both of his hands, forces you to get lost in the blue ocean of his eyes.

“I’m not doing justice to the dress you’ve gifted me”, you breathe out.

Satoru has to blink a few times, mind trying to process what the hell you are talking about. The minute you opened the door earlier, he was lost. You looked exactly how he imagined, so well-fitted into that black dress, your curves so delicious that it takes all his strength to keep his composure.

“You’re the hottest girl I’ve ever seen and I’m serious about that. Why would you think something so ridiculous? Look at your-“

“I’m flat”, you finally snap.

“Flat?”, he repeats in disbelief.

“Flat like a pancake. Flat like a board. I…I have nothing!”, you blurt out.

Satoru can’t believe his ears, has to stare at you in sheer disbelief for a moment. Is this why you’re crying, why you’re crossing your arms in front of your chest like that? Because you think that…your breasts are too small?

“C’mon, you can’t be serious about that.”

He desperately waits for a reaction, for a cute little giggle coming out of your mouth and this being nothing but a prank. But instead, you just stand there in silence and hide yourself even more.

“Okay, let me get that straight: You.Look.Gorgeous. I can’t stop fucking looking at you, that dress fits you so well and when I saw that neckline for the first time…I’m only saying this before you force me to, okay? I’m thirsting over you like a teenager, (y/n)! And I adore every inch of your body, I adore the way your tits look.”

“Stop”, you mumble, his words making shivers run down your spine.

“I won’t stop until you say it.”

“Say what?”, you question, confusion written on your face.

“Repeat after me: I have nice tits.”

Is he serious? You drop your arms to the side, completely bamboozled by the Satoru Gojo in front of you.

“Let’s do it, (y/n)!”

“I have…nice tits”, you breathe out.

“I can’t hear you”, he shouts.

Gently, he grabs your shoulders and shakes you a little. What the hell is going on right now? His smile seems contagious, makes the corners of your mouth turn upwards just the slightest bit.

“I have small tits”, you giggle out.

“NO!”, he screams.

“I have nice tits!”

“I have nice tits”, you shout back.

“Yes, now…Can I touch them?”

“Let’s get going, okay?”, you mutter, head red like a tomato.

Choso Kamo

“What are you doing, (y/n)?”

A high shriek escapes your lips when you look at Choso standing in the door. Fuck, what the hell is this guy doing here while you tried on that bikini you’ve bought earlier?

“Oh, that looks good”, he comments and nods towards your chest.

God, you feel like fainting. Out of all people, why does it have to be Choso standing there? And why do you feel so damn insecure all of the sudden? It’s not a secret to anyone at Jujutsu High that you have a huge crush on Yuji’s bigger brother, that you can’t take your eyes off him. And while you feel pretty comfortable in your own skin, there is this one thing that makes you trip over and over again…

Your breasts.

You didn’t even notice until your female friends began to comment on the size of your boobs when you changed for sport lessons.

“You look like a child, (y/n)!”

“Omg, are you sure that’s normal?”

“You’re a board with nipples…”

“I’m so sorry for you, (y/n)! After all, all boys are into big tits these days! Well, at least you have a good character.”

And still, you didn’t even care that much. But now, with Choso Kamo standing in front of you while you wear nothing but a bikini top instead of your oversized uniform, you feel trapped.

“Well, thanks I guess”, you mumble, cheeks heating up in an instant.

He steps a little closer, eyes narrowed. Oh god, when is this finally over?

“Why are you looking so uncomfortable?”

“Well, maybe because I’m half naked-“

“I can tell it’s not because of that. Are you insecure?”

Fuck, this man reads you like an open book without mercy. For an incarnated curse, he’s way too emphatic.

“I wouldn’t say it like that but…I mean, look at me.”

“Is it because your breasts are smaller than those of the other female members of Jujutsu High? This doesn’t seem like an issue to me at all, (y/n). After all, breasts are mostly made of adipose tissue. Depending on your fat storage and how your body-“

“Oh god, please stop right now”, you interrupt him.

May the ground swallow you whole and keep you. How on earth did you get into a serious talk about your small chest with none other than Choso Kamo? And why does he know all those things about how women’s breast work?

“You seem to know quite a lot about women’s boobs. Did you study them or something?”

Why does your heart suddenly feel so heavy? It shouldn’t bother you that he talked about those things as if he looks at other women’s tits on a regular basis. But…You fell for him because he seemed like a guy who doesn’t care about those things. Were you mistaken about him?

“Not at all! But I overheard you talking to that other woman about the size of your breast and that you don’t feel comfortable about them, so I did research about this topic.”

Oh. Your heart stops beating for a second, your mind going blank. He did research because he overheard your conversation with Shoko?

“You did that…for me?”

“You’re important to me and I don’t want you to feel sad about something minor like this, (y/n).”

You stare at him like an idiot, still only covered only by a bikini top while all he does his holding your gaze in silence.

“What I want to say is that…You are absolutely beautiful. And so are your breasts-”

“Okay, this is getting a little out of hand. Would you mind if I…Change into something a little more modest?”, you interrupt him before you lose your composure completely.

“Of course!”

Choso doesn’t move. Instead, he just stands there like before and looks at you.

“Would you…Get out so I can change?”

“Oh…Yes, of course.”

Nanami Kento

You can’t help but stare at him through the dim moonlight, hands wrapped around his neck. Oh, he sure feels good pressed against your body so tenderly, his breath caressing your cheek ever so slightly. Kento and you have been together for a few months now, taking things slow since your last relationship was like a trip to hell and back. And even though you are fully aware of the fact that Kento would never treat you badly, you still need time for certain things.

And these certain things contain him seeing you naked. Just one glance into the mirror is hard to bear, especially when it comes to your small chest. You simply hate the way they look, how they ruin every single outfit, how they make you look like a child. No matter what gorgeous gown you’re wearing, you never feel like a woman, like someone worth to be looked at. But still, Kento caresses every curve of your still dressed body carefully.

“You look absolutely stunning in moonlight, darling”, he hushes against your ear.

You love this man with all your heart. How he treats you with way more kindness than a single human would ever deserve, how he makes you feel good about yourself without even knowing. Kento Nanami picks up the pieces of your past and puts you back together like a complicated puzzle. Slowly and steady, step by step.

A whimper escapes your lips, the sensation of his fingertips brushing against your covered skin simply drives you insane. Oh, how much you adore that man, how much you admire him for making you feel so alive. Suddenly his plain touch doesn’t feel like enough anymore. You need him even closer, want to feel him even better.

“Please, take this off”, you mumble against his lips.

Kento stops in his tracks for a second, eyes staring at you intensively in your dark bedroom.

“Are you sure? I told you I can wait”, he reminds you gently while pulling a strand of hair behind your ear.

Are you sure? You didn’t let a man touch you after your ex, after all those nasty things he said about your body. Especially your small chest.

“Don’t you wanna get these things…y’know, fixed or something?”

“Leave your shirt on or I’ll turn off the light, these things turn me off...”

You hate how his stupid comments still haunt you even after all those years, despite the fact that you’re laying in the arms of none other than the epitome of a gentleman. Until today, you never allowed your boyfriend to take off your shirt, to even take a single glance in the direction of your exposed chest. But today feels different. With his eyes filled with nothing but affection, you finally feel ready.

“I don’t want you to wait. Please, take off my shirt”, you whisper into the night.

“Tell me to stop when you feel uncomfortable.”

You nod slightly, too occupied by the way his hands carefully wander down to the hem of your shirt, eyes fixated on yours. Your heartbeat picks up in an instant. Out of excitement, out of fear? You glance into his gleaming orbs that are filled with nothing but love. No, you don’t have to fear this man. But still…Will he like what he sees?

“You know I don’t have…I don’t have nice boobs. They are quite small…”, you suddenly blurt out.

“(y/n), you are the love of my life, my precious girlfriend. Every fiber of your being is way more than ‘nice’. I adore every inch of your gorgeous body”, he replies so softly that you feel like tearing up.

As if in slow motion he pulls up your shirt, reveals inch by inch of your naked skin until he pulls the fabric over your head.

You take a deep breath, try to read his face in the dim light. Is he disgusted, does he even look at you? Maybe he’s regretting his decision, maybe he finds you just as ugly as your ex did-

“You are so beautiful, I can’t take my eyes off you”, he hushes.

Kento Nanami stops your train of thoughts before you get lost in yourself, quiets the stinging voice of your ex-boyfriend inside your head.

Kento thinks you’re beautiful. Kento’s hand caresses your naked skin, gently cups your breast while he never fails to gaze at you.

“I love you, (y/n). In fact, I am the one lucky to have you. Thank you for putting your trust and love in me.”

“You…I love you so much, Kento.”

You can’t contain yourself any longer. Without hesitation, you pull your boyfriend’s face even closer, press your desperate lips against his. What a treasure he is, lifting you up without even realizing how much his words heal your soul.

If a man like Kento Nanami is able to love your small breasts than maybe, just maybe, you’ll start doing that as well.

Ryomen Sukuna

“There’s no way in hell”, you press out, groaning in scorching pain.

“Do you have a death wish or are you just dumb, woman? You know you’ll die if you don’t take off that uniform, right?”, Sukuna remarks dryly.

“I would rather die than taking off my shirt in front of…you”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

Sukuna can’t help but stare at you in sheer disbelief. Surprisingly enough, he decided to save your ass instead of using his time more efficiently. And now you’re laying in front of him, a gaping hole inside your chest, he offered to save your life.

And you, dumbass of the century, refuse to get saved by none other than the king of curses himself.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you really wish to die so badly?”

“I…I don’t want to die!”, you blurt out.

Fuck, how did you get yourself into that situation? Bad enough that you’ve got hit by that curse right into your chest, even worse that the king of curses himself appeared and wants to help you. But the worst thing is that you need to take your shirt off.

It is ridiculous and you know it. This is not the time to be insecure about your small tits. No, this is absolutely not the time to even think about shit like that. But the sheer thought of Ryomen Sukuna seeing your flat chest alone makes you rather die than letting that happen. No, the last thing you want is him making fun of you.

“Then why are you acting like a child? Hold still. You strange human, I should kill you right on the spot. Good for you I still have use for someone this skilled. You impressed me earlier.”

Under normal conditions, you’d feel some kind of pride over his words. But with death whispering in your ear and the stinging fact that his hands begin to bottom up your shirt….

You freak out.

“GET YOURSELF AWAY FROM ME!”, you scream pathetically, hands fighting so poorly against his that he catches your flying fists mid-air.

“Stop beating me before I’m losing it, brat”, he barks at you.

Just one more button. One more button and you’ll be completely exposed to him. The king of curses, seeing your small boobs.

“DON’T LOOK AT MY BOOBS!”

“What?”

He can’t believe his ears. This can’t be the reason why you pull up this fight. No, there’s absolutely no way in hell you’re acting like this because you’re ashamed of him seeing your breasts.

“Please…Don’t look at my boobs…”

The king of curses just stares at you emotionless.

“Who do you think you are to tell me what to do, woman?”

His gaze wanders right down to your bloody chest. You are rather flat chested, but oh you look delicious. Too delicious to take his eyes off you, too delicious to think about saving you. He never hunted after women, was never interested in all those big-chested females with their neck-line hanging to the ground. But you…This looks pleasant.

“Delightful”, he finally speaks out.

Too late for you to hear before your hand smacks roughly into his face.

“I SAID DON’T LOOK!”

“I SAID YOU LOOK DELIGHTFUL YOU LITTLE BITCH!”

“YOU…You what?”

Geto Suguru

Geto can’t help but stare at you, how your hips swing from side to side, how you wear your cute summer dress so easily. Not only the scorching heat of this summer day, but your sight as well make him feel light-headed.

“Staring again, Suguru?”, his best friend teases him in an instant.

“How could I not stare at her. She looks gorgeous in that dress”, he replies, not able to take his eyes off you.

“But she has no tits.”

You wish you didn’t hear those words leaving Satoru’s mouth, wish you could just giggle like a little girl and let your heart beat out of your chest because Suguru said you look gorgeous. But the second the meaning of his saying hits you, you stop in your tracks.

The stinging fact that your breasts are smaller than those of any other women at Jujutsu High and all those popular girls was always hard to bear for you. But with Suguru by your side, with his words sweeter than honey, you slowly but surely began to feel comfortable in your own skin again. Instead of oversized shirts, you started to wear dresses from time to time, bought the one you’re wearing right now with a slight neckline.

All that, only for your confidence to get crushed by that single comment.

You can’t contain yourself anymore. Without even trying to pretend you didn’t hear his venomous words, you turn on your heel and sprint down in the direction of your dorm. How stupid it was to even consider that a man like Suguru would actually like you back. After all, Satoru is his best friend, it’s clear that you look nothing like the girls they usually hang out with. Maybe your small chest isn’t enough for him…

Tears take your sight completely as you run straight to your room.

“(y/n), wait!”

No, not him. Not right now. Your heart almost drops to the floor when you hear his footsteps close behind you. If Suguru tries to cheer you up right now, you might break down completely.

“Hey, please wait for me.”

Gently, he grabs your wrist and spins you around.

“Let go of me”, you hiss, yanking your arm away out of instinct.

You don’t want to get touched by him, to even see him. God, you were really stupid enough to think that this man with the most tender eyes you’ve ever seen would actually like you back.

“Satoru fucked up with that comment. Hey, look at me. I know he made these comments before and I know you’ve had a hard time because of those stupid comments at school. But I’m here to tell you that I love you just the way you are, (y/n) …God, I love you with all my heart, I love you wearing those dresses, I love the way you move, I love the way you look. And it might sound totally weird, but I love your boobs. I’m…I’m obsessed with you.”

You have to blink a few times, try to process what just happened. Within a few minutes, you’ve heard your crush complimenting you, his friend insulting you for having small breasts and now Suguru is standing in front of you again, confessing his love for you and…your boobs?

“You don’t have to say those things to make me feel better”, you try to brush him off.

“I’m saying this because I mean it, (y/n). And I’ll kick his ass for saying something so stupid about you. When it comes to women, Satoru and I are the opposite of each other”, he explains briefly.

Oh, you are fully aware of the fact that Satoru Gojo hunts after every woman with cups bigger than your head. But something about the way Suguru stands in front of you, how his eyes literally beg you to believe him…

“I have enough of people judging me for something I can’t change”, you warn him.

“I don’t want to change a single hair on your body, (y/n).”

Slowly but surely, your eyes stop to burn in agony, your heart stops to ache, your body wakes up from its trance.

“So…you’re into small chested girls? Why am I supposed to believe this?”

Without wasting another minute Suguru steps forward, engulfs your body. And with one last glance into your widen eyes, he presses his lips against you’re the way he always imagined it.

“Is this proof enough?”

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Gorgeous divider by @saradika 🤍

[gojossocks]

We can't be friends

Gojo x Reader Summary: You decided to erase Gojo from your memory.

“Who is Gojo Satoru to you?”  

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, before giving the doctor a tight-lipped smile. “W-we were together for 6 years.” 

He’s no one important really, just the love of your life. 

There has been an on-going trend all over the world— technology has upgraded enough that you can erase someone entirely out of your memory, as if they’ve never existed. If they do, it wasn’t like how you knew them. 

You weren’t sure what dragged you in this clinic with all of the most important things that remind you of him. Maybe it was the way he ignored you like the plague, the way the familiarity in his eyes disappeared just earlier last week when he spoke to you so freely like you’ve never been together. It was clear that he got his memory of you erased after that incident. You were just another colleague. Perhaps, the pain in your heart is too much to handle. 

You don’t remember the way to the clinic that much. It was a surprise you even got there in one piece considering you were sobbing the whole way there. So even if you aren’t entirely sure whether you’re ready to let go of Satoru, you signed the consent form anyway. 

If he’s got you erased completely from your life, then what’s the point of living in hell remembering him? You didn’t want to mourn for someone alive and well. 

You never really understood why he left because everything was just working out between the two of you. Satoru provided you with no explanation and packed up his things to leave you behind to your own devices. You almost wanted to back out when you started reminiscing vividly of everything you once shared with him. 

You remembered falling in love with him, how it feels like the first day of spring, how his kisses taste like daylight. How he squeezes your hand three times before you part ways for a mission.  How he holds you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world. How it was always you and him against the world, him making you laugh while you tended to his wounds. He would tell you that everything would be okay because he has you and only you. 

The bad outweighed the good that you had forgotten that loving him and being loved with him is something that you never wanted to forget, even if your relationship with him crashed and burned. You don’t want him to be a stranger you can’t recognize anymore.

But it had already been done and everything faded into nothingness as you try to grasp with whatever you have left of him.

-.- 

You have been working with Gojo for quite some time now, maybe about six years. But you’ve never directly initiated conversations with him outside work. He’s the only one you don’t know much about in Jujutsu High. Today is no different as you’re waiting with him in the clinic for your mutual friend Shoko. 

“That’s a beautiful necklace you have there.” He acknowledges you for the first time since you got there. Even if you’re just a few meters away, he doesn’t talk to you. You find that a little bit weird because everyone tells you that he’s obnoxious and loud. Somehow with you, he’s always quiet. 

You didn’t remember much of how you got the necklace. You figured that the reason why Gojo’s asking about it is because it matches the color of his eyes. There was a hazy memory though— you were crying, telling a doctor to ‘let me keep it, please. Just this one.’ but you didn’t think much of it. Maybe it was all a dream. 

You responded with a laugh before toying with the pendant of the necklace. “Yeah, It was a gift to me.” 

“Oh?” He looked at you through his glasses, his intense gaze making you feel a little nervous. “Mind telling me who?” 

“I forgot.” You replied,  slowly relaxing in your seat while looking around at Shoko’s clinic. He nodded at you, a small smile adorning his lips and he didn’t say anything more. 

You missed the way his eyes linger on you for a moment before putting back his blindfold on or the apologetic look that Shoko gave him before he leaves. 

“So, who’s Gojo Satoru to you?” 

“He’s the strongest of course.” 

But to him, you’re still his everything—because he didn’t really remove you from his memory. Maybe if he was braver, you’d remember him. 

a/ n: part 2? :0

[kaidasdesires]

"You should be scared."

☾ pairing: dom! incubus yeonjun x sub! human afab reader

☾ rating: 18+ explicit and mature content, smut and angst

☾ wc: 6.9k

☾ content warnings: somnophilia, yeonjun is a demon/incubus, dubious consent into full consent as the story progresses, shape-shifting, choking, hair pulling, yeonjun has a knot ♡, mentions of killing and death, knife/blood play if you squint, pet names, cursing, reader almost dies, slight size kink, yeonjun cries

TRIGGER WARNING: Some scenes may be triggering for survivors of SA. Please read at your own risk.

☾ summary: y/n meets Yeonjun at a club and goes home with him. Yeonjun is an incubus that has to have sex and cum to stay alive but if he's not careful he could kill his victims. including y/n.

One of these days you would stop going out on the weekdays but you found that going to the club kept a lot of negativity and anxiety off your mind when things were stressful. You had a few drinks and could already feel yourself getting a bit tipsy but that didn’t stop you from having a good time. You were sitting at the bar when your friend Wooyoung (obviously wasted) pulled on your arm.

“Y/n, come on.~ Come dance with me!” He whined, giving you his best puppy eyes. Wooyoung usually went with you wherever, but he would never turn down an opportunity to get drunk.

“For fucks sake Wooyoung” you laughed, “how are you this drunk already?” 

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He smiled, poorly feigning innocence.

You shook your head in disbelief before following him onto the dance floor anyway. You danced with him despite his unsteady feet. You danced with him for a while, all your worries fading into nothingness as the music and movement melted away the tension from your body. Or at least that’s how it was until Wooyoung lost his balance and fell into you.

You stumbled backward running into other bodies on your way down. It wouldn’t have been as bad, but as soon as your butt hit the ground, you felt like it was raining. Lukewarm, sticky, smelly rain. Someone had spilled their alcohol on you as a result of you knocking into them. You heard cussing above you but when you looked up Wooyoung was nowhere to be found.

 “Hah. Of course, he's gone.” You scoffed shaking your head before bracing yourself to get up and also to face the embarrassment of the situation you were in.

“You okay?” You heard from above you. The deep voice sent a chill down your spine. You looked back up, meeting the brown eyes of a boy you’d never seen before. You felt your cheeks become rosy as you looked over his features. Brown eyes that seemed to have a hint of red to them, messy black hair that was a little bit sweaty. He was wearing a white button-up tucked into his pants with a few buttons undone, exposing his collar bones, and black dress pants with a skinny belt. Not to mention the smirk plastered on his face as he watched you stare at him. He waited for you to respond with his hand outstretched. 

“Oh, thank you. Sorry if I hit you.” You said quietly, taking his hand. You were surprised by how gentle he was as he helped you up. He smiled down at you and your heart clenched. He was a good bit taller than you, and his hands were so much bigger than yours. Not to mention how incredibly handsome he was.

“You didn’t. But I saw your friend run off, so I figured you’d need some company now.” He chuckled. “What’s your name?” The boy asked his gentle eyes looking you up and down. 

“I'm y/n,” you responded. Typically you didn't give random boys the time of day, but this one had piqued your interest. Something about his aura maybe? 

“Nice to meet you, y/n. I'm Yeonjun.” he paused before continuing, motioning to your clothes, “You are covered in someone else's beer, can I take you to get some fresh clothes?” 

You had somehow forgotten that you were covered in alcohol. Now the stickiness was a lot more obvious. “Oh…” you hesitated. Yeonjun however didn’t give you time to think before chuckling, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the crowd and towards the door. Normally you would be pulling away, but there was something about this boy that was… magnetic. You didn’t mind letting him tug you away, besides, Wooyoung had left you alone anyway. He would just have to suffer the consequences of his own actions.

Once you had made it outside the bar, Yeonjun sighed, taking in a breath of the cool air outside. “That’s better. It was too fucking loud and hot in there.” he laughed. 

“Right? Well thank you Yeonjun, I should probably catch a taxi home now so I can get cleaned up.” You also sighed, but instead of in relief, it was in frustration. You felt for your wallet in your back pocket. Yeonjun watched as you let your arms fall beside you. “It’s gone…” you mumbled. 

Yeonjun faked a frown as he pushed your wallet deeper into his back pocket, but then quickly perked up. “You can just come to my apartment. I know you don’t know me and this is probably a huge red flag but I’m not up to any fuck boy shit. I promise.” He said, holding out a pinky to you. 

You snorted. Everything told you to run away. This was a bad idea. It was dangerous and definitely a red flag. But you couldn’t help it. For some reason, you didn’t want him to leave. Yeonjun felt trustworthy, and maybe a little bit addictive. You intertwined your pinky with him, completing the promise. “Only if you promise you’re not kidnapping me.” 

“I promise.” You saw that red shimmer in his eyes again as he took your hand. You walked with Yeonjun for a little while before your feet started to cramp up from the heels you were wearing. Once Yeonjun noticed your pace slowing down, he quickly turned around and lifted you off the ground. You gasped at the suddenness as well as how easy it seemed for him to lift you. 

“Don’t worry. Just rest. I can carry you the rest of the way. It’s only a couple blocks.” He said reassuring you. 

You nodded. His scent pulled you in closer as you leaned against his chest. You closed your eyes and let yourself be overcome by his warmth and smell. There was just something about him that made you want to stay close to him. You were so drawn to him in a way you’d never been drawn to anyone before.

You must have dozed off momentarily, but you were quickly awoken by Yeonjun’s gentle but slightly out-of-breath voice. “Y/n,~ I’m sorry I would carry you into the house but I have to open the door.” 

You opened your eyes only to be met by a cute pout. He must have genuinely felt bad for having to put you down. He lowered you gently back onto your feet before opening the door and letting you walk inside first. His apartment was small, a little bit disorganized but clean. 

“Here I’ll grab you some clothes and put them in the bathroom for you. Then you can wash up if you want to.” Yeonjun said as he took off his shoes and then walked to his bedroom. 

You watched as he came out of his bedroom with some folded clothes in his hands as well as a towel or two. Then he stepped out of the bathroom again before motioning that the bathroom was now yours. 

“If the clothes are uncomfortable or don’t fit right just let me know and I’ll grab you something else!” He smiled as he walked back into the living room and plopped down on the couch.

You gave him a nod and responded, “Thank you Yeonjun, you didn’t have to do this.” Before heading into the bathroom and closing the door behind you. You locked the bathroom door of course because this guy was still someone you didn’t know + taking a shower + being naked + the unlocked door just didn’t feel quite right.

But after you locked the door, you allowed yourself to relax a bit, using the restroom and starting the shower before peeling off your sticky beer-covered clothes. You hopped into the shower and let the hot water caress your skin. It felt nice. You didn't bother to wash your hair but you did use Yeonjun’s body wash to clean off your body. The smell of his body wash was nice, not too manly but not girly either. After letting your muscles relax in the hot water for a bit you eventually decided it was time to get out of the shower. You noticed that Yeonjun’s towels were nice, they seemed high quality as you dried yourself off. Then you finally picked up the clothes he had brought for you. A big white t-shirt with some sort of logo on the front, and some sweatpants. You slipped the clothes on, not able to wear your beer-soaked bra, and ultimately forced yourself to put back on your sweaty panties. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked comfortable and cute. Your cheeks were pink from hot water and the clothes stuck to your damp body. Your nipples are easy to see in the shirt but you shrug it off, being a man you’re sure Yeonjun probably wouldn’t mind the free view. You decide to tie your hair up into a ponytail to complete the comfortable look before unlocking the door and stepping into the hallway. When you walk back into the living room you find Yeonjun in the kitchen cooking some eggs and toast. He turned around at the sound of the bathroom door opening. 

He hummed contently with a raised eyebrow as he looked you up in down in his clothes. “You look cute.” 

“Thank you.” You responded, feeling a little bit shy before joining him in the kitchen. 

It was quiet for a little bit while he cooked food for himself and you. You took a second to admire him, he was still in the button-down shirt but it was much more open and now he was wearing dark sweatpants. His figure was quite enjoyable to look at, his slender waist easy to see with his shirt tucked in. 

Eventually, he finished cooking and handed you a plate of scrambled eggs and some toast along with a glass of wine. “Here, I figured you might be hungry but if you’re not that’s okay!“ he said with a smile. 

“You’re so kind Yeonjun.” You replied before taking a few bites. The two of you sat and ate together while chit-chatting and getting to know each other a little better. After a while, you felt the wine turning your cheeks pink. 

“Do you… want to watch a movie with me?” Yeonjun smiled, cleaning up the table. “If not, I can take you home.” 

“I’m definitely not letting you take me home, you’ve been drinking too, stupid.” You said with crossed arms as you headed over to his couch. He chuckled before joining you in the living room. As he approached you, you could really see how nice his figure was, including the tent in his sweatpants. You quickly looked up after realizing you definitely had been staring for too long and met his eyes. There was that stupid smirk again. Had he seen you checking him out like that? If he did he definitely didn’t say anything. 

He sat beside you and that’s when you realized how much bigger he was than you. His hands were twice the size of yours, he was much taller than you, and his arms and thighs were muscular and toned. For a moment you wondered what other parts of him were muscular or big. You shook the thought off quickly embarrassed at yourself for even going there. But you couldn’t help but bite your lip as he put his arm around you. 

You could feel your skin light on fire as he pulled you against him. The sudden proximity warmed you to the core. You swore you’d never been so interested in someone like this before but you couldn’t understand what made him so different. He turned on the TV and put on a movie. You had a hard time concentrating on the movie though. Between the unprovoked lewd thoughts and the fact that you were exhausted, after a while you found yourself dozing off on him. Yeonjun was warm and he felt safe even though you had just met him. 

Yeonjun watched as your body began to go limp in his arms. He wasn’t surprised that he had taken control over you this easily but still, it amused him to watch as your head fell into his lap. He leaned his head back and tried to calm himself. He wasn’t usually like this but he hadn’t had sex in months and if he didn’t soon he was going to become sick and unable to control himself. He would become dangerous to those around him.

He was hesitant because of what happened last time. He was afraid of hurting or killing anyone. He wasn’t like the rest of them. He really didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. Maybe if he was quick you wouldn’t wake up and you wouldn’t get hurt. He knew he could keep you sleeping for a while as long as he maintained focus. 

Your head was sitting in his lap now. He adjusted how he was sitting but that didn’t help much because now he could feel the blood starting to pulsate into his cock. 

“Fuck.” He mumbled.

He looked down and watched as the tent in his pants grew. Your warm breath tingled against the head of his cock through his pants which caused him to thrust up against your face unintentionally. You didn’t respond, but you let out a little whine which only made things worse for Yeonjun. 

Yeonjun felt his body heating up. It’s not like he could just get himself off and be done, he needed this to stay alive. His cock only continued to grow, the head now rubbing against your unsuspecting lips through his sweatpants. 

He gently rested a hand on your head holding it in place as he began to slowly rut against your face. The drag of his sweatpants against his skin stimulated him in a way that only made him hotter. He continued this for a minute, watching your innocent features as you slept in his lap. This only aroused him more and more. He knew this was wrong, but he didn’t have a choice.

He clenched his jaw before carefully pulling down his sweatpants. His length sprang out just perfectly rubbing across your lips leaving a string of precum connecting to the head. 

“Oh fuck.” He cursed. The image in front of him was unholy like him. He ran his fingers through his hair before shaking his head. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but you were so beautiful and he couldn’t help it. Something like this was inevitable.

With one hand Yeonjun pinched your cheeks which parted your lips and with the other, he pushed down on your head gently until he was able to push the tip into your mouth. 

He paused, the heat and wetness of your mouth making his head spin. All he had to do was keep himself calm and not lose it. If he could just cum once he’d be able to deal with it for now. He needed to cum and to have sex to feed, to stay alive, but he never wanted to hurt anyone. It was a difficult cycle. He loathed it.  

He took a shakey breath before pushing himself further into your mouth. Right now, since he was calm and fully human Yeonjun’s cock was only about 6 inches and was a normal width so he was able to push himself father into your mouth without any issues. 

While the younger boy fucked into your sleeping mouth, he let his free hand wander around your body. He let his hand crawl under your top and his fingertips kneaded your skin. 

Yeonjun thrusted deeper and he could feel your gag reflex kicking in on its own as well as small whines signaling that you were starting to wake up. He sped up, not close enough yet to cum. 

“Shit.” He thought. He had taken too long and you were starting to wake up from the dream he had put you in. He was going to have to use a different approach…

You were having the most erotic dream when the constant motion against your skin started to awaken you. You felt like you were drooling and having to work harder to breathe. You felt hot and aroused but it had to be because of the dream. That’s when you remembered where you had been. You had fallen asleep in a stranger's lap. 

When your eyes started to flutter open everything was spinning. You were no longer lying down but instead, you were sitting up with something hard pressed against your back. It was dark except for maybe one lamp, but you were in a room you didn’t recognize. 

That’s when you realized there was something in your mouth. A hand grabbed your chin and tilted your head upwards. Your eyes met his, but they weren’t the same as before. Yeonjun. His eyes a dark burgundy color now.

“Hi there little bun. Be good for me and don’t move okay?” His voice cooed into your ears. 

You started to panic slightly when you finally felt his hips move and then you realized that his cock was in your mouth and that’s why you were dreaming the way you had been. 

He started thrusting quickly without much warning causing you to grab onto his thighs as you gagged. 

“You’re such a good girl. Taking my cock so well. Open up wide for me honey, I’m not going to hurt you.” He said while rubbing your head. His voice was as sweet as honey and the tender motion of his hands running through your hair with his words somehow melted into your brain easing your anxiety. You felt dizzy with lust. That was because of your dream right? 

He pets you a few more times before pushing your head back against the wall. His cock was sliding deeper and deeper into your throat as your spit continued to build. You started gagging more and more which began to pull you out of your daze. 

You started to panic adrenaline fighting against Yeonjun’s mental abilities. The rush caused you to start pushing against his thighs again, a sudden subconscious act of fight or flight.

Suddenly, you couldn’t breathe at all. Yeonjun had pinched your nose closed completely blocking you from breathing. 

“Don’t worry little bun, I’ve got you. I won’t hurt you, just trust me.” He said as he continued to keep you from breathing. 

However, now you weren’t gagging, he was pushing his cock all the way down your throat and your head was spinning. Although you were nervous and scared, you still trusted the younger boy. Suddenly, your hands felt heavy and weak so you let them fall to your side, no longer an obstacle for Yeonjun. 

Yeonjun continued to thrust into your throat sharply, the lack of oxygen to your brain was making you dizzy. You felt so weak and fuzzy. You weren’t gagging anymore but your body subconsciously started trying to gasp for air, your throat spasming around Yeonjun’s cock. You heard the younger boy curse above you before he pushed himself all the way in his body shaking slightly. You could feel his cock pulsing as he came down your throat. You looked up at him as your vision started to become spotty, you could have sworn this was a dream too because of the shadows coming up from the boy's back and how the pupils of his eyes were almost glowing and red. His cum was hot and the feeling distracted you from the fact that you were starting to black out. 

When you started to become conscious again, everything was still dark. You were lying down, it was warm and you felt a pressure behind you. You blinked a few times before you realized Yeonjun was spooning you. Your jaw was a bit sore, there’s no way everything that just happened wasn’t a dream right? You must have just clenched your jaw from the vivid dreams you were having.

You thought you could hear Yeonjun lightly snoring behind you which made you question yourself even more.

The larger boy adjusted and suddenly you could feel pressure from behind. You blushed. His cock was pushing against your clothed ass. His cock was hard, you could feel that it was throbbing and this made a chill go down your spine. You wanted more.

Yeonjun adjusted again, this time wrapping his arm around your waist and his face was near your shoulder. His breaths were heavy and even, so you were almost certain he was asleep. That was.. until you began to feel his hips rolling against you. His cock pushed against you, slightly dragging with the motion. 

You couldn’t move, you were so flustered by his actions you couldn’t help but want to see what would happen also, why were your limbs so fucking heavy. He continued rolling his hips gently for a few minutes. You could feel yourself getting hotter and hotter with every passing second, you wanted more than this. 

You bit your lip before slowly starting to pull the sweatpants you were wearing off. Since they were too big for you they slid off easily but you still moved with hesitation for fear of waking Yeonjun up. After another minute of gentle thrusting, you lifted your ass slightly and held your legs apart. With another thrust, Yeonjun’s cock slid down to underneath your ass and with this next thrust, his cock slid between your thighs against your clothed pussy. You gently let your legs fall back together and covered your mouth as the boy now thrusts against your heat. 

You felt dizzy with lust, your mind was racing yet only focused on what was happening behind you. The sweat made for a good lubricant between your thighs and you could feel Yeonjun’s cock growing harder. Yeonjun’s breath was hot against your neck. 

The thrusting continued against your heat until you felt your thighs slick with sweat and precum. You whined quietly, your mind was hazy and your pussy was throbbing. You wanted more but you also didn’t want to wake him. 

“Do you want me that bad princess?” You heard a voice but the voice was in your head? You shook your head a bit thinking you were literally losing it. “My previous actions weren’t enough for you? Are you that desperate?” The voice again. But that’s when everything started to change. 

“Do you know what you’re messing with Angel?” The voice spoke once more in your head. You felt Yeonjun’s body shift and you jumped as you felt sharpness digging into you where his hand was around your waist. A knife?

You’re body and mind were conflicted, fear pulsed through your body at the sudden change in mood but you couldn’t help but push back against Yeonjun’s cock which you swore had gotten bigger than when it was in your mouth. Wait but that was a dream? This is a nightmare, right? It was time to wake up. 

You shook your head again and pinched yourself. This earned you a deep chuckle from behind. “No use love. You’re mine now, but what happens next is in your hands.” The voice in your head again. 

“Yeonjun…” you spoke out loud the following words sounding ridiculous as they left your mouth, “What is going on? Is that you.. in my head?”

“Mmm… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. But I couldn’t. It was much too risky. I’m an incubus, and you are my prey but.. I have no intentions of hurting you as long as you can handle it.” Yeonjun spoke aloud now, his breath tickling your ear. 

Tears pricked at your eyes as your flight or fight kicked in once more. “h-handle it?” You stuttered.

In a sudden movement, yeonjun had flipped you to where you were on your stomach and he was pressed on top of you. His cock still rubbing against your heat. The younger boy put his hands where you could see them and you watched in horror as his fingers shifted into slender claws. He lifted a hand to graze a claw against your neck. Their sharpness a likened to a brand new razor. You didn’t dare to move.

“Do you think you can handle me, princess?” He paused, “If you can’t, you don’t have to be afraid, I’ll make it quick and easy and you’ll never feel pain ever again. But if you can…. I promise I’ll make it worth it.” He whispered into your ear kissing it a few times sending shivers down your spine. 

You didn’t have a chance to answer before Yeonjun flipped you over and pinned you down his claws tearing into the sheets like little knives. Your heart and mind were racing unsure whether you were more fascinated or frightened by the scene in front of you. You watched as small dark black horns grew from his head and then he grimaced as dark bat-like wings came out from behind his back and lastly a whiplike tail with a spade on the end. You were horrified truly but despite the insanity of the situation you were in you tried to focus on the boy's face. You watched his face as the changes in his body caused him agony. You could tell he didn't want to be like this, not when it hurt him so much. You wanted to hug him, do anything to ease his pain.  

When his eyes finally met yours again they were still the deep burgundy color. He smirked once more as he watched the tears trickle down your cheeks. Fear had pulled them unwillingly from your eyes despite how you wanted to appear brave. He pulled a hand back and wrapped it around your throat once more. You whined and then realized still hadn't answered him. 

You reached up and ran a hand through his tousled hair and then over one of his horns. “You won’t hurt me Yeonjun. You don’t want to.” You managed to choke out as his hand tightened on your throat. You were sure that his next move would have been to kill you if you didn't speak up.

He seemed surprised at your response. His hand loosened slightly and his eyebrow picked up in curiosity. “You’re not afraid?” He said. 

“Of course I’m afraid. This is possibly the worst nightmare I've ever had but… Yeonjun, if you wanted to kill me you would have done it already, and besides…" you paused, "I really really… want you right now.” You replied, still aware of how his body was pressed against yours and how wet you were. 

Yeonjun’s cock throbbed at your words. He hadn’t really ever experienced this. Usually, when his prey woke up early he would just kill them. They usually woke up screaming or crying. The fear in their eyes was unbearable for him. He hated to see people be so afraid of him. He didn’t like killing people either. Many times Yeonjun had wished one of his prey would have had the means to kill him so he wouldn't have to do this anymore.  

Yeonjun sat back, releasing his hand fully from your throat and you watched as his tail came up and slid underneath your shirt. It was cold against your burning skin. The spade traveled all the way up to your neck before coming back down in fast motion ripping your shirt cleanly into two with zero resistance. You jumped as the spade cut you slightly across your chest on the way out. You were now exposed to yeonjun. 

Yeonjun watched for a moment as the blood trickled down your bare chest. He was also taking the time to admire your bare torso. Then he leaned down and licked from your belly button up to your neck, stopping to lick up the blood from your skin. When he got to your neck he kissed gently, eliciting a quiet whimper from you. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, running a hand through his hair again and tugging gently near the base of his horns. Yeonjun growled at this, continuing to kiss and suck beautiful bruises on your neck. Your head spun as he licked against the shell of your ear before coming back down to lick at your erect nipples. He sucked at one and then the other, only causing your pussy to throb with every slight move. 

You grabbed at his shirt wanting to be able to feel his skin against yours. The younger boy simply just tore his shirt open from the front before using his tail to pull it off of his wings. You ran your fingers down his chest surprised to find numerous scars, some more fresh than others, and black marks like tattoos all across his pale skin. 

He watched you patiently as you took in his features. “You should be scared of me.” He said quietly, glancing down at his own scars being reminded of the many atrocities he had experienced and caused. 

You looked back at him with a small smile. “I’m not afraid Yeonjun. You're beautiful” you responded, tracing a scar with your fingers. Yeonjun nodded before smirking once more. “Well, not yet you’re not princess.” 

You lifted an eyebrow but before you could question him, Yeonjun was pulling down your panties. You blushed now being fully exposed to him so quickly. 

Yeonjun licked his lips as he realized how wet you were for him. “Ah… darling… did you perhaps want this all along hmm?” he said as he ran his claws down your thighs scratching them but not enough to draw blood. “Pretty girl.” He cooed, pulling your panties all the way off. 

You turned your head away slightly embarrassed at the situation. Yeonjun wasn’t able to use his hands to finger you, so instead he opted for his tongue, pulling your legs apart to kiss and lick at your heat. You moaned at his actions, clutching at the sheets because of the sudden pleasure of friction against your clit. He licked you fully, including using his tongue to push into you slightly which felt so good that you reached down to push his head down more. Yeonjun seemed to enjoy this slight dynamic change, licking at you like you were the only meal he had had all day. 

After a few minutes of this, Yeonjun came back up to face you. He licked his lips again. This time you caught a glimpse of his elongated canines. 

Yeonjun leaned into you, wrapping his arms around you suddenly. He was holding you as if he didn't want to let go. You felt him begin to rut against you again. His cock was still unbelievably hard. “y/n.” He panted “I won’t be able to stop once I start. You have to trust me if things become… frightening.” 

You nodded, rubbing his arms in reassurance. You weren’t sure exactly what he was trying to say but there wasn’t anything you could do about it now and the truth is, you didn't want him to stop anyway.

Yeonjun sat back up and began to pull down his pants. You desperately wanted to see what you hadn't yet been able to see. You were sure his cock was just as pretty as he was. You watched curiously until the lights began to flicker. Just as his length was about to come into your view everything went pitch black and you could feel as Yeonjun pushed his bare cock against your heat. You whined and the younger boy groaned both of you finally feeling the relief of skin-to-skin contact.

He continued this for a moment making sure to lubricate himself with your wetness before you felt the tip of his cock pushing at your entrance. He pushed in slowly at that’s when you realized something was different. The head of his cock was slender and more pointy than normal and as he pushed into you you could feel bumps and ridges that were more than just veins along the sides of his cock. This was curious to you but it felt much better than normal.

He was going slow but still, you felt so full already. You heard him moaning quietly above you as he bottomed out. You whined at the stretch. It didn't hurt but it was enough to leave you wanting just a little bit more.

The lights flickered back on but everything was dimmer than before. You met Yeonjun’s eyes and without notice, he began fucking into you. He wasn’t being rough yet, but the bumps on his cock rubbed the inside of you in ways you had never felt before. You couldn’t help yourself from letting out quiet moans as his cock slid in and out of you easily.

The younger boy leaned into your neck again as he fucked you. “God fuck. You’re so good, baby. Taking my cock so well.” He whispered into your ear. “Ah- yeonjun,” you moaned back, shuddering as his breath tickled your ear once again. 

He continued to fuck into you harshly but surprisingly it never really hurt. You felt full, hot and so much pleasure. You felt like you could cum at any second with one perfect stroke or one brush against your clit. You’d never felt anything like this and it felt so good. You wondered briefly if Yeonjun had any control over your pain and your pleasure.

Yeonjun pulled back after a moment to push your legs up. You squeaked at this sudden change and how much deeper it felt. You dug your fingernails into Yeonjun’s skin which elicited a slight growl of pleasure. 

His eyes were almost animalistic. Maybe this is what he had been talking about. That was until you felt a sudden throbbing in your heat. The throbbing was coming from his cock. For a moment you wondered if he was cumming?

The lights began to flicker again and you felt it as his cock pushed against your walls. His cock was growing, stretching you around double what it had been. It was overwhelming and a little bit painful. Your mind swirling with a mix of emotions and feelings you squeezed your eyes shut to dull the pain.

“Take it, princess.” He said with a devious smirk. “I’m not finished with you yet.” 

You whined at tears pricked at your eyes from the pain. It wasn’t overwhelming yet but it still hurt. But god you felt so full and the friction only made you hotter. You didn’t want him to stop, not that he would anyway. You just wanted more and more of him.

“Fuck.. Yeonjun” You cried, gripping the sheets around you unable to really reach him at the moment. 

He fucked into you aggressively. You could hear him panting as he thrust. You moaned as tears ran out of your eyes onto the pillow below. 

The younger boy reached down and wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling a whimper from you. This sudden intimate position caught you off guard. In return, you once again tugged on his hair. He groaned in pleasure. He had you basically folded in half pushing your physical boundaries to the edge. 

Yeonjun’s thrusts began to get shakey and you wondered if he was close now. You quickly lost sight of this question when you once again felt that you were becoming impossibly fuller except now this was only at the base of his cock and it was rubbing directly against your g-spot. 

“Fuck Yeonjun. I- I-“ you moaned as the feeling overwhelmed you. 

“There you go pretty.” He said, his voice dripping in lust. “Good girl.” 

Your head was spinning the sudden pleasure mixing with pain overwhelming you and orgasm approaching quickly.

“Yeonjunie- please. please I want to cum.” You whined, clawing at him desperately.

“Fuck, baby.” He said in response thrusting impossibly harder and faster. The sudden begging caught him off guard and encouraged him.

He grabbed a fist full of your hair before tugging harshly and in a deep raspy growl all he said was “Cum.” 

His knot pressed harshly into your g-spot along with his undeniable command causing you to see stars, waves of pleasure wrecking your body as your orgasm hit you. Your body was overstimulated and felt like it melting.

“Good girl.” was all you could process from above you as you came. Your tightening around him caused Yeonjun’s orgasm to come quickly after you. But in the heat of the moment, you grabbed the younger boy by the horns and pulled him in to kiss you. 

He kissed you roughly as he came, filling you up with his own heat. The feeling was euphoric, almost better than your orgasm. You still just wanted more despite being so full and wrecked. He continued to kiss you as you both came down slowly from your high. That was until he realized that you were no longer kissing him back. 

He pulled back quickly realizing his mistake. He looked at you in horror as you lay there limply. 

“Fuck. Oh fuck.” Yeonjun said in a panic, fear running down his spine, “God fuck.” 

He had forgotten in a moment of weakness that kissing, especially along with sex, was the fastest way for an incubus to suck the life from its prey. And here you were, lying motionless in his arms.

He lifted your head and ran his fingers through your hair softly. “y/n, I’m sorry. I- I- didn’t mean to I swear.” Yeonjun began to cry, tears quickly running down his face. He didn’t want to be like the other ones. He didn’t want to hurt people. To kill people. He really didn’t want to hurt you. You were the only one who hadn’t been afraid of him. You were different. "I swear I didn't mean to. Please," he begged.

All you knew was that you had been kissing him when suddenly you felt very weak and felt yourself beginning to lose consciousness. Your head was throbbing and dizzy as you felt his tears dripping onto your face as he hung his head above yours. You could hear the younger boy sobbing quietly, strings of desperation slipping from his mouth. “Yeonjunie.” you managed to whisper out. “Please don’t cry.”

The younger boy lifted his head. “y/n?” He choked out between tears. 

You worked hard to get your eyes open, only to see the fully human boy once again. His hair was messy, his skin no longer scarred, no wings or tail, his face was red, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

He gently pulled you into his arms, both of you still naked and messy. He stroked your head as he continued to cry. “I swear I’m not going to hurt you please don’t be afraid of me.” You felt him trembling.

You let out a small huff of a laugh. “I’m not afraid yeonjun. I’m not afraid at all.” You replied as you placed a reassuring hand on his cheek and wiped his tears with your thumb. You stayed like this for a minute, Yeonjun must have been taking the time to calm himself down.

Yeonjun carefully picked you up and carried you back to the shower where this time he helped wash you and kept you standing. You still felt so weak but having him take care of you felt so good. You couldn't help but want to soak up every single moment of attention he was giving you.

He gave you water and carried you back to the bedroom before getting into bed with you and holding you close.

You reached up to play with his hair because you could tell he liked it before. Sure enough, his head leaned into your touch, following your hand in a silent cry for the much-needed comfort. But while cuddling into him you began to dose off. 

“I know we just met but… I hope you don’t plan on getting rid of me…” the younger boy said quietly. “Demons… we create really deep bonds you know… and nobody has ever not been afraid of me like that before.”

You weren't sure if Yeonjun had meant for you to hear him or not. But it didn't matter because you had no desire to leave.

You smiled and leaned up to kiss him once more. You held his face in your hands squishing his cheeks a bit. “I told you I’m not afraid Yeonjun. So now it’s your turn to not be afraid.” You said teasing him gently for his insecurity. 

You weren’t sure if you were under the spell of the young incubus or if what you were feeling right now was real or a dream but it didn’t matter. The handsome boy with fluffy hair or the demon with bat wings and horns, either way, you couldn’t help but smile as he held you closely. He nuzzled you before adjusting so your head was lying on his chest. You fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and the feeling of him rubbing your back. You decided that even if this was all a dream, it was one that you wanted to have again and again or never wake up from.

[icycoldninja]

Don't leave me (Sephiroth x Reader angst)

Summary: Sephiroth's abandonment issues get the better of him in the middle of the night, so he goes to you, seeking comfort.

---‐------------------------------------------------------------‐--------------Sleep was never easy for Sephiroth thanks to the shadows, voices, and eerie bits of music that often plagued his thoughts. His mind, when allowed to wander, was often like a bitter, wintery blizzard, with everything swirling around in one, massive, confusing, mental storm. In order to keep the storm from growing too large, Sephiroth often kept busy throughout the day, focusing his mind on productive, stimulating activities such as exercising, scheming in his office, or tracking down Cloud and his accomplices.

However, at nighttime, when his brain was exhausted and craved sleep, such activities were very difficult to complete, therefore, he turned to more ordinary practices of keeping his mind occupied, which, unsurprisingly, did not work. Math problems were easy for him, as were crossword puzzles, spot the difference games, hidden object puzzles, etc. Sephiroth could work through an entire high-school math textbook in under 2 hours and say it was "child's play". This level of genius was purely astonishing, and also maddening, as his troubled thoughts, of which there were plenty, were also very disruptive.

Sighing, the man rolled over in his bed and draped his heavy, fluffy wing over his face like most humans would with a pillow. Why couldn't he sleep?! What would it take for his goddamn brain to shut off and let him rest already?! He was so tired, he could feel his eyeballs ache, but he just couldn't rest. Why?

The swirling storm in Sephiroth's head raged on; he closed his eyes and gripped his pillow tightly, trying desperately to remember what falling asleep felt like so he could ascertain whether or not he was making progress.

Several more minutes passed, and Sephiroth felt his brain fog over. He relaxed completely, willing his consciousness to slip into darkness and finally, finally, allow him to rest. He expected to plunge into fuzzy nothingness, but was instead met with a cold, dark, empty void.

All around him, he could hear laughter. Deranged laughter; laughter he'd heard almost all day of every day during his childhood. How he hated that laugh. Sephiroth turned around, only to find that same man standing before him in the familiar, pristine lab coat that he knew so well.

Hojo.

He was glad he couldn't speak; to utter his name aloud would have stained and corrupted his tongue. He glared at the man with contempt, wishing he would just leave already. He'd seen enough of that cruel bastard, he didn't need to see any more. Hojo smiled at him, his thin lips twisting into a devious smirk. Looking at it made Sephiroth's blood boil. Where was Masamune? Now would be a perfect time to use it.

Hojo's smile slowly faded, his expression turning from evil glee to disgust. He was regarding Sephiroth with disgust. How dare he?! Sephiroth watched as he turned around and walked away, shaking his head. Good riddance, he thought. He never wanted to look at scum like Hojo anyway. Turning around once again, Sephiroth came face to face with a being he never expected to see in a place like this. His own, beloved mother: Jenova.

Now Sephiroth was beginning to wish he could speak. He wanted to tell his mother how glad he was to see her here, how much he loved her, how thankful he was to her for his mere existence. He tried to reach out to touch her, but she recoiled, frowning in repulsion. What was wrong? What did he do to make her feel this way? Sephiroth was at a complete loss; all he ever did was for his mother, so why wasn't she embracing him? Why....why didn't she love him?

Panicking slightly, Sephiroth extended his hands in her direction once again, but Jenova stepped back. Shaking her head at him, just as Hojo had done, the entity whom Sephiroth had dedicated nearly everything he did to turned her back on him.

Now he was scared. The darkness was more than just that; it was an all-consuming maw mace of his own twisted, fearful thoughts. He didn't want this; he hated being alone like this. Why did everyone leave? What did he do wrong?

The stormy void closed in around Sephiroth, surrounding him in a cloud of fear. He didn't like this, he didn't want to sleep anymore, he wanted to wake up!

And he did, springing upright in a cold sweat, panting heavily. His wing flapped loudly against the bed, shedding feathers everywhere. He looked around and saw he was the only person in the room, this notion terrifying him even further. In a fit of frenzied hysteria, Sephiroth flung the covers aside and stumbled out of his room, not caring that he was bashing various body parts against the door trim. He ended up in the living room, where you were still awake, working on the couch. As soon as he appeared in the darkened room, you stopped what you were doing and turned to him, confused. His legs, clad only in pajama shorts, were visibly and violently trembling; an unusual occurrence.

"Seph?" You asked, standing up and walking towards him. "Are you alright?" He shook his head, nearly collapsing into your arms. You cradled him for a while, pressing soft kisses to his cheek, waiting patiently to see if he would explain the reasons for his distress. After a few moments, he began to sob.

"Don't leave me," He croaked, clinging onto you tightly. "Don't leave me too...." You sighed softly, before taking his head into your hands and kissing him.

"I'm not leaving you, ever," You told him, running your hands through his long, silky locks. "I'm gonna be here forever. Don't be afraid." Sephiroth nodded, then sniffled and wiped his tears away. "Come on," You said, taking him by the hand and leading him back to his bedroom. "I'll stay with you tonight."

Needless to say, Sephiroth fell asleep easier than ever that night; the comfort of your presence, and the knowledge that you would never leave him lulling him into peaceful slumber.

[astroboots]

Issue #6

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You and your unfriendly neighborhood Spiderman wind up far from your usual neighborhood and you need to find a way to leave before it's too late.

Word count: 2,600 words.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Your home is gone. 

Everything is gone. 

All you can see is white. A vast, empty space surrounding you, blank and endless as far as the eye can see. 

You suck in a surprised breath, already flinching because you expect a place so white and sterile to smell like sharp stinging disinfectant, but to your surprise it's the opposite. It smells of nothing in here.

“Mierda!”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and find Blue-Spiderman behind you.

“Shit!” he growls out. His hand comes up to his hair, fingers fisting into the poor strands as he starts tugging at them in frustration again. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Wha– What happened?”

There was a helicopter, you think… darkness... a loud noise... the wall of your apartment exploding into a cloud of dust and rubble.

"Did... did a fucking helicopter just crash into my apartment!?"

He ignores your question, opting to fidget with his wristwatch instead, swearing and muttering to himself, while you try to make sense of what’s happening. 

“And… And then…” And then the otherworldly light show. At the time, you thought you were dying, but you’re clearly not dead. You’re just… someplace else. “What is this place?”

“We weren’t supposed to end up here,” he says, ignoring your question once again. He smacks at his watch repeatedly before swearing again and then leaves the poor thing alone.

“Come on.” He unceremoniously grabs your arm and starts marching forward, dragging you along.  He seems to have some destination in mind, though you don’t know how he can tell left from right in this expanse of nothingness, let alone where to go.

“Wait, wait,” you protest, “Where are we? What is this place?” Maybe if you repeat yourself enough he’ll finally give you an answer.

“We have to get out of here. We can’t waste time.” There is no pause in his steps, he marches on as if he’s expecting you to calmly accept the situation without further explanation.

"Can you please just stop for a second and tell me what’s going on?!" you say, digging your heels against his strength to try and stop him for even a second. 

He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring with anger and irritation. “We’re in an interdimensional fabric where the interstitial domain emerges. It’s void of any discernible quantum fluctuations or energy-matter manifestations, constituting an absolute absence of existence or spatial-temporal coherency and–”

He’s still talking, throwing out a string of convoluted science terms, one after another in quick succession, but all you hear is an endless stream of jibberish. 

His words seem strangely far away, like your ears are plugged or something. You raise a hand to rub at one of them, then at your forehead when that doesn't make the sound go back to normal.

Normal. Ha! Who even knows what "normal" is for this place anyway. Everything since you left your apartment has been so bizarre that you're not surprised your head feels a little wonky.

And there's something weird with your hand too. You pull it back from your forehead and hold it in front of your face, staring at it.

Strange. The tone of it seems off, somehow. Opaque and lighter in shade then you’re used to. Almost like it’s fading.

It's only when he moves to stand in front of you that you realize you can see the red and blue of his suit though your hand. The whole of your palm is turning translucent.

“Shit!” he spits out and steps forward, grabbing and yanking your hand towards him as he inspects your palm.

Whatever he sees clearly doesn’t make him happy. His mouth is at an angle of irritation you had not thought was physically possible before.

"What's your name?" he demands.

"You know my name!" You scowl, tired of keeping up this farce, you know he knows it, and you're not playing this game with him. 

His annoyance seems to grow deeper. “Yes, I know your name. I'm asking if you remember it.”

What kind of stupid question is that!? Of course you remember your own name. What a condescending jerk! Does he get off on making everyone around him feel like an idiot?

Your name is… it’s... it's... uhm…

... huh.

The first syllable of your name is on the tip of your tongue. Your lips shape the sound, but nothing comes out because you don't remember what vowel comes next. Or what comes after that.

Your name... Why can't you remember your name?

“I–I don’t...” you hesitate, blinking in confusion. You don’t understand. How did you forget something so simple? “I don’t understand what’s happening. Where are we?”

“I just told you where we are,” he bursts out impatiently.

You wince at his words. God, he did explain, didn't he? You just... can't remember what he said. You know he used a lot of science-y words… Is that why you can't remember what he told you?

 “Look, it’s been a rough day. Can you explain it to me again, please, but like you’re talking to a 5 year old?”

In front of you, his expression softens ever so slightly, and he takes another deep breath before continuing more calmly.

“We’re in a space between worlds,” he explains, this time in plain speech, thank god. “It’s a void. Nothing exists here. If we stay too long, we won’t either.”

“Okay, but what am I supposed to–”

“Think happy thoughts,” he orders with a testy bite, which is not at all very helpful in making you think of happy thoughts.

“What, like think of a joke or…?”

He scowls at your question, as if it wasn’t a perfectly reasonable question to ask in the circumstances.

“No. Close your eyes and think of a happy memory. Something important. And personal. It’ll keep you tethered to your physical body,” he says, and despite the terse snappiness that remains in this rude man’s voice, you don’t put up a protest.

You close your eyes, trading out white for the black behind your eyelids. You try to form a memory—any memory—but nothing comes to you.

“I can’t think of anything,” you say, as worry starts creeping into your chest. You don’t understand why something that should be simple is so hard to do all of a sudden.

Then you hear his voice in the darkness.

“Think of someone you love. A day you spent together, or if you can’t think of something, then just think of their smile, or the color of their eyes,” he continues, and with each quality he lists out to you, there's a warmth that leaks through the hardness of his voice.

In your mind’s eye, a memory unfolds pixel by pixel. One of your favorite childhood memories of going camping upstate with your family. You’re wearing a pink ball cap, and your parents are standing by the tent, watching as the family dog runs up to you with a soggy tennis ball in her mouth.

Your mom is smiling at you as she waves from afar, gentle and patient. Her eyes are squinting against the bright sunlight, but you can’t remember the color of them. 

Gray hazy mist invades the edges of the memory, eating into the vivid colors, the picture distorts until the smiles of your parents morphs into a faceless blob.

Your eyes snap open, and you can’t keep the panic out of your voice. “What’s happening to me!?”

You don��t remember… You don’t remember what they look like. Who they were, you can’t–

“Hey, hey” his voice snaps you out of the fog, His warm palms come up to cup the apple of your cheeks, face mere inches from yours.

“Stay with me.”

And you're trying, you really are, but the panic is already here. Eating through your veins and crawling under your skin with an itch that won't go away.

“I– I can’t– I don’t–”

You can’t feel his hand anymore. Can’t feel your cheeks either. Can’t feel the clattering of your teeth from your trembling or the hard beating of your heart in your chest.

“I don’t remember her eyes.” Your fingers clutch onto his arms, but no matter how hard you dig in with your nails, it sinks into nothingness,  “I don’t– My mom. I– I don’t remember her name, her face, her–” 

Your feet seem to have fused to the spot you are standing on. They feel heavy and weightless at the same time. You try to move, but can't. Your body is no longer listening to you, and you’ve forgotten what it’s like to coordinate your feet, for the right foot to take a step forward and have the left one follow.

“Lyla,” he tells you, thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheeks, and you can feel the rasp of the rough calluses on it. “Your mom’s name was Lyla.”

The panic subsides at the familiar name. 

Lyla.

Your mom's face comes flooding back, the way her eyes would crinkle at the corner when she laughed, the proud smile she wore at your high school graduation, the soft sound of her voice singing you quiet lullabies as you drifted off to sleep.

“She used to make the most disgusting mac ‘n’ cheese, and whenever you’re sad, it’s all you want to eat,” he reminds you and your mouth tingles at the memory of the thick layer of dripping cheap cheese, scalding hot on your tongue. 

You adjust your grip on him, and you can feel the texture of his suit under your fingertips now. Your fingers aren’t as numb anymore, neither is your face. 

“Food worked, huh?” The corner of his mouth tugs into a half smile, eyes soft as he gazes down at you. “Figures.”

He leans down, hunching over until his forehead rests against yours. “You know that pizza place down on Downing street that you always go to the day before payday? With the gross doughy crust and kimchi topping that you love so much? Think of that.”

You can picture it clearly. The brick brownhouses, the familiar waft of oven-baked dough, and hint of coal burning, and slowly but surely, your stomach warms at the thought of it. 

“Think of those ugly pink fur slippers you wear constantly at home when it gets cold,” he says, and you do, gradually become aware of the soles of your feet and the weight of your own body being held up by them.  

He goes on like that, listing off things about you. The way he talks about them is almost insulting, but there’s an undertone of fondness hidden underneath that you can’t make sense of. He describes your favorite cozy sweater, calling it “ratty”; your favorite corner of central park that he thinks reeks of piss; your favorite episode of Grey’s anatomy, the one where Cristina has to get cut out of her wedding dress, which you always watch when you need a good cry.

The sound of his voice seems to shiver through you, the warmth of it settling low in your belly.

The more he talks, the more you remember, memories bleeding back into your consciousness. The simplest things come first... The sensation of running your fingers through soft fabric. Stepping barefoot into grass on a summer day. What it feels like to want someone.

And, as he continues to talk, awareness of your body comes trickling back until you're acutely conscious of his forehead pressing against yours; his hands, big and gentle where they're wrapped around your upper arms; the heat radiating off his big body inches from yours as his deep voice lists off all sorts of intimate things about your life, things he has no business knowing. 

Control of your body is returning to you. You can blink now, even if it requires conscious effort, and you blink up at him as he pulls back to look down at you.

“You back with me?” he asks softly, one big, warm hand rising to cup the back of your neck in a way that makes you lightheaded.

You tip your head ever so slightly until you catch sight of your hands, now totally opaque instead of that eerily ghostly sheen, and you nod back at him. 

“I– I think so.”

“Good.” 

You’re still a little bit frazzled. Disorientated by the whole experience that it takes you a while longer to gather your thoughts together. 

You still don’t know where you are. You don’t know what the hell just happened. Or what this place is supposed to be. Calling it a ‘void’ doesn’t really explain as much as he seems to think it does. How on earth did you just lose control over your body like that? Why did your body literally start to disappear, fading into the nothingness? 

A chill trickles down your spine as you recall the lack of sensation, and you grip his arm underneath your fingers just a little bit tighter to remind yourself that, yeah, he’s still here. 

It makes you feel just the tiniest bit safer. 

With one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, he brings his other wrist to his mouth and speaks into the watch. “Lyla, have you got a lock down?” 

Huh? Lyla? What is he– You don’t understand. Wait, is he talking to your mom? What does he mean he’s locking down your mom!? 

There’s a crackle of static in your ears, and the endless white gives way to a burst of color as reality reforms around the two of you. A wall of masonry appears brick by brick before you, nothing but blue clear skies above. There’s a crunch of gravel on the concrete tiles beneath your feet, and when you look down to your right, you see the New York skyline below you. The bird’s eye view of the city is familiar. It’s one you’ve seen many, many times before. 

You’re on top of the Chrysler building. 

For a second you panic at the height. You clutch onto the man who has once again saved your life, and he lets you, holding you steady, with one big palm resting on the small of your back. 

“You’re okay,” he says, shushing you until you relax in his arms. “You’re okay.” 

You stay like that for some time, held in the safety of his arms, until your heartbeat slows, until the pulse racing in your throat is no longer in a clustered lump and you feel like you can breathe and think again. 

And now that you can think again, your brain is racing a mile a minute. All the things that have happened… All the things that this man said to you to bring you back to yourself. 

Things that no one except for you would know about. It’s too personal and intimate. Even if he had somehow been stalking you, he wouldn’t know these things unless he has been stalking you from childhood. The things he knows about you only comes through years of being with a person. Your habits. Your likes. Your dislikes. The things that upset you. The things that make it better when everything else has gone wrong. He knows all these things about you that he really only should know if he’s known you for a lifetime.  

"Who are you?" you ask him again, pulling back slightly to stare up into those blood red eyes inches away from your own, "Who are you really?"

"My name is Miguel O'Hara,” he says, holding your gaze, “and I’m Spiderman from another dimension."

~ Next

Dedication & Credits: To my sister clown in arms @thirstworldproblemss thank you for putting up with me since this series started, I have been bugging his poor woman every second of her waking day. Please give her all the love because I couldn't do this without her or even if I did, I wouldn't have 1/100000000000000000 of the fun I have now with her.

[hopesangelsprite]

Too Sweet 🍭(Illumi x Reader)

Summary: Illumi never really liked sweet things... until he met you, of course.

Pairing: Illumi x Chubby!reader

Warnings: manipulation (duh-), violence, mentions of blood and murder, obsession, etc. (let me know if I missed any)

Note: Best read while listening to "Too Sweet" by Hozier ;).

It can't be said I'm an early bird It's ten o'clock before I say a word Baby, I can never tell How do you sleep so well?

Illumi had become accustomed to certain kinds of diets throughout his years. He knew how to eat like royalty as well as how not to eat at all for days on end. That was simply how he was raised. This diet of his not only applied to food but to people as well. He'd acquired a taste for the strong, bitter types; the ones almost as barbarous as he was. If there was one thing he almost never had a taste for, it would be sweets.

You keep telling me to live right To go to bed before the daylight But then you wake up for the sunrise You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then

He'd noticed how out of place you were instantly. The club he frequented was a haven for assassins, thieves, crime bosses, and other unsavory types of the lowest lows. Most people here didn't want to be seen and made an effort not to be, clothes dark and eyes darker. Yet there you stood behind the bar, hues of soft blue and yellow brightening your work attire, eyes brighter and purer than stars. His eyes followed you as you made your rounds across the club, eyes focused on your plush thighs and wide hips. It made him sick how soft and weak you looked. Most of him wanted to brush of your existence, to him you were an anomaly and nothing more. The other more sinister parts of him wanted to break you, to watch that innocence in your eyes fade into nothingness.

Don't you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake? Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze? If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great But while in this world

I think I'll take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

Against his ingrained desires, he let you be. There was no use in him breaking you, in his eyes it wouldn't be long before someone else would anyway. So, Illumi carried on with life and ignored the small craving he was developing for you. It only grew deeper with each visit he made to the club. It wasn't often he was there either, his missions carried him all over the world for extended periods of time, but you never failed to be working each time he took his seat in the far corner of the building.

Illumi tried to drown out the yearning with whatever he could: bloodshed, money, women, etc. Still, he found himself watching night after night, taking note of the things that made you smile and the things you didn't smile as much at. Your interests became delicacies he dined on whenever he could. It wasn't long before he found himself wondering if your palate could handle the depth of his own flavor.

I aim low, I aim true and the ground's where I go I work late where I'm free from the phone And the job gets done But you worry some, I know

But who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate The rest of you like you're the TSA I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong

The first time he approached you, he was unassuming. he took a seat at the bar far enough to watch but not close enough to get caught. He nursed the whiskey he'd order earlier in the night, not particularly interested in the taste of it anymore. It seemed you were a little more confident tonight, meeting the eyes of other patrons unlike your shifts prior. You offered polite smiles and gentle chuckles as you carried on conversing with a man Illumi knew to be violent murderer no doubt priming you for the kill.

A whisper in the back of his subconscious told him to follow the brown-haired male out tonight, ensure he'd never get the chance to savor in your sweetness. He washed away the thought with the last of the amber liquid in his cup deciding he'd use him to his advantage instead.

Illumi wrapped his knuckles against the dark oak of the bar drawing your ears and eyes toward him. Another warm smile replaced the questioning look you'd donned upon the interruption after noticing his empty glass. You pulled his favorite brand of whiskey from the shelves before making your way over to refill it. He watched your movements, keenly taking note of your body language. Once the glass was filled, he nodded in appreciation. You nodded back, preparing to resume your previous conversation, only to pause upon noticing the ring on his finger.

"That's a pretty piece you've got there, sir.", you chirped over the loud music, "Must've cost you a fortune!". So, you had a thing for jewelry, huh? Illumi took a mental note before shaking his head. "It cost me nothing if you don't count my life as currency.", he mused while looking over his family's crest at the center of a jeweled band, "It's an heirloom, a part of my birthright.". You hummed in understanding while taking his hand in yours to get a closer look. A shiver ran down Illumi's spine at the softness of your skin against his. For a second, he wanted nothing more than to kill everyone in the building and have you all to himself.

You gently placed his hand down before displaying another one of your million-dollar smiles. "Well, I guess that makes you the priceless one then.", you spoke smoothly before leaving him for the murderer. From that moment forward, the seed had been planted and obsession had taken root within Illumi's dark heart.

You know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait Until that day

I'd rather take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

Two months passed before he decided it was time to carry out the rest of his plan. He'd spent the past few months at the very end of the bar making small talk with you and keeping you company when the nights got slow. He learned many new things from talking to you; how you were only a few years younger than him, your favorite foods and alcohols, the apartment complex you lived in. You seemed to be the most open with him when there was no one else around. He made you feel safe.

He'd also built rapport with you, taking out time to keep other criminals off your back and walking you out of the bar every night. Tonight, however, would be different. Instead of waiting with you for your taxi arrival, he ducked back into the bar with the excuse that he'd forgotten something of his. He crept his way to the back of the club eventually finding the stairwell to the roof. Illumi perched himself on the balcony and watched a shadow approach you from a rancid looking alley. He'd known the serial killer you been so kind to at the beginning of your job here would be waiting for you to be left alone just like any other night.

He listened to closely as the brunette rounded the corner and struck up a conversation. Not to his surprise, you kept it going smoothly in spite of the growing discomfort altering your tone. A beat and a half passed before your muffled screams fell upon Illumi's ears. He looked on patiently as the dark-haired man ambushed you and drug you into the alley he'd emerged from.

He followed closely behind from the rooftops, listening to the sounds of your struggling and crying. He fought hard to keep himself from intervening too soon and waited until the two of you stopped progressing into the maze of dark, damp passages. You'd been dragged into a dead end and unceremoniously shoved onto a pile of rotting trash. Illumi made note to have a bath drawn for you as your attacker drew closer with a long blade in hand. He waited for it to be raised above you before dropping down far away enough not to be noticed. Before any more harm could befall you, Illumi swiftly took control of the situation he'd manufactured and killed your would-be murderer.

I take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

Illumi disposed of the bloodied blade before turning to face you. He braced himself just quick enough to catch your sobbing figure falling into his arms unbothered by the blood covering them. He sank to the ground with you in tow and held you close while whispering the promise that you were safe into your shaking frame. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck before gently rising to carry you to the safety he promised. As he cast a final glance toward the body of your dead stalker, he smiled.

All of you belonged to him, now.

He could indulge in your sweetness forever.

[deityoftherain]

"Scott is hated by the watchers" is a very common sentiment I've see shared around mcytblr, and while I agree, I think there's more to it... Scott is a Watcher, or rather, he was a Watcher.

I was talking to @holymolyguacomole and @theseusmc on the FH fan server and we created this headcanon, so let's talk about it!

Like Grian, Scott is a Watcher (or ex-Watcher) functioning as a Player, but their circumstances are very different.

The Watchers are higher beings that send the lifers/Players through death games, feeding off of their terror, fear, bloodlust, and sorrow. They don't care who gets hurt, as long as They have Their entertainment and are properly satiated. Scott disagrees with this method, believing that hosting games is supposed to be fun and not traumatize the Players. While he may not have acted on his own beliefs and morals at first (it is difficult to speak out against what you were raised with), Scott could only put up with Their unethical and immoral methods for so long.

I think that The Watchers are so intimidating and godlike partly because of Their cult-like, hive-mind type thinking (though I don't think they're literally a hivemind) and partly because there is power in community. Scott is powerful on his own (plus his Players are willing participants and he's not afraid to accept outside help, which adds to what he's able to do), but he's not as powerful as all The Watchers combined.

This means They can still force him to play the death games like They can the other Players, but he has the ability to push back some. He could comply fully, but why would he? Why would he listen to Them when They threw him out? Abandoned him? Left him to fade into nothingness? Why would Scott play by Their rules when he could afford not to?

Scott wouldn't succumb to what They want from him that easily! He will play the game, meaning he will kill and do what is necessary, but he'll play how he wants to play. Scott is many things (loyal, kind, social, etc), but he is most notably wanting things to be fair. The Watchers don't like that, but there isn't much They can do, though They do sometimes succeed with tampering with his emotions and/or instincts and etc.

Scott has issues with The Watchers, as anyone in his situation would, and it was painful to leave Them at first, but he genuinely (and for good reason) believes he's better off without Them, and he is. He is his own person now, away from the Watchers. He's a being like the Watchers, but not quite the same. He's living as a Player, world hopping and surrounded by friends while happily feeding off of Players' competitive spirits, joy, and fun (and maybe their playful annoyance) from participating in MCC and his escape rooms. Anyway, that's all I have for now, thank you for listening to my ramblings >:D

Update: I wrote a oneshot based on this concept!

[3nlivenning]

if you want oneshot requests for the milkman i have one! Doppelganger Milkman constantly teasing and flirting with the male Doorman/Reader after finding out that they have a massive crush on the (real) milkman, who doesn't feel the same

x. shitty shift

doppel!francis > m!reader > francis

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

FLUFF (?)

maybe somewhere in the middle

You murmured to yourself as you heard footsteps nearing the subtly dirty window. Your eyebrows already furrowing once that annoying doppelgänger of Francis popped up again. This guy has been trying to swoon you ever since you got hired. You thought it was just a part of the character to distract you, but it’s starting to sound genuine.

You pick up your clipboard and immediately marked an ‘X’ at the obvious bloody appearance. An eyebrow raising when your eyes met his through the window.

“What’s with your appearance?” Gee, you wonder what the answer will be.

‘Francis’ only gave a sly smirk, his head slightly tilted down to meet your annoyed gaze. He swore he could feel his nonexistent heart pounding in his chest.

“It’s a new addition to our merchandise, scarlet milk?” Francis started off, leaning in closer to the point that his breath lightly fogged up the glass that separates the both of you. His grin only widened while his fatigued eyes darkened with lust.

The doppelgänger’s voice grew husky as he shot his shot again. “Wanna try it? Straight from the source?”

“I got a plenty~”

Gross. You only gave him a disgusted look before your knuckle immediately collided with the red button beside the window. Red lights flashed throughout the whole room while the metal barricade slammed in front of you. Dialing the DDD through the rotary phone to report the clone that doesn’t stop harassing you.

A few minutes go by and the metal barricade folded back up, revealing another worker on the other side with the hazmat suit on.

“Cleaning protocol completed.”

They spoke gruffly before walking away. Leaving you alone in the area.

You listened to the clock ticking, watching as minutes pass by. Only an hour left before you can finally clock out. Today is payday too, so you reminded yourself to get your check before you leave.

Footsteps echoed through the hall and the clinking of empty glass bottles were heard. Your heart jumped, oh it could be none other than him!

“Mmm… good morning.”

Francis hummed out as he slipped his entry request and his I.D. Through the slot under the window. You tried not to shake too much while your heart was beating rapidly. His tired eyes on you felt so exhilarating yet overwhelming!

“Morning, Francis.” You muttered out and felt your cheeks rise in temperature.

Trying to keep from tripping yourself up, you look through the list or neighbors that should be expected, but Francis wasn’t there. Could it be another doppelgänger? It couldn’t be since his appearance is similar to the real one.

“Hmmm… how come you’re not on the list, Francis?” You start off, glancing up from your list and the clipboard you held.

Francis seemed confident in his answer, but at the same time it wasn’t really shown from his exhausted expression. “Mmm, I had to take someone’s shift this morning since they couldn’t make it. You can even try calling my apartment.”

Well… he was right. No one did answer the phone.

As soon as you gave his papers back, you tried to make small talk as your hand reached the button to unlock the door. Plus, you have been planning on asking Francis on a date… so you wrote a little note on his entry request. The neighbors get a new one anyway when they have to leave.

You took a deep breath while he gathered his entry request and I.D.

“So, any plans tomorrow? It’s Saturday after all.” An awkward smile crept up in your lips as your cringed on the inside.

“Mmm, just work.” Francis didnt even shoot a glance once the door opened. His footsteps fading away. If only you could shrink into nothingness right there.

An hour finally passes and you clocked out of your shift. You still haven’t fully recovered from that awkward interaction… is this man truly oblivious?

It didn’t take that long to get the answer as you walked down the dark sidewalk. Making your way to the nearby trash beside the wooden bench.

You were about to throw the small wrappers in your pockets from the small snacks you ate during your shift, but something did catch your eye.

Nothing made you feel more embarrassed at the answer you didn’t expect.

You cringed at yourself once again, staring at the Francis’s crumpled up entry request with your phone number written at the front of it.

—

This is a very new topic so BARE WITH ME

Ive never made a fanfic where like (this character) likes > (reader) likes > (another character) so it was interesting!

I did rush the end a bit since I needed to sleep and I’ve been working hella shifts this week 😓

[soapels]

but my hair smells of war

simon “ghost” riley x female reader

tw: nsfw, mutual pining, size kink (i guess?), reader is a jittery virgin, soft! ghost, lovey! ghost, but there’s an overall dark, forlorn theme, (angst??) slight paranoia, 18+ characters

notes: my first cod fic ever :,) bear with me here while i learn to navigate the characterizations! anyways the title is really inspired by that quote by warsan shire! do tell if you enjoyed & let me know who you’d like to see next (^_^)’’ (soap + konig brainrot is REAL lately…)

all hearts and reblogs are very appreciated!

Just outside the safehouse, crickets chirp.

It’s a pleasant backdrop to the otherwise quiet area of the stables, hay so itchy it even manages to prickle at your skin through the thick fatigues, slivers of the moon filtering in through the windows.

It’s been a long day, you’d seen awful things again (and you know this is just your call of duty but bloodshed- no matter how repetitive- never gets old, never gets easy), and up until around fifteen minutes ago, you were still on the run outside, tired; veins pumped to the hilt with adrenaline, (sometimes you wonder if these levels are healthy) and admittedly quite fearful (that never gets old either).

The path you’ve chosen is frightening at the best of times.

But now you can rest. Even if just for a moment, even if sleep comes seldom or you have to beckon it until closer to sunrise- even if tomorrow, when you return to the battle and the chaos and the ever-changing future, you won’t make it out alive.

There’s some quiet chatter in the safehouse, unconsciousness to you is like nirvana and nirvana is rare, near unobtainable, but you can vaguely make out the low rumble of Ghost’s voice, and more clearly- the lighthearted quips of Soap- and it oddly puts you at ease. Nudges you along to that inviting darkness, bones so pleasantly weak and ready for that nothingness, even if the hay is uncomfortable and you’re sure at least a spiderweb or two is lurking somewhere above in the rafters (because it’s just too dim to see, and the wooden beams block most of the moonlight from here).

You’ve never trusted Graves. (What’re you thinking? Go to sleep.) …Not entirely, at least, and the Shadows are up to no good lately- you don’t know this for sure, to be honest you’ve said no peep of your niggling qualms- but you feel it from deep within that something’s… wrong.

Or maybe it’s paranoia, maybe, most-certainly, it’s just that warrior disease settling in. It’s dark out, and you’re exhausted, and your heart always feels so laden when you’re all alone and the gunfire ceases. That’s why these awful thoughts creep in on you, you convince yourself, lashes fluttering as you approach a hopefully pleasant dream. That’s why your mind sabotages you like this.

Your comrades aren’t enemies- don’t shut them out. No one fights alone. (And now, the last thought you have before drifting off completely, is oddly of Ghost, and how his voice would rasp as he said those familiar words, and the way the foreboding skull of his mask shifts when he speaks. And that damned glow of his eyes, haunting… strangely-beautiful, whenever they flicker over to you. So cold yet distant too, like an iceberg peeking above a frozen tide, silent but fatal if you’re not careful enough to steer clear of it. They don’t call him Ghost for no reason, though you think Simon Riley is a rather befitting name too- because if he had to have one, if he had to be real, then that’d be it.)

And you’re almost there, a warm fuzziness within- so vague and shapeless as you fade from reality- almost to that quiet bliss. One of the things you learned over the taxing span of your military years- sleep is by no means a small luxury.

There’s a shuffling beside you. Faint, ever so slight. Shouldn’t be enough to wake you. But it is. It’s enough to have your eyelids flying open, all exhaustion crumbling away as you—

“Shh, sergeant,” a gruff voice hushes, and recognition clicks. “It’s me,” he’s stood at the edge of the bale, which is frankly closer than you anticipated, propping his gun against a beam before sitting himself down. You swear you feel his body heat as the backside of his thick fatigues brush against your thigh, instinctively drawing your legs closer to give him more room.

Partially confused, very caught off guard, and admittedly a bit flustered, you blink away from him, his silhouette brimmed with the pale, conniving moon as you muster up a coherent response.

“Ghost,” is all you manage to breathe. But he seems to be fine with that, those dark, untelling eyes regarding you cooly as your knuckles sheepishly brush away exhaustion from your lashes.

“Sorry, did-… are we off already?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head softly, and even his gravelly voice has dipped into something gentler, not as harsh around the edges. To see Ghost like this- so unguarded (not entirely, never, but it’s still surprising)- comrade or not, is… different, to say the least. Not in a bad way, quite the opposite. Still.

“Get some rest …Didn’t mean to wake ya.” His whisper is calming; you trust him fully, wholly, you think if he asked for your life right now you’d give it to him. Easily. Without falter. Because despite it all, his rough exterior, his sometimes-lethal temper and his unforthcoming behavior towards others, you know he’d do the same.

(He’s killed for you. Save you too many times to count.)

The crickets and cicadas thrum, but despite it all- the soothing wildlife outside and the soft rustling of hay as across the stable, Soap situates himself for the night- you’re focused on the man sat beside you, not even a foot away as he regards you almost absently. (But you’ve learned that nothing about Ghost is absent.)

And you want to listen to him, belatedly settling your head down on the bale, you really do, but there’s just something off in the air as those deep-chestnut eyes sweep over you; relaxed, too relaxed, almost as if nobody was behind them (but you know that to be false, too), a peculiar, unfamiliar drawl to them as he appraises you.

You’re dusted pale, feathered with the moon like the stars stepped down to personally kiss you, and Ghost watches you for a second more, your fluttering lashes- making no move to close- your lips, the slope of your cheek and the curls of hair framing your face- and his black skull balaclava shifts.

“Sleep, sergeant.”

“I don’t think I can,” you murmur, so quiet and faint, yet your voice manages to resonate with him regardless. It earns a halfhearted snort from him.

“Haven’t even tried, have ya?”

Maybe there’s a sliver of jest there.

You take the opportunity to make a harmless tease at him, a sweet little smile carving into your cheeks, “Well, I almost succeeded until you came along.”

His silence isn’t rewarding, but you both know you’re right, and a heavy question weasels its way into your mind. And you know he can sense it, that unspoken thickness as your lids battle exhaustion, and you also understand that Ghost doesn’t appreciate dishonesty- or a lack of divulgence where it’s due.

So you ask him.

“There was… something you wanted? If you want me to do something-“ maybe you should be embarrassed, how quick you are to jump the gun if it meant helping your Lieutenant, “I-I’ll do it. I will.”

(How are you still so sweet? After all you’ve seen? Why aren’t you hardened? Why are you the bunny in all the places wherein he’s the wolf? How is it that you still manage to glow, even when you very well might be teetering on the precipice of an untimely, surely-brutal death? Simon doesn’t know. He doesn’t. He’s good at reading the room, digging into people’s minds- even the most fucked up ones, especially so- and finding out everything dark they’ve ever felt. With you it’s different. He often struggles to piece together a conclusion from just a smile you send him, wondering if there’s another layer to it. Stilling in his tracks whenever you laugh- so soft like you always do, pleasant like euphony- feeling something unbidden in his chest start to weigh.)

His chest puffs out a little at that, and he huffs low. And Ghost looks away from you, those umber eyes trailing out towards the window up above and somewhere behind you, and for a moment he just goes impossibly still, like a dog waiting for a sound, purposely searching for something there in the wilderness that doesn’t belong.

And you can’t help but feel like the two of you are somewhat out of place also, yet then again, if you were to think someone in the world had to share your loneliness with you, it’d be Ghost. Always. (Because you feel that you know him. He doesn’t have to say a word, his eyes say nothing, but simultaneously they scream everything too. All at once. All in one long wail.)

“No,” is all he says. All gruff and rasping. But soft too, somehow. A disinclined slump to his broad shoulders he only allows you and the team to be privy to (speaking of, Soap’s kneeing a few haybales together now, squishing them in so he’s got space to roll when he inevitably ends up stirring tonight)- but even then, it’s rare.

His eyes meets yours again, all shadows with a small, conniving highlight, brimmed with his balaclava.

“Scoot ova’.” he says it so simply, but your brain goes utterly blank for a fleeting moment.

His accent is quite thick- maybe you’ve lost yourself in it again, or fell too hard in the caramel pool of his eyes, or perhaps you’re just too tired to comprehend him right now- but once it clicks, you’re obedient to his wish. Right away.

The sound of clothes rustling fills the otherwise quiet atmosphere as you shimmy yourself all the way against the wall of hay to your side, letting Ghost- all big and tall- settle in beside you as you curl up to yourself. You’d burrow inside yourself if you could, face flushing warm as your Lieutenant’s body knocks and brushes against yours, and before you know it, the gentleness of shared breathing descends over you both as your noses point to the rafters. Dark, and silent. Comfortable, but at the same time not. A wordless dance of being convinced of your composure to having it singlehandedly ripped away whenever he made the faintest move beside you.

Ghost feels just slightly similar to drowning; just that cold world beneath the waves, hurtled into a murky tide, spun beneath turbulent waters. Uneasy, unsure of where the hell you are- only that you don’t know how you got in and you don’t know how to get out. Lungs aching, chest pouring…

But he feels like the merciful gasp of air when you finally resurface, too. That glimmer of hope, that split second thought of thank God I made it out alive as your chin thrashes over the ripples.

He’s the violent ocean and the life-ring thrown to you all at once. He is the silent chaos and he is the overwhelming relief- and he isn’t a kind man but the good side of him always seems to somehow win out.

“Ghost?” You breathe again. Not sure of even why, and your body quivers with sweat and nerves because Lieutenant’s so strong and he’s laying beside you (this isn’t even odd, this has happened before- sleeping with the team in cramped, awkward places that leave literally no room for complaints, but this time it felt different, like he was somehow closer).

His breaths even out in the pleasant air. And his silence could perhaps be welcoming on its own, but he deigns you with a reply anyway.

“What?” All gruff and low, thick yet- for you, now in the fall of night- gentle too. All Ghost.

(…But maybe partially Simon Riley, too, but you have trouble distinguishing two things when you’re hardly certain one even exists.)

“…” You chew on the words you want to say- or maybe you need to say them- but you don’t know what it is that sticks to your tongue like glue, and you’re rendered stupid, jaw-gaping, for a solid moment.

So you settle for simple. You settle for something good that will suffice, something pleasant and sweet but nothing that tiptoes too close to Ghost (you’re already close enough, and he did choose this bale with you, but still, you never know with him, and he’s not the sort of man you want to question).

“Goodnight.”

You’re sure he makes a soundless scoff at that. And for a splitsecond, you decide to take a peek over, because your stupid curiosity wins out and you just have to see him one last time before a permanent stillness ensues- sheepish hues darting over to his in the dimness—

“Night,” (you think you hear a scintilla of wry humor there) “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

—Only to find they’re already on you.

︻┳═一

The next time you and your Lieutenant are ‘forced’ to bunk together is closer to three weeks later, in a ratty shed by the river.

You turn away from Ghost just in time to miss him dragging out a body (finished him with a silencer, but it doesn’t matter anyway. his buddies wouldn’t have heard. his buddies are dead) as you awkwardly look around the decrepit place.

“Fix us up a place to call it a night, soldier.”

You’re quick to obey, chirping off an obedient yes sir as you take a few steps into the old storage shed.

It’s hard to see, and this time there’s not much moonlight to work with (when the door’s closed, it’ll go utterly dark), but with your scope’s flash you spot a disarray of pallets off to the corner, and you waste no time in hauling them together. You find a few cloths- puffy vests and discarded life-jackets, toss ‘em on the wood, and call it a cot.

“There we are,” you say with a smile when he inevitably walks in, door swinging shut as he does one last quick once-over before approaching.

“Good work,” (you hate the way your chest blooms at his simple praise; you’re a soldier, aren’t you? not some stupid schoolgirl) “Now let’s huddle up and kip down. Soap and the others cleared out the second field.”

“Yes, sir,” you nod curtly, fingers hesitating for a split second before you switch off the flash, the old shed blanketed in darkness as you set your rifle down and maneuver onto the makeshift bed (you weren’t complaining, though, you’ve both slept on far worse). Ghost follows in suit, his barely-clear silhouette lowering down onto the pallets with you, minding his muscle as he settles beside you.

…And for a while, it’s nice.

It doesn’t feel as awkward as it used to months- even just weeks, ago, yet still, sometimes you swear there’s an odd thickness to the air, an unprecedented drawl of tension that, like smoke, wisps by before dissipating. Like it was never there. (Yet the smell lingers, traces of something potent and simmering in your nostrils, caught in your clothes like gunpowder. Your hair smells of war and running, and Ghost smells so similar that it almost hurts, yet he’s more charred than you, you can feel it, and if you are a solider of team 141 than he is the bombs and shelter and war and relief.)

(No, perhaps he is the battlefield.)

That strange whiff of something close to vulnerability drifts in the space between you- wanting to say something, but having no words to offer, or maybe it’s a different feeling- like when you want to add something funny to the conversation, but it suddenly inches by and you’re left in your uncertainty, holding onto the joke with a tenuous grip. (Tenuous, yes, but you still want to say it, don’t you? You’re still looking for a window to speak your mind?)

And you’re sure Ghost can sense it too, because from beside you where he lies, he shifts just a bit more than usual, antsy and unable to find a comfortable position, his gear brushing against yours as you gnaw on the insides of your cheeks, feeling the same way.

“Lieutenant-“ “Sergeant-“

He turns over to you, and you see something in those dark eyes that glints as you glance over to him. His hues widen slightly, but whatever startle you thought you might’ve gleaned there flickers out and you’re once more left in the silence- this time, somewhat awkward, waiting for the other to break it.

You called him, and he called you. But now, neither of you return it.

Surprising perhaps the both of you, after what seems like forever passes and Ghost is the one to clear his throat, rasping out a quick, dismissive goodnight when your lips finally snap open to speak-

“G-Ghost—“

“Sleep, soldier. Tomorrow’ll be hell, and m’not carryin’ ya if y’legs give out.”

(He would. Of course he fucking would.)

︻┳═一

Soap and Ghost murmur for a bit with each other, tying off the threads of the last mission as you hesitantly approach. You don’t exactly remember Soap ever making it last night, but hours before sunrise you stirred in your slumber, and are now eighty-percent convinced you heard him settling in the otherwise quiet shed, exchanging a tired grunt or two with Ghost.

And it shouldn’t bother you. The men, you mean, because you’ve known them for months now, fought and bled and killed together, stuck to each other like glue as you endured all the shitty times and awful memories. But your fingers tighten around your rifle just that much more when you near, because Ghost is just so big and strong and the two mingle together for an unseemly yet fatal duo. (They’d never hurt you, never, and you know this damn well, but you’ve always had a shy nature and their respective sets of eyes never get any easier to stare at- you think sometimes you prefer the barrel of a gun over those sage, umber voids.)

Soap’s the first to spot you, those oceanic blues drifting over Ghost’s shoulder, rippling with what you suspect to be genuine mirth as you stop a foot short of the two.

“G’mornin’, sleepyhead,” he greets with a vaguely-boyish grin that sort of twinkles, eyes running over your dewy lashes, slightly-mussed hair and the crooked bend of your straps and gear bands. You smile sheepishly in lieu of a reply, giving him a tipsy little nod that his smile deepens at before your lips part open.

(And you’re afraid your voice will quiver or give out entirely when Ghost’s eyes, sunken beneath his skull mask- but just as haunting and intricate- snake over to you. But, thank God, it doesn’t.)

“Y-You got a spare ‘clava?”

Soap’s chest puffs and swells briefly when he scoffs halfheartedly, those gorgeous hues never slipping from yours for too long as he rests a hand along the butt of his pistol in his pocket, the other dipping back into the bag slung over his shoulders. (Big and broad, his build is similar to Lieutenant’s, but Ghost is taller and holds more mass. Both are purely muscle, though, all death and chaos- Soap’s just always been more friendly with his destruction, delivers it with a laugh or a pat on the back.)

“Y’embarrassed? Don’t think I’ve ever seen a bed head quite like y’rs, lass.” He says it with a playful chuckle, stepping forward (and his legs are long, he reaches you in an instant) and proffering the black mask out to you. You accept it with soft thanks, cheeks warm from embarrassment and perhaps some odd sort of pride as he ruffles your hair and smiles. Like, really smiles, the skin around his eyes wrinkling just slightly as he nods, “there y’are, lass,” he says, “we’ll all meet up back at base, yeah?”

“You’re leaving already?” You chirp highly, traces of dejection caught in your voice (aw, you sad he’s leaving? makes two of you), eyes all starry and confused as he toys with the straps of his vest and quirks his head to the side some. “‘Fraid so, got some loose ends to tie- won’t be long, promise.”

You accept his words with a small, silent nod, offering him a gentle, if not somewhat sleepy smile as he reaches a fist forward, knuckles you lightly on your collar, and belatedly brushes past you. The heels of his boots clip dully against the floor when he reaches the janky door of the shed, daylight weaseling in through the splits and cracks of the wooden walls. Bathing the three of you in a golden porridge of early morning and twittering birds and that odd emptiness of your stomach that always churns at around six o’clock.

With one last pleasant glance to Soap (his cerulean gaze seems to linger and corrode into you, somehow) you allow him to trade a simple goodbye with Ghost, wasting no more time in slipping the mask over your head as Johnny did the same. (Even in your head, it feels forbidden to call him that- only Ghost is allowed to- you don’t know why, but were never brave enough to beg the question.)

And he departs. And the once-comfortable silence betrays you and Ghost yet again.

Still, he turns over to you, letting the door shut, watching as you lower yourself onto the pallets and fix your shoelaces. (But your thumbs tremble, wrists twitching, nervous, like the task is foreign, like it’s not one of the simplest things you’ve ever done in this business of war.)

And those brown, all-seeing eyes sweep over you (you can feel it), those thick boots of his brushing over the dusty floor as he makes his way over.

Your hues collide with his, something off in the air- a calling, or a warning maybe, but it’s heavy and the look he meets you with just before he approaches plants a pit in your belly- frightful and needy- feeling so small and perfectly useless as it builds and builds and-

“Sergeant.”

“Yes?” Breathless without any good reason.

You wonder if he feels it, too. That weight in his tummy that buckles his knees, makes them knock together, dizzies his head. Makes his heart skip faster. But the thought is dismissed too quickly, because you’re certain it’s fear you feel, strong and overwhelming- too great a respect to label. And Ghost isn’t afraid, clammy palms have never been a part of his brand. He doesn’t hesitate.

Yet, now, that all seems like rubbish. Every preconceived idea of him you held withering away as Ghost does just what you knew he never would. His hand, all big and capable (stained with blood, too) hesitates.

But this time- unlike all those sleepless nights where you felt skin brush against yours unbidden, his eyes burning against your quiet profile as his fingers contemplated over your face- it reaches you. Fulfills what it wanted to for a long time coming.

And now you’re breathless for an entirely different reason. “Ghost,” you whisper, so thin it might break- and your voice does shake, like a leaf in the wind. There’s something in his eyes, you notice, as they trail along you, his large palm swallowing up your cheek, gloved fingertips eroding the thin fabric over your skin in the best way possible.

Every lick of pain comes with a spark of pleasure, a needy, gentle ache masquerading as limitless fear.

(But those deep-brown eyes know no limits.)

“You afraid of me?” Ghost is a lot of things. But now you have a niggling, loud feeling that who you’re gaping back at now isn’t he or his mask, but rather what’s beneath it.

You shakily stand, maybe to grasp the illusion of having some control over yourself, or perhaps just to get closer to the door if you wanted to make some stupid excuse to leave. “Simon- I-“

He cuts you off with a low huff, but it sounds more like a groan than anything else- all displeased yet thrilled all at once. It shuts you up. It paralyzes you. (Barely keeping your gaze on his simmering one, you want to lie on your fucking back, and for the life of you, you don’t know why.)

When he says nothing, just continues regarding you with that weird fucking look (it’s not bad- it’s good, you think, but terrifying too) and lets his hand finally slip off your cheek, you try again.

“Simon,” (Simon hears you swallow, watches your throat bob, all tender where he’s cold, soft where he’s covered in jagged heaps of ice) “I- W-We should go.”

Ghost takes a pensive moment to respond.

“We don’t even got our mission yet, do we?”

Your confusion must be palpable, brows pinching together in a cute little knot that has his belly doing backflips as your eyes sparkle up at him. There’s an odd twinkle to his own, broad chest swelling out for a bit longer than a breath should as your lips part open.

“We-…” (f-fuck, just speak, soldier!) “We’re meeting everyone at base, yes?”

Earning no response from him, and the silence quickly killing you- you add:

“I- I thought we… Were meeting up, all of us.”

He grunts at that, low and quiet. And you look up at him like he owns the world, like there’s nobody else in it but him, and your eyes are starry and so unapologetically warm that it burns him from the inside out. His chest aches, he’s wanted you for too long a time to not act on it, to not do something about it, but for once in a very long time, Simon’s… afraid.

Or maybe uneasy is the better word, because he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s so big and you’re so small and sometimes he worries that if he were to touch you without gloves on, you’d wither completely.

He’s used to that game. His kisses are gunpowder. His love is death, he believes it because he’s seen it. Everywhere. All the time.

But he can’t help it, not now. Not when he’s got you all alone and it’s like the birds chirping outside are telling him to fucking do something already- and Simon knows if he doesn’t make a move, someone else will. They’ll swoop in and steal you away, scoop you off your feet and treat you like a princess- the only way you ever should be- and you’ll be happy and smiling and so fucking far from him.

Safe.

…But maybe he’s selfish. He knows he’s not all that good, he wasn’t made to love or be loved- he is a product of war and brokenness and an endless cycle of pain- but maybe you can be his good thing.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters beneath his breath, “take it off.”

“What-“

“Show me your face.”

(Hah. How ironic; when every soul in the military who’s ever crossed him has wanted to say the same damn thing, but always balked before they could because his eyes alone are killer enough.)

His voice is a little rougher now, your brain registers it as an order, so with a shaky, uncertain hand, you peel off your balaclava and hold it awkwardly in your lap. And your hair’s quite messy from a wakeful night, and your skin glows ever so slightly from sweat and sleep and smeared gunpowder and your pulse is so rapid you fear it may explode.

You want to hide from him.

But, catching both of you by surprise, Simon leans in, one hand raking up his mask- stealing a blurry glimpse of his mouth- and captures your lips in his. And he doesn’t let you hide.

Run, either; he slots his hulking body up against yours, kneeling down on the wooden pallets as he lowers you atop them, making it physically impossible to wrest yourself away if he really wanted you to stay.

(And he really wants you to stay. Fuck.)

You gasp into the kiss, eyes instinctively screwing shut because you’re so fucking embarrassed and your legs feel heavy and your bones’ve gone to jelly because Simon is so big and strong and perfect and his lips are on yours.

“Simon,” you were going for a half-rebuttal, a plea for a moment to grasp just what the hell was happening. But you make a pathetic sound closer to a moan instead, all frail and cute as you whine his given name, and it makes his pants feel that much tighter, exchanging a groan into your mouth as he holds you beneath him.

And his grip is sort of awkward, you think, like he’s made the split-second decision to go all in but now he’s worried he fucked things up and you’ll end up hating him. So his tongue prods against your soft lips, hesitant, and his long lashes occasionally brush against your cheekbone, but he ultimately pulls away.

Like the recoil of a gun; sharp, sudden. There’s a blip of panic there, of what the hell did I just do. But there’s no regret. Because in Simon’s head, it had to be done- else he would’ve crumbled, else your smile would steadily become torture and someone else would’ve done it.

Your eyes are still shut when silence falls over the rundown shed and you feel the tip of his nose carve almost awkwardly in the juncture of your neck. Because you’re afraid. Because your tummy is burning and so is your face, your heart, too. Because there’s still a little unreasonable part of you that, despite feeling his lips brush against your collar, is scared that when you open them, he’ll be staring back at you- mask rucked up and all- genuinely Simon- and you don’t want to see his face if he doesn’t want you to.

“I should stop,” he murmurs into your neck. “I should stay away.” And it almost feels like it’s all over now, the fucked-up calm after the storm. The residual smoke and death on the battlefield- the smell of gunfire and metal. Water under the bridge—

“But that’d be hell.”

And he pulls the trigger again. Those lips, cold as bullet shells, colliding with yours once more. Nipping, and all tongue with the occasional clash of teeth, but it feels so fucking good and you realize with a spark of dismay that you don’t want it to stop.

Never.

“Simon,” and you’re chanting it now, all teary-eyed, lashes thick with pleasure as his mouth descends upon you, his deft fingers already working at tearing off your clothes- straps unbuckling, gear clinking softly as it rolls off the pallets and onto the floor.

Fear- respect- or whatever the hell you’ve always felt for Ghost- bleeds into something closer to… love, you think, and your chest is swelling by the time his gloved fingertips reach there, gliding over your bare skin. And you glow in the golden streaks of young sun, flesh soft and too fucking inviting to pass up on.

(He doesn’t.)

Simon leans away, then, and you dare open your eyes at the lost contact, the lower half of his face bathed in a dim-yellow, his balaclava clinging midway up the bridge of his nose. And within the cage of the printed skull (iconic and terrifying, sort of like batman- an omen of evil’s bane on the way), his brown hues glint, all hazy- far from sober as they sweep over you.

Flickering; giving out; flickering. Burning, and then lessening, sparking like a broken fuse before it becomes so hot you feel you may wither beneath him-

“Gorgeous,” he breathes.

And he’s on you again, tongue laving at your neck and chest, one hand kneading a tender breast while he takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks. You whimper; his cock throbs; he made the impromptu decision just as Soap left that he’d bring you to ruin, and his plans haven’t changed at all.

“I need you, Simon,” you confess, because you do. You need him, you’re sure of it. On the battlefield, on base, on any fucking mission you’re given. You need him above you and on you and inside you.

(Fuck, you want him inside, you want him everywhere. In the mushy, warm crevice between your ribcages and now, between the river of your thighs. Now now now—)

There’s a screech of a zipper. It jams, but he’s impatient and dislodges it quickly, flimsy metal snapping as he shrugs off some of the weight and tugs down his pants.

And, goodness, it’s big.

Flushed red at the tip, angry and twitching as he drags you in by your hips, appraising you with this simmering, foggy look that has your legs quietly splitting. But Simon’s big all over, and you’ve always known him to be stronger (so much stronger), so when he slots himself up with your core, murmurs out a string of reassurances and fuckin’ beautiful’s, you lie back and let him take you.

You, that pretty, sopping cunt, and your virginity.

And as he deflowers you (there’s a dull, hot pain, he’s so big and thick- it hurts- but he folds himself over you and hushes you and tells you it’s okay), you think he takes your heart, too. (If he didn’t already have it.)

When the sting subsides and he realizes you’re not sniffling into his shoulder anymore, he bumps up the speed, entering a controlled, careful pace, the wood jostling beneath you as he fucks and breaks and loves you.

“Please,” you beg, “give it to me.”

“Am, darlin’,” he rasps at your ear, an echo of a high-pitched sigh there. “Giving ya everything I’ve got… And you’ll fuckin’ take it, yeah?”

When you nod and tighten up around him, those velvet walls sucking him in like a perfect vice, and pair it with a mewling yes, Simon, something in his lower abdomen clutches. A pit forming there already, all hot and pleasant as your pussy overwhelms him, beckons him further in until he’s hitting deep deep deep and a pale-pink is oozing between your legs, traces of your blood caught on his pelvis as he gives it to you. Everything. All of it.

Every piece of him, every bad memory and gentle kiss on his forehead, every grey cloud and good grade and bout of death- he stuffs it all inside you. Buries his hate and love there, cock grazing your womb as he thinks about the one he came from, and all the shouting and cracked beer bottles and spatters of smoke and red on the field.

And you suddenly tighten up around him completely, eyes going wide as your mouth gapes with some unwarranted, foreign wave of pleasure.

“There y’are,” he grunts, half breathless and half utterly feral, brown voids enamored with the sight of you crumbling beneath him as his jaw falls open and his eyes roll back. All the way back, ‘til his lashes- pale in the morning sunshine- kiss the points of his cheekbones and he can’t hide the desperate groan he tries to stifle in the dip of your neck.

Gloved hands grasping at the soft fat of your hips, digging and unintentionally hurting, leaving purplish semi-circles behind as his hips stutter one last time.

And he paints you on the inside. Roots himself there. Cums with a murky moan of your name that claws itself into every vital part of your soul and refuses to let go. (You don’t want it to.)

And the longer you two lie there, bathing in the gold of early morning, the less inclined he feels to leave.

Your fingertips, delicate as snow, graze over his back, swollen lips tickling his jawbone and the side of his face as he pants into the arch of your neck.

And his nose nestles into your aura, the messy tresses and gentle wildlife of you, gloved hands marking up your hips. And Ghost thinks your hair smells of war, too.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 6

Summary: Reeling from a confrontation with Rhys, you find yourself at the whim of one of Amarantha's power plays.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood and gore.

Author's Note: It gets worse so it can get better, I am so sorry for the amount of angst I just put out into the world, there will be better things coming I swear.

Pt 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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There is nothing but darkness; empty, cold, all consuming darkness. It holds you, carries you through the void as if it has a mind of it’s own. You have no desire to fight it, no will to struggle. It can move you wherever it sees fit; do whatever it desires. If it desires to consume you until you become nothing but the unceasing void, then you will allow it.

You float for hours, days, weeks, you’re unsure, time does not exist here. There are no stars, no light, no varying shades to catch your attention in the emptiness. It’s a shame you’re conscious enough to feel it, because it might have let you sleep more soundly than you ever have.

The darkness flows like a river, carrying you farther and farther away until it finally sets you down, the cold, stone floor beneath you biting through your clothes. As the mist begins to fade, shapes begin to come into view: It’s an alter, lit by thousands upon thousands of candles, their wax melting down the stone steps beneath the alter. Strange symbols have been carved into the sides, a language long forgotten, even in the history books. You manage to raise yourself onto your knees to get a better look at them, dusting your fingers over the markings. Your fingertips are claws again, your hands wreathed in darkness, like shadows, scales crawling their way up your wrists.

It’s wrong.

So wrong.

You’re not a monster! Your hands shouldn’t look like this!

“No! No!”

The symbols on the alter start to glow, spinning, the ancient stone groaning and moving as something from somewhere in the darkness starts to chant.

The scales continue to crawl up your wrists, your arms, spikes forming from your elbows. You try to scream but the sound that comes out of you is the thing of nightmares.

“Stop!” But no pleading will change what you’re becoming…

You jerk awake, screaming.

After your last interaction with Rhys you’d crawled under the covers to have a good cry and must have fallen asleep. You peel of the sheets, tangled around your limbs, and realize with horror that there are claw marks in the mattress, the stuffing scattered around your body. You jump out of it, stumbling, nearly throwing yourself onto the floor, trying to get away.

What have you done?

There are no claws at your fingertips now, no scales crawling across your body, it’s nothing but your own skin and the bandages Rhys had put there earlier. It’s normal. You’re normal. Right?

You stumble your way into the bathroom to wash your face. There is no monster starring back at you in the mirror, but you stare and stare anyway, the water turning cold as it drips off your skin into the sink. “You’ll destroy us all.” Rhys had said, the words an echo in your skull.

You can’t help yourself as you make a fist and slam it into the mirror, shattering it. The impact burns, but it can’t ease the ache in your chest, the yawning chasm you’ve been tumbling into for hours. There is no end to the fall, just nothingness for miles and miles, pulling you down into the deep, dark abyss. You have no way of knowing what’s at the bottom, if the dream is a warning of what sleeps there. You’re about to hit it again when the lock on your door slides out of place.

“What do you fucking want now?” You snarl, fully prepared to find the nearest object in reach and hurl it at Rhys’s stupid head.

But it’s not the violet eyed male you’re so used to seeing at the door this time; not the Attor either, but two shadow figures, made of mist and darkness, their features soft and feminine. Wraiths. They gently shut the door behind them.

“We’re here to get you ready for dinner,” one says in a soft voice.

The other is holding a long swatch of fabric. “The High Lord said you might need some help.”

You grit your teeth, “You’re welcome to tell Rhysand to fucking shove it up his ass.”

One of them giggles as she floats over to you, “I like you.”

The other sets the fabric, no it’s a dress, you can see that now, the fabric such a deep purple it’s almost black, on the ruined bed. She has no mouth to frown, but the way the shadows of what should be her head move makes you think she’s troubled by what she sees. “Amarantha will not be pleased if you show up wearing that to dinner.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You’d forgotten about the dinner.

“It’s an excuse to get dressed up!” Says the first, her shadowy hands reaching for the hem of your shirt. “It’ll look so pretty on you!”

The fact that Rhys had sent them is enough to put you on edge. He is either still so pissed at you that he can’t bare the thought of being in the same room as you, or Amarantha is still so pissed at you that he’s still trying to find a way to calm her down. Either way made you want to bury yourself back under the covers and never come out again.

“How’d I get into this mess?” You grumble.

The first wraith pulls your shirt over your head for you as the second says, “We must be quick. It’s best to not keep her waiting.” That’s all the warning you get before they start dressing you. They’re a bundle of activity as they move you out of your training clothes and into the dress. You can’t help but note that this fits you too, just like the others. It’s velvet, warm against the chill, with a tight bodice that accentuates your figure and then loosens around your hips and falls to your ankles. It glitters when you move in the light as if there are little stars woven into the seems.

It’s beautiful. Something from the Night Court. You want to tear it to shreds.

One of the wraiths brushes and sweeps your hair into a braid that wraps around your head, leaving a few curls loose to frame your face. The other cleans and adds a gloss to your nails. As soon as that’s done they’re swiftly applying powder to your face, coal to your eyes, and a brief swash of dark lipstick across your mouth.

“I’d show you your reflection in the mirror, but…” one of them says.

You eye the shattered glass with a wince. “Sorry.”

The other fixes a stray hair. “You look beautiful all the same.”

You find yourself blushing despite yourself. “Thank you, for all your help.”

One of them giggles and then they disappear as quickly as they’d come, back to wherever the High Lord of the Night Court keeps his, what were they, subjects? Maids? You hadn’t considered that he’d have the people of his court here, especially not after what he’d said earlier about protecting them.

When the door opens again, it’s one of Amarantha’s guards waiting for you. That can’t be a good sign either.

You draw a deep breath as you follow him out. At least it’s not the Attor.

He doesn’t lead you back to the throne room but down a several sets of stairs, past rooms where you hear screaming coming from behind closed doors, into what feels like it might be the very base of the mountain. The floor is rocky here, the walls pock marked with little caves and crevices, some filled with little fires and more armed guards. Monsters you can’t name and things with dozens of eyes peer out at you through the cracks in the walls. Some hiss and snarl. Some scream at you to run away.

You’re heart’s in your throat, the train of your skirts clutched so tightly in your hands you think you might actually rip through it. What have you done?

The guard says nothing as he walks you through the halls. He only stops when you finally come to another humongous door, carved with old and fading symbols. Pillars hold up the roof above it, carved into the shapes of snarling wyverns. This is her dinning hall?

Two more guards stand at attention between the pillars, waiting for the signal from the first to open them. But as you’re ushered inside, there is no great hall waiting to meet you. It’s more of a cave, a single torch mounted to the wall, burnt almost down to the end. At the far end, a metal grate separates you from what looks like a tunnel, but it is too dark to tell.

“What is this?” You demand but the guard is already stepping back, the doors swinging shut behind him, and to your horror, being bolted shut from the outside.

“Hey!” You bang a fist on the door. “Let me out of here!”

But the doors remain locked, no sound coming from behind them.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. You will yourself to breath, to remain calm.

The grate at the far end of the wall slowly begins to slide upward, the ancient, rusted metal groaning and creaking from disuse. It makes the walls rattle as it opens, bit by bit. To your relief, no horrible monster comes climbing out from behind it, it merely opens until there is enough room for you to walk under it. There is in fact a tunnel, the path curving in strange directions like a living thing had been burrowing through the mountain. It smells like it too.

Rhysand had given you the wrong damn thing to wear, that was for sure.

You hike your skirts up with your hands and step into the tunnel, seeing no other option, but the sinking feeling in your stomach grows bigger with each step forward you take. It was a terrible, terrible mistake to challenge Amarantha this early.

The tunnel goes on for miles, twisting and looping the expanse of the mountain, often doubling back on itself like some sort of maze. You’re about half way through, the bottom of your skirts so caked in mud that’s your having a hard time holding them, that you hear a strange, scuffling sound come from behind you. When you turn to look there’s nothing there, but you can hear the echo of footsteps squelching through the muck.

“Hello?” You call, but nothing answers.

You move a little faster, trying to find a way out, your mind imagining a dozen different possibilities of what’s behind you. The chasm in your chest widens, beckons, the thing that prowls at the bottom of it stirring to life. It’s an effort to focus, to breathe, to try and keep it at bay while simultaneously trying to not trip over your skirts.

The tunnel veers so sharp and suddenly left that you slam into the wall.

The footsteps are getting louder behind you; you can hear the heavy rasp of breath too. It doesn’t sound fae, it’s heavy almost, like a creature’s might be.

You hike your skirts back up and run, fighting the mud and the building panic in your chest. Another left, then another, and there, at the far end, light pokes through. Light, so much brighter than any you’ve seen in weeks. You barrel towards it as fast as your legs can carry you, for as fast as you are, that thing behind you is faster. It’s running now too, the walls shaking behind it.

From somewhere beyond the light you hear Amarantha’s cruel voice call out, “Oh good, the entertainment is finally here.”

Shit shit shit!

Are you the entertainment?

Does it matter in the end?

You burst out of the tunnel, the light so blinding after weeks in the dark that you slip and loose your footing trying to shield your eyes. There’s a chorus of laughter above you, as if a large crowd is starring down at you. There’s too much light! It burns.

“Having fun yet, little mouse?” Amarantha coos.

And then something with claws latches onto your shoulder and hurls you across the space.

You don’t even have time to scream, have time to register anything beyond the flash of pain in your shoulder before a wall rises up to meet you. Everything spins as you slam into it and crumple into the mud. The cold seeps through you, plasters you dress to your body. You taste blood.

Something from within the blur of colors swimming across your eyes roars at you.

There’s a crowd somewhere above you cheering.

Trying to wipe the spots out of your eyes only smears mud across your face.

"Get up!" Rhys's voice echoes like a banging gong in your head.

"Stay out of my fucking head!" You slam the door to your mind in his face. Now he suddenly wants to be helpful? Bastard!

You stumble onto your knees, the mud sinking beneath your palms.

"Move!" Rhys has barreled right through the door in your mind like it's made of toothpicks, panic edging his voice. You don't have enough presence of mind to look up to wherever he might be in the crowd. Not when a jagged set of teeth latches onto the already gaping wound in your shoulder and drags you into the center of what you’re pretty sure is a pit. It’s breath is rancid, rotting meat clinging to it’s rows and rows of jagged teeth, clamping down on your shoulder as it shakes you like a rag doll.

You’re going to die here, shaken to death like a toy if you don’t do something. Amarantha certainly isn’t going to save you, not when you’d wounded her pride so thoroughly this morning.

The thing that lives beneath your skin calls again, you can almost imagine a hand reaching out of the chasm, dark and scaled like that thing in your dreams had been. It begs you to reach out and take it.

The pain in your shoulder is blinding, you’re sure you’ll loose that arm entirely if it doesn’t stop shaking you.

You reach out and grab the hand offered, you’re only lifeline, and the chasm does in fact split open. The darkness that lives there swells and fills you so thoroughly you wonder for a moment if you are dead. But then you’re blinking against the light and things start coming into focus, even as your body shifts and morphs. You have talons again, but they’re longer now, slicing through the chest of the beast like they have a mind of it’s own until it’s terrible jaws unclench and drop you. It whimpers as it eyes the dark mist leaking from your body and when you flick a wrist in it’s direction, scattering that darkness, it slams the beast into the wall.

It’s some sort of chimera, it’s great wings flared out behind it’s scaled body. It’s got more teeth and horns than the ones you’d seen depicted in books, like it’s been modified for whatever this great pit is.

The crowd is in fact situated above you, the pit and all it’s tunnels separated by a chain-link dome high above your head, there are tables and benches, and another throne for Amarantha, around the edge, all gaping at your display.

You manage to rise, legs shaking beneath you. The bodice of your gown is in tatters, clinging to your shoulder by no more than a thread, all your exposed skin covered in blood. You can barely raise your right arm, but your left, wreathed in dark tendrils of magic and clawed is clearly visible in the light.

The chimera growls as it stalks back over to you, crouched low, ready to pounce. You’ve sprouted fangs, you can feel them poking into your lip as you snarl back at it, now more animal than girl. Maybe Rhys is right, maybe you really are a monster capable of destroying everyone. You have enough time to finally mark the section of the viewing platform where all the High Lords sit, and you can feel that assessing gaze of his more than all the others. You spare him a glance because you can't help yourself, because for all the pain he's caused you, you want the final nail in your coffin to be the look of disgust on his face when he sees that he's right about you. But it's not disgust that you see at all, but genuine, unbridled fear.

"Don't stop," he urges. "Kill it now!" Not fear of you, but for you? This isn't the time to try and make sense of what games Rhys is playing. The back and forth games, the way he pushes you away but comes back on his own is something you'll have to deal with later, when there's not a monster snarling at your feet, ready to devour you.

You reach into that darkness inside of you, where all your confusion and anger goes, pushed like some sort of sacrifice to the monster that lives within. You grab it, will it back to the surface, and when the chimera lunges, you blast all that energy out of your fingertips. The wave of darkness that flows from you turns the creature into a bloody mist, no bones or claws or teeth left in it’s wake. The mist splatters across your skin; you can taste it on your tongue.

You might have had more time to freak out over it if a second beast didn’t come hurtling out another tunnel. There is no time to think, only to move, as you throw yourself out of the way of it’s claws and back into the mud.

"Good girl."

"Shut up, Rhysand!"

The crowd cheers on the new beast. This one is quicker than the first, catching itself and spinning back to you faster than you can blink. You don’t have time to reach for any of your power, only to raise a hand and your claws tear through the thing’s belly as it flies overhead of you. Blood and gore rain down on you as it crashes into the wall, whining.

It’s in your eyes, your nose, dripping down the back of your ruined dress. Good. No more Night Court clothes for you.

You haul yourself back up and slash at it’s exposed sides, it’s wings, any part of it you can reach with your claws. There is nothing to stop you, your claws slide through it like butter, spraying blood and no matter how your mind screams at you, you can’t stop. Your powers have taken over, it demands that you keep pushing. There isn’t much left of it by the time the third chimera makes it into the pit.

There’s no telling how many Amarantha has at her disposal. Judging by the booing and screaming of the crowd, maybe there isn’t that many.

You’re aware, as you finally leave the ruined corpse of the second, that something is happening to your eyes. They feel different. Things look sharper, clearer. They’ve shifted into something else, but you’re not quite sure what.

As the beast lunges for you, you lunge right back, a flurry of claws and fangs and dark power that makes mud and blood fly. The lights from the chandeliers far above your head sway and shutter, like you’re sucking the power from them, dimming the room. The darkness of the mountain is nothing compared to the void that lives inside you.

You black out for a moment, seeing nothing but darkness and hearing only the sound of your own wild roaring, and when you come to, you’re on your knees in the mud, panting, half laughing with delirium. And the chimera is in pieces before you.

The crowd overhead is on their feet screaming and cursing in disbelief.

You manage to drag your gaze over to where Amarantha sits on her throne, her mouth hanging open. Rhys is standing behind her, stone faced. At her feet, sits that male wearing the collar.

"Get up."

It's too much effort to fight him or push him out of your head, it's clear he's capable of getting in regardless. All those lessons he'd been toying with you, probably trying to lull you into a false sense of security so you weren't prepared for the next time he needed to get something out of you. It's exhausting trying to figure out his play.

Still, there's a small piece of you that knows he's right, that Amarantha is watching, waiting to see what you'll do. If you stay here kneeling, crying in the mud, she'll still take it as a victory, she still found a way to beat you. It takes all your effort to get yourself onto your feet again. Everything feels like it’s trying to push you down into the mud. You’ve never been this exhausted in your life. It’s by sheer force of will that you manage to stand and lock your knees so you don’t crumble back into the mud.

You’re sure you look absolutely disgusting. No one is going to point you out as the daughter of the King of Hybern. There is no princess here in the pit, only this clawed thing.

So, from one monster to another, you look Amarantha in the eyes, and raise your middle finger.

Flame and ice and wind explodes from her so fast that the crowd around her has to jump out of the way to avoid being hit.

There’s another grate in the side of the pit, hidden by rocks and debris but you hear it open all the same. Two guards emerge this time to drag you out. No more beasts for you to fight.

You manage to walk yourself under the grate, but once it starts to close behind you, blocking you from the crowd's sight, you collapse against the wall. As you catch your breath, your claws slowly retract. The dark mist that wreathes your body begins to slow and settle. Your eyes readjust to the dark, to whatever they were before this all started. It feels like the chasm you split open shrinks back inside of you--a volcanic eruption suddenly bubbling back down into the mountain. It leaves you slowly, settling back beneath the surface as if it hadn’t just caused such utter chaos. Your hand shakes as you run it over your eyes, trying to clear away everything clinging to your face. What did you just do?

One of the guards grabs your arm and hauls you off the wall.

Your whole body aches, but the pain in your shoulder, your right arm useless and limp at your side is excruciating. Even the movements from the way they drag you makes it feel like your whole arm might just pop off.

You can’t focus on where they’re leading you, all your energy into staying upright. You hear doors open and see the lights shift and change as you’re lead through other rooms but none of it makes any sense to you.

“I’d like to go back to my room now,” you say, your voice raw. Were you screaming that much?

They ignore you as they continue to lead you in what feels like circles. It’s only when you see a shock of red hair beneath a glittering crown made of bones and rubies that you realize they’ve led you up to where the crowd had been watching your little display. Most of which is clear now. There are jagged icicles sprouting out of one wall, a body impaled on it, another crushed beneath it. The chain-link separating the room from the pit is partially melted, the remains of it swinging back and forth on the wind. Tables and chairs have been strewn about, some broken. There’s a few people moaning and bleeding on the floor, everyone else that could had scattered.

Amarantha remains shaking with rage in the center of the room, ice sprouting from her left hand, crackling and crawling all the way up her elbow, even as her other hand is wreathed in flames. Her eyes are so dark they’re almost wholly black.

The sight of her shakes some alertness back into your body, so at the very least you’re not about to collapse onto the floor.

Most of the High Lords are gone, save for a masked blonde who you can only assume is Tamlin. He’s wearing a collar too, the chain hooked into the floor beside her throne.

And Rhysand, half his shirt torched, is dabbing a damp cloth into a deep blister across his tattooed chest.

This damage is your fault, you realize with a sinking feeling in your gut. If you hadn’t challenged her, pushed her too far, none of this would have happened. Those people under the ice would still be alive and Rhys wouldn’t be hurt. You’re pissed at him but you don’t want to see him hurt. You don’t want to see anyone hurt. You had just been so on edge earlier, so focused on doing something to make Amarantha pay you hadn’t stopped to think about who she’d hurt in the aftermath.

“I’m sure you’re very pleased with yourself,” Amarantha snarls.

You can still taste the blood of those beasts in your mouth. “Thrilled actually,” you say because you can’t stop yourself. You can’t keep all these things at bay, it’s like they just slip out of you and no matter how much your mind reels and balks at it, it comes out anyway.

She moves so fast you barely have time to blink before she’s slapping the hand covered in ice across your face. “You stupid, little bitch!”

It burns as if it was the fire, but even if you wanted to hit her back, you can’t. You don’t have anything left in your body other than to hiss at the contact and try to retain your balance. The last thing you want is to end up on the floor at her feet.

Maybe it doesn’t matter in the end, because, despite all he’d said earlier, and despite the massive blister, Rhys manages to weasel himself in between the two of you. He’d been right about you and he still jumped between you.

“It’s not her fault,” he says.

The room shutters so hard one of the chandeliers falls from the ceiling and crashes to the floor.

“Get out of my way, Rhysand!” She screams.

“It’s my fault.”

The world stops turning for a second. He can’t be serious.

“I pushed her too hard training earlier.”

The lie makes your stomach twist, you sway on your feet trying to reach out and push him out of the way, to tell her that’s not true. But your body won’t move the way you need it to. Everything is sluggish and slow, all your energy reserves tapped. You’d overdone it.

“So you knew she could do that?” Amarantha says and her voice is so deadly quiet that you use the last little bit of your strength to grab Rhys’s wrist and try to pull him out of the line of fire.

“I suspected.”

“And yet you said nothing?”

There is no hesitation in his voice as he says, “No, I didn’t think it was necessary until we knew for sure.”

He needs to move. Maybe there is still some small chance that she can’t kill you, that she would have pulled you out of the pit at the last possible second just to save face with Hybern, but you’re not entirely sure Rhys has that same protection. New High Lords can be made. You tug on his wrist again, but he pays it no mind.

You’re only other option is to hope he can hear you as your stand at the edge of the hallway in your mind, the yawning, dark precipice beyond swirling in various shades of blue and black. “Rhys stop!” You scream. “She’ll kill you!” Damn him. As cruel as he is, as much as you want to hate him, you can’t stand here and let him do this for you. You challenged her and you had beaten her, whatever consequences came with that are yours.

If he hears you, he doesn’t acknowledge it either.

“We’re going to have a very long conversation about where your loyalties lie, Rhysand,” Amarantha snarls as she gestures towards the guards still hovering around behind you.

You’re so dizzy from he blood loss, crimson dripping off your fingers, pooling at your feet, that you’d forgotten they were there. When they move to grab him, he doesn’t fight it.

You can’t breathe again, reaching desperately for any bit of power you can reach inside yourself. He’s an asshole but you can’t let this happen, you can’t let her hurt him. But the chasm that was so readily open to you before is closed, nothing there for you to reach like you’d used every bit you had available.

This couldn’t be happening! Not now.

“It’s not his fault!” You say, but they’re already clamping irons down on his wrists, as if he’d been putting up any fight at all. “This is between you and me.”

She finally flicks her gaze off him to look at you, the corners of her mouth turning up in a grin. “Don’t worry, little mouse, you and I will be working very closely from now on to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.”

Mother save you!

“Don’t do-”

“Stay quiet.” Rhys hisses before the door that leads to him slams shuts and locks from the inside. He'd heard you, and then he’d locked you out.

You look back and forth between them. Spots are starting to form in the corners of your eyes and there’s pressure in the base of your skull. You can’t tell if it’s from the pain radiating in your shoulder or a headache from expelling so much power at one time. Either way, it’s like a countdown has started. You only have so much left to give before you collapse.

“Get them both out of here before I change my mind about being merciful,” Amarantha hisses.

One guard grabs your busted arm and you can’t help but scream as he gives it a yank.

Rhys lunges at him, snarling something you can't make out, but the other guard grabs him by the hair and yanks him backward.

You’re going to throw up or pass out, the pain making the room spin.

“As if I don’t have enough to deal with with my mate tonight,” she hisses and you barely have enough presence of mind to hear the growl the word drags from Tamlin. Mate. Amarantha is the High Lord of Spring’s mate. “You’re lucky it was you that brought him in today, Rhysand, or things might have gone quite differently.”

The room tilts and blurs and the floor is suddenly rising up to meet you. It’s too much!

The guard yanks you up by the back of your dress, or what’s left of it, the torn fabric tearing further beneath his gloved hands, and back onto your feet. You’re pretty sure you’re crying as he drags you to the door, but there’s so much caked to your face your not entirely sure if it’s tears, blood, or mud sliding down your cheeks.

“Rhys,” you whimper because there is no one else to beg for help, your powers as illusive as ever and damn Amarantha and her stupid court, but your terrified of what will happen to you and him if you pass out right here.

A familiar brush against your mind is the only answer you get as you're dragged back down the stairs. Those stairs, the guard’s boots, it’s the last thing you remember before it all becomes too much and you black out.

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

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[animehideout]

Hi ! I hope you are doing well um I never requested something so if it was something you didn’t wanted to write then feel free to not to 😭🩷

So there was a song it’s called nobody knows by kiss of life the choreo that the song has is really something!!! I mean that part when they swing their hips

I wanted to ask if you can write like when the reader is doing that dance how would jjk men ( any of them that you like but maybe sukuna and Gojo and toji?) react to her ?

Have a great night ! Or day ! :)

JJK Men Reaction to Reader Dancing

a/n: thank you anon for this request, I hope you enjoy it tho <3 and I truly apologize for the late update! ✨.

Choreography of Nobody Knows - Kiss Of Life.

Gojo Satoru :

Gathered with your boyfriend Satoru and friend group in a cozy living room, laughter and chatter filled the air as you settled in for your weekly game of truth or dare. The bottle spun around the circle, its rotations slowing until it came to a stop, pointing directly at you. A smirk played on your boyfriend's face, anticipating your choice.

"Y/n truth or dare?" Asked Geto.

You hesitated, the thought of revealing your deepest secrets to your friends suddenly feeling daunting. With a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes, you opted for the safer choice, daring to take on a challenge rather than risk revealing too much. You already know what kind of question Geto would ask anyway.

"I choose dare!!"

"Oh no you're spoiling the fun Y/n!" said Mei Mei.

You shrugged waiting for Geto to dare you to do something, hoping that it's not making out with Gojo in front of everyone, you wanted to keep your intimacy private and both you and Gojo agreed on that even though he had no problem with kissing you infront of everyone. Suguru's eyes gleamed with mischief as he pondered his dare. After a moment of consideration, he grinned and announced his decision,

"I dare you to dance to your favorite song!" he exclaimed in excitement.

Your eyes widened in surprise, a blush rising to your cheeks as you realized the playful nature of the dare. But you accepted the challenge with a determined nod. You've always enjoyed dancing but the thing is, none of your friends or even boyfriend knows that you're a professional dancer. But now it's time for them to discover your talent. With a confident stride, you made your way to the center of the room, grabbing your phone and clicking on your favorite song ' Nobody Knows - Kiss Of Life '.

The melody of your favorite song filling the air. As the music swelled around you, You let yourself be carried away by the rhythm, your body moving in time with the beat as you danced with abandon, as if you were on stage. A hush fell over the room, as they watched you in awe. Finally, reaching your favorite part, swinging your hips with a smooth flow, you moved them naturally, owning each move, having control over each muscle in your body. Your hips moving under your command. Mouths hung open in surprise, expressions ranging from shock to admiration, as they witnessed your grace and confidence on display.But none were more surprised than your boyfriend, Satoru, who watched with a mixture of astonishment and admiration. His eyes widened in disbelief as he took in your movements, his jaw dropping slightly as he realized he had underestimated your dance abilities.He never expected you to move so gracefully like that, never seen you dance before, and the sight of you moving with such fluidity and power took him completely by surprise. He had always known you were special, but in that specific moment, you seemed to shine even brighter, making him fall head over heels for you over and over again. As the song ended, the music fading into nothingness, you stopping in your ending position, the room erupted into applause and cheers, the sound of their praise filling the air with warmth and joy.

Your friends surrounded you, their voices filled with admiration as they showered you with compliments for your impressive performance. Your boyfriend Satoru, couldn't contain his excitement any longer. With a wide grin on his face, he rushed towards you pushing them away from you, his eyes shining with pride and admiration. Sweeping you into his arms, he twirled you around in a whirlwind of affection, planting kisses on you cheeks, forehead and lips as he expressed his amazement.

"Damn babe you killed it!! you always amaze me!!"

You chuckled at his enthusiastic state,

"It's not a big deal Satoru haha"

"I had no idea you could dance like that!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine delight. "You were incredible!"

As your friends tried to continue with the game, Gojo stopped them. With a playful smirk he said,

"Well sadly, you'll have to continue without us"

He took your hand, his excitement palpable as he led you away from the group. With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, he whispered in your ear,

"Come on, let's continue the party just for the two of us...I need a private performance just for my eyes".

With a shared smile and a twinkle of anticipation in your eye, you followed your boyfriend eagerly, ready to give him a private dance, to unleash your full talent, and maybe teach him some dance moves if he's interested.

Ryomen Sukuna:

You accepted your fate, you lost a bet and you had to do it. You had to dance in front of him as a punishment. Your cheeks flushing red in embarrassment, you've never danced in front of him before. Sukuna; your boyfriend on the other hand, wore a mischievous grin as he eagerly prepared to capture your performance on his phone. Playfully, teasing you about your lack of dancing skills even though you didn't start dancing yet so he just assumed. He promised to make sure the video went viral among your friends. You've always been like this, teasing each other and having fun is your love language.

Sukuna played Nobody Knows by Kiss Of Life. Of course he knows it's your favorite song since you're always blasting it in your shared apartment, he almost memorized the lyrics by heart. As the music began to play, you put all of your shyness aside and chose to surprise him with your dancing skills. As you started to move flawlessly with each beat, his smirk dropped and his eyes widened instead, his jaw hanging open. His phone slipping from his grasp falling on the floor as he became completely transfixed by your performance especially when you started swaying your hips with the melody.

Completely dumbfounded and astonished by your moves as you displayed the choreography in front of him. In that moment, any thoughts of teasing or making fun of you vanished from his mind. Instead, he felt an overwhelming sense of admiration and pride swell within him as he realized just how lucky he was to have you as his partner in life. Slowly sitting down on the chair to try and compose himself. And as the final notes of the song faded away, he finally spoke pulling you to him, making you sit on his lap while his arms wrapped around you protectively.

"I...I had no idea! you were amazing"

"Hmm no longer interested in teasing me?" you joked.

He leaned in closet with a smile, trapping you between his arms,

"Well change of plan, I was too quick to judge. So that's why you're always blasting music huh? secretly learning how to dance"

"Yeah something like that, I can say I discovered a new skill" you chuckled.

"What about you dance it again? You know I was taken aback since you surprised me with your power moves so Um I wanna see again, you know practice for better outcome" He grinned, pressing a kiss on your lips.

Toji Fushiguro:

Dancing alone in the comfort of your house, you lost yourself in the rhythm of your favorite song 'Nobody Knows - Kiss of life'. You were too shy and embarrassed to dance in front of Toji, your boyfriend. You've been dating for not too long and it felt awkward to dance in front of him, scared that he might judge you or laugh at you even though dancing is your therapy. So you practiced your favorite activity whenever he leaves the house. Oblivious to the world around you, you lost yourself in the melody. Hitting each and every beat flawlessly. However, you didn't notice that your boyfriend Toji had returned home earlier than expected and stood silently in the doorway, watching you with a smirk. He was captivated by the sight of you, your carefree movements and infectious enthusiasm lighting up the room.

He couldn't help the way his heart started beating so fast when you started swaying your hips. As the song ended, you stood in your ending pose, breathing heavily from how powerful you were dancing. Suddenly, you felt his arms wrap around your waist and his lips press against your neck. Startled, you jolted in surprise, the sudden touch breaking your trance-like state.

"Omg– Toji you scared me" you said putting a hand on your chest.

His arms still strongly holding you protectively, his lips leaving a trail of kisses on your soft neck, tickling you a bit.He mumbled against your skin,

"mhm didn't know you can move like that, that was hot"

Turning to face him, you blushed furiously, embarrassment flooding your cheeks as you realized he had been watching you the whole time.

"Were you watching me?"

"Of course baby! I couldn't tear my eyes away from you. You're amazing you know that?" .

A surge of happiness washed over you at his words, your heart swelling with love for the man standing before you..Toji never fails in boosting your confidence.Without a word, he took your hand and led you back into the center of the room, where he pulled you close to his chest and started swaying to the gentle melody of another song.

"Let's dance together! I've always wanted to do this with you".

He held you so delicately yet so fiercely in his arms, swaying side to side together, dancing in perfect harmony, lost in the music and in each other's eyes. Let's say dancing together became your favorite habit.

[svquincy]

HOME IS WHERE...?

The Underworld-- where the past is always close behind. Too close for Odysseus’ comfort. Here, he’s haunted by the memory of the hundreds of men who died under his command. One in particular he doesn’t dare wish to face again. Despite this, he perks up when his ears recognize a familiar tune. 

"This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms..."

"Polites…?" He looks around for a moment, trying to find the source of the voice. Soon, his eyes lock in on a blurred figure in the distance. He can’t see any of the figure’s facial features, but he’d recognize that headband flowing in the wind anywhere.

"Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart..."

"Polites, I'm here!" Odysseus makes his way toward the melodic voice, but finds that no matter the distance he treads, the figure appears no closer than before.

"No matter the place--"

"Can't you hear me? It's me, Odysseus!" His stride quickens, desperate to reach his lost friend, but every step he takes is futile.

"--we can light up the world, here's how to start..."

"Polites, please answer me!" He can’t tell if his misty eyes are from the fog blocking his line of sight, or from a desperation deep within. It seems that no matter how much he tries to disperse the haze before him, his vision remains clouded.

"Greet the world with open arms, greet the world with open arms..." The voice fades away, and Odysseus finds himself standing all alone.

"Polites..."

A gust of wind blows past, filling the silence around him. For a while, he can’t bring himself to move, frozen in place by the reality of his isolation. 

"... Captain?" That familiar voice eventually speaks once more, from behind Odysseus, putting an end to his solitude. There’s a softness in that voice that he recognizes instantly. He turns around, surprised to find himself now face to face with his old friend. Here, even amidst all the fog, he can see every detail so clearly now.

"Polites?" 

"Captain, is that really you?"

"Yes...! Yes, it's me! I'm right here!" Odysseus reaches out his arms to grab hold of Polites' shoulders, but all he manages to grasp within his fingers are the disintegrating vapors of a fading spirit. His short-lived smile quickly descends into a solemn frown, disappointment etched all over his face.

"I... I can't see you..." Polites' eyes wander, searching for the sight of his dear friend, but all that fills his vision is abyssal nothingness.

"What do you mean?"

"It's all just darkness here. There's no light anywhere. No... nothing." A silence falls among the pair for a moment. "Captain... I'm scared."

"I know... Death is terrifying."

"Death? So... you mean..." The words of explanation are on the tip of Odysseus' tongue, but his tightly pursed lips forbid them from escaping. "Right, of course," Polites continues with a feigned smile, understanding the truth of his situation without hearing another word. "Your silence speaks volumes, my friend. How did it happen?"

"The Cyclops." Odysseus swallows hard as flashes of splattered blood and panicked screams come back to mind. "It was quick. You didn't feel any pain," he lies. The memory of Polites reaching out for Odysseus as he lies in a pool of his own blood nearly makes him expel the contents of his stomach.

“So then… if you’re here…” Polites’ mind immediately goes to the worst possible scenario, but Odysseus is quick to put him at ease.

“No, no, I’m not…” Dead? “There’s no need to worry, my friend,” he tells him, offering his most sincere smile, though it’s tinged with sadness, knowing Polites will never be able to see it.

“Thank the Gods for that,” Polites smiles back anyway. “You still have to make it home, after all.”

“Home…” Odysseus’ voice trails off. “Home without you isn’t really home anymore, is it?” Though Odysseus’ remark is solemn, Polites still smiles brightly.

“My friend… You’ve lost so much…” Odysseus can almost feel a comforting hand on his shoulder. “But you have to keep going until you make it home. We're all rooting for you." Before Odysseus can respond, the visage of Polites begins to dim. "Wait... Polites, please, don't go!" Odysseus reaches for his friend, but his efforts are in vain. "I'm not going anywhere." Polites places a hand over Odysseus' chest and smiles. "I'm always going to be right here." Before long, the spirit of Polites vanishes for good, leaving Odysseus alone once more.

[dawneternal]

A Wild Thing | One

⚘ Summary: Elain makes a decision, Nesta has something to say about it, Lucien is surprised

⚘ Warnings: anxiety, angst

⚘ Word Count: 2.1k

AO3 Link ⚘ Masterlist

The world is blue. A deep Aegean blue, filling the endless space above, around, below. It is still and empty.

A bright, poisonous green pours into the ether in the way lightning spreads through the sky. The way that a river forks on a map. The way that veins spread under skin.

Blue turns to red. The color of spilled blood, slowly bleeding into the calm space. The color of anger and revenge fills everything and the web of green is a hideous, blinding contrast.

The vicious red is fading into maroon. Deeper and deeper, absorbing all light with it as it becomes an inky black. The green is throbbing like a weak, beating heart. The veins morph, taking on a dimensional shape, shifting into vines with budding leaves, growing small white flowers that wither and turn brown.

Urgent, it is all so very urgent as those flowers fall and die and the blackness swallows them up. Black as the space between this life and the next one. Black like the nothingness inside the Cauldron.

The last of the flowers fall away, into eternity. The vines do not grow any more. Then slowly, they fade into that void and nothing remains.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

Elain's eyes flutter open. She stares at her surroundings with suspicion, wiggling her fingers to determine whether or not she is still in the vision. She can move them, feel the texture of the linen sheets beneath her fingertips.

She let her hand fall limp against the fabric and sighed, watching the morning light pour across the floor as remnants of her dream danced behind her eyes. Laying in the silence, she shifted through the images, hoping they may reveal their meaning if she meditated on them long enough.

But there was nothing of meaning, and it grew harder to focus as the rest of the house woke. Muffled footsteps and voices wove into a song of life. Elain pulled the covers up over ears and ignored them.

In the moment, the visions were so clear. They invoked such strong emotions she could almost piece it all together. But when she woke up, the imagery became desaturated and foggy within minutes and all gut feelings faded into nothing. She was left no closer to understanding than before.

A deep, restless itch surfaced just beneath her skin. She could not go back to her post-cauldron state, living constantly intertwined with the visions. Back then, they muddled her thoughts because she had not learned to let them come and go. Now, it did not matter what she did, how hard she tried to sort them into neat boxes and go about her day. They wanted her, wanted to pull her under the water and let her drown in nonsense, filling her body and mind to take for their own.

A few weeks ago, asking Feyre and Rhysand for help would have been out of the question. Feyre was busy with her little boy and Rhys had yet to comprehend that he had pissed Elain off. They would tell everyone, anyway, and then it would become a whole thing.

But the itch in her veins was growing stronger, the pull of the visions more demanding. She could not stay in one piece much longer.

Her window was closing. Lucien left for the Spring Court soon. Her stomach flipped as the reality of what she was about to ask settled in, but anxiety dissolved all the resistance in her body.

Feyre's lovely, musical laughter filled the hallway as she passed by Elains door, followed by Rhysand's deep, rumbling chuckle. And Elain made up her mind.

She tossed the covers back with trembling hands and shoved her freezing feet into slippers. Teeth dug into her bottom lip as she wrapped her robe around her shivering form and shuffled toward the door.

Slippered feet came to a stop just before the door, fingers hovering over the knob. How exactly was she supposed to explain how she knew where she needed to go? That wasn't even something she understood, herself. She just knew it was true. Answers lay in the Spring Court.

Elain shook her head, willing her doubts to disappear at least long enough to let her try.

As expected, Feyre and Rhysand stood at the bottom of the landing stairs, preparing to leave. Rhys held up Feyre's coat as they laughed together about something or other. A scene sweet enough to fill Elains mouth with a bitter taste.

She ignored it, smiling anyways, as her sister and brother-in-law caught sight of her at the top of the stairs.

"Morning, Elain," Feyre's smile faded as she took in the sight of her sister - thin, tired, and curls tangled. “Is everything alright?”

Elain’s lips parted as she inhaled, heart hammering, and in one breath she poured out her confession, “I want to go to the Spring Court with Lucien. I think I had a vision about Tamlin.”

She descended the stairs as the pair digested her words, eyes wide as they watched her. Elain waited, eyebrows slowly drawing together as the silence dragged on. Rhysand remembered himself and smoothed his expression, masking over into calm neutrality.

"What was the vision?" He asked, nothing in his tone indicating any alarm.

“Well, they've not been very clear, lately,” Elain stammered, fingers tightening around the worn bannister, “It was mostly colors. But I'm certain it was about him. And I'm hoping that if I go, they'll get clearer.”

"If something is wrong, we can take care of it." Rhysand said, gently. He was studying her, searching for hidden things. She did not particularly care for it.

"It's not that. I'm not even sure what the visions are trying to tell me. I…I'm worried about what will happen to my mind.”

Silence settled in the foyer again as Rhysand and Feyre looked at each other, a wordless conversation passing between them. Feyre's brows knit together in worry, blue eyes sending something pleading in her husband's direction. Elain watched her sister take a deep breath before she turned to her and said,

“There is no one else there, Elain. It would be only you and Lucien. You would have to stay close to him for protection.”

Elain shifted her weight, bringing her gaze to the floor in order to hide her annoyance. As if that was not the first thing she considered. Her discomfort around Lucien seemed so small compared to the idea of her visions untethering her from reality. Was she that shallow, in their eyes?

“I know.” She swallowed.

“It may not be very comfortable," Feyre continued, her voice soft like Elain might shatter, "It hasn't been clean there in a long while.”

“I can clean.” Elain said. There was something heavier in that statement than either sister wanted to admit.

So Feyre cleared her throat and forged ahead,

"It will be for a whole week. Maybe more."

"I can keep busy."

"Tamlin may not be very friendly to you," Feyre continued to press. Elain's nails dug into the wood.

"Fine," She huffed, "I don't have to go.”

Her mind was already reeling with back up plans, body tensed to turn and flee back up the stairs.

"No, no," Feyre said quickly, "I don't mean to dissuade you, I just don't want you to be unhappy.”

Elain swallowed hard, trying to stuff down a rising wave of defiance. But in spite of herself, her eyes snapped up toward Rhysand, burning bright. She slammed her mental shields closed so he could not hear the word that rattled around, deepening her anger. Mistake.

Feyre's mouth open and closed, her confusion written clearly over expression. Rhysand did not react at all, not one muscle in his face twitched as he met Elain's fury.

"Lucien leaves tonight after dinner," He said, too smooth to be oblivious, "If you would like to go, you're welcome to leave with him then.”

“Thank you,” Elain said, surprising herself with her amiable tone.

"You'll let us know right away if something is wrong or you need help?" Feyre pressed.

Elain nodded and offered a small smile. A little apology. Feyre smiled back, though her eyes were sad, filled with unsaid things.

Rhys offered a nod, and Elain returned it before making her way back up the stairs. There was silence, the creaking of the steps emphasized as Elain trudged, wondering what they were saying about her. Then there was a snap and she knew they were gone.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

Elain's bedroom door burst open, door knob hitting the wall with a bang. Elain did not flinch, did not even turn around. She said nothing, only continued to fold the pile of clothes before her and arrange them neatly in her bag.

She knew who it was and had expected this visit from the moment she had spoken her request.

“You are not going to the Spring Court.”

Nesta was breathing heavily like she had run here, her voice equal measures firm and riled.

“You can't decide that for me,” Elain said quietly, tucking a rolled pair of bloomers between two folded dresses. She turned to face her sister, shoulders squared.

"Elain," Nesta said, her voice scathing. Her own shoulders were drawn up, hands balled into fists at her sides. "Tamlin is a beast. He does not leave his beast form. You don't have any training to protect yourself.”

"I don't think he's going to be much trouble right now, Nesta. He's very unwell." Elain brought her hands to rest at her waist, resisting the urge to fiddle with the lace trim, "And I won't be alone."

"Yes, let's discuss that. Because one moment, you barely even speak to him. Then you're running away with him to a court that's gone completely wild." Nesta scoffed.

Elain closed her eyes, hurt washing over her like waves of salt water. Stinging. She had tried to tell Nesta about her visions. She thought maybe her sister would understand.

“This is bigger than that. I won't be running around the spring court with him. And I'm not running away with him.”

Elain's cheeks burned at Nesta's implications. She was certainly not making it any easier for Elain to convince herself that she could manage to keep away from Lucien. All she needed to do was be there, in the Spring Court. There was no need for them to talk or…bond.

"I will not refrain from telling you I told you so when he does something stupid and breaks your heart," Nesta drew herself up to her full height and looked down her nose at Elain, crossing her arms. "And I will not refrain from punishing Rhysand for letting you go if you come back injured.”

“Do what you want,” Elain glowered, her voice low, “Say what you want. I'm going.”

"I think you forget that I have seen Tamlin in his beast form and you have not," Nesta growled at Elain's dismissal. "I would think my opinion holds some weight.”

"I think you forget that I have seen the inside of a Hybern war camp and Tamlin in his beast form," Elain turned and snapped, loosing the tight leash on her temper for a moment. The way that Nesta forgot those things infuriated her.

Nesta said something else, but Elain had retreated, arms crossed around herself for support. Nesta cared, she tried to remind herself. But she cared in a way that whittled Elain down into a smaller version of herself, irritated and sensitive. Nesta lived her life as a battle and Elain had no interest in fighting. She'd never win.

She heaved a sigh of relief when Nesta scoffed once more and stormed away, the door slamming shut a welcome end to their conversation.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

A familiar awkwardness settled into Elain's bones as she closed her bedroom door behind her. Chewing her lip in anticipation, she made her way down the stairs and into the silent living room. The small journey felt agonizingly long, and her heart hammered as she stopped on the plush patterned carpet, slowly lifting her eyes to meet Lucien's.

Lucien stood before her, a bag thrown over his shoulder, hands in his pockets. Immaculate, as always. Even with that unmistakable emotion written across his fine features. Incredulous, like he had been waiting to see if she would show up. Incredulous, like he still didn't believe it.

The defiant thing within Elain thrashed at his silent accusations, filling her body with that restless itch again. But she behaved herself, returning his curt greeting and letting him take her carpet bag.

Then he offered her an elbow, and Elain had to take a deep breath. This was something she avoided at all costs. The moment her hand landed on him, she was dizzy. Dizzy from her whole being singing in relief.

Mate mate mate, her heart chanted so loudly that she wondered if he could hear it. He gave no indication that he could, eyes straight ahead as he winnowed them away into the wild of the spring court.