#|| but one kind - yet broken soul exists

[zcrayas]

[if-loves]

reverence

// Yandere Capitano

sum: when a man stands in front of an altar, is it a god he prays to?

wc: 822

warnings: probably OOC capitano

a/n: capitano + worship is everything to me / also i didn’t really go so hard on the yan i think?? maybe it’s been too long or maybe idk what im talking about

likes & reblogs are appreciated :)

Capitano has never been one to pray. He respects the Tsaritsa, he is thankful to her even, but he is merely not the kind of man to worship, to pray. He is a righteous man, yes, and he does not need to rely on a higher being to be that.

Capitano has seen war. He knows war, far better than most, but he has never found the need to make desperate pleas to a god, an archon that can do nothing. He’s far more content in placing those bets on himself.

Yet he finds himself in a dilapidated church, hidden deep in the woods, the cold Snezhnayan wind seeping through the cracks and holes of the building, the ends of his coat fluttering along with it. With calm steps, he walks towards the crumbling statue on the broken altar, noting the vague resemblance to the Tsaritsa.

With a gentleness unbefitting of him, he closes his eyes and kneels with his head lowered, a hand on his heart. He does not know how to pray, so he hopes this will suffice.

Capitano rarely kneels, for there are very few he deems worthy of his respect. But when he kneels in front of this altar, he does not kneel only to show respect; he kneels to worship, to adore, and most importantly, to love, and none of it is for the Tsaritsa or anyone else for that matter - because in his heart, there is only room for you.

In his mind, thoughts of you never cease, not even for a moment. They always exist, whether in the front or back of his mind, like a stream of water. He wishes, silently, that you would never have to part from him, that he could bring you along to all his expeditions. He wants so desperately for you to always be by his side, to always be able to hold you in his arms, but he of all people knows that there is no point. He is lovesick, yes, but he is not so mad as to place your life in danger when the safer, safest, option is right in front of him.

And so, when Capitano prays, he prays not to a god nor an archon, but to you. He has no need nor desire to pray to superficial beings who do not care for a human like him. You, you, on the other hand?

You need him, and he needs you. You are the blood that flows through his veins, the air he breathes, the heart that pumps in his chest and most of all, his soul. You are his savior, the singular person in this harsh world that deserves his utmost devotion; if it would please you, if it would satisfy you, he would single-handedly raze Teyvat into cinders, and bring you the ashes.

Capitano doesn’t know how long he’s stayed kneeling, a gloved hand on his heart, eyes shut. Perhaps it has been minutes, maybe even hours, but the wind outside has calmed. When he rises, the metal of his chains screech against the floor, and it reminds him of war. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes and turns his back against the altar and its statue.

Perhaps he should build a shrine for you at home. A glorious statue of you, sculpted by only the finest of sculptors, with every single detail no matter how big or small engraved into it. It will have only the things you enjoy, whether it be food or candles or flowers, no demand of yours unmet, lest it be leaving the estate; if there is one wish he cannot grant, it is that.

The wind softly blows his hair and the fur of his coat as he makes his way back to the estate. It is late, he muses. The sun has set.

He wonders if you’ve already fallen asleep, if you dream of him. He wanted to surprise you with his return, purposely telling you in his letter that the journey would take a week longer than expected. He wonders if you’ll be happy to see him, if you will leap with joy or hug him with longing. He imagines each potential reaction with fondness, until the mansion is in sight, guards stationed at every corner, bowing their heads at his arrival.

It is silent, eerily so, when he walks in. Without conscious effort, he finds himself on the way to your shared bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest. Gently, he opens the door, a small streak of moonlight his guide.

There you lay, ethereally so, asleep in the warmth of the covers. Upon reaching your sleeping self, he kneels once again, taking your hand in his. Once more, he prays.

“I love you.” He murmurs, the warmth of your palm against his cheek. Perhaps what he loves most about you is the humanity you make him feel. “I love you.”

[floweycidal]

i dont know abt yall but i personally never trust flowey when he says he has No Feelings...

there's a kind of religious romanticism in monster culture that wants to believe souls contain your compassion, but humans explicitly disprove that, making monsters question whether a soul even requires those qualities to exist in the first place.

flowey adheres to the traditional monster belief, and given how monsters emphasize this idea of love, hope, and compassion being integral to the wholeness of a monster's soul, he probably internalized that and thought his absence of such qualities meant he was different. broken.

flowey may emphatically insist he has no emotions or compassion whatsoever, but that simply doesn't align with the reality we observe. i mean, hello??? the guy is EXCESSIVELY EMOTIONAL. HIGH OCTANE EMOTIONAL. HE EXPRESSES A LOT OF EMOTIONS THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE GAME!!!

flowey is also an incredibly unreliable narrator, especially when it comes to himself and that's really just a direct result of the immense trauma he's been through.

it's no surprise flowey would latch onto this idea of being "soulless" as a way to explain his new, jaded worldview. if he has no soul, no real emotions, then it rationalizes why he feels so disconnected, so incapable of caring about anything or anyone anymore.

but the reality is, flowey isn't truly so devoid of all love and feeling. what he's experiencing (to me) is more like a self-imposed emotional numbness, a defense mechanism to shield himself from further pain. 

his "soullessness" is less an objective state of being and more a way of framing his loss of hope, his inability to feel the same compassion he once did. he clings to his lack of soul as an attempt to explain and validate his despairing worldview in a reality that no longer includes chara, the one person he truly cared about. 

and honestly.... if flowey truly was so bereft of all the compassion he had "as asriel", like he so adamantly claims, how would we reconcile that with moments like this?

seems pretty compassionate to me.

and while we're on the subject, i must say that asriel's request for us to view him and flowey as separate people is unhealthy and should NOT be taken at face value, just as we ought not believe many of the claims flowey has made abt himself. this scene to me just seemed like asriel was trying to absolve himself of the guilt tied to his actions as flowey, which isn't necessarily a narrative we should support. to read them separately would be a disservice to flowey's arc and development.

in a sense, asriel is right, in all his innocence he could never behave the way flowey does. yet another aspect of flowey is that Anyone under comparable circumstances could become Him, even one as kind and gentle as asriel

and though flowey doesn't fully believe or accept it (just yet), the game does a brilliant job of reminding us that despite EVERYTHING, it is still him.

[pieroulette]

broken lipstick. yjw

2024 | 16+ | ONESHOT 1.8K. | G-yandere; W-obsession, possessive, unhinged jungwon lol, forced kissing with lipstick yes.

DIRECTOR's CUT, found an old note of ideas in my phone from 2022 about jungwon × lipsticks, and thought that it would be a pity to not write about it so here it is. this is kind of like an experimental storytelling, just finding my way with the rhythm and pacing of the words, sentences, and grammar. so if it kinda sounds weird, apologies in advance lol !

finding yourself trapped in this world he created for you drives you terribly insane.

down, and down you go.

every words he spills—he claims that he had spent hours and days of effort for this room, curating it just how you would like it; makeup palettes and brushes, lipsticks, magazines, jewelries, pretty and dainty sundresses, coquettish bows and laces perfectly matching your taste.

everything single thing before you—was all you've ever dreamt for, wished for, manifested for. bare skin planted firmly on this king-sized bed you've listed as one of your life wishes, wrists and necks adorned with saccharine gemstones—ones you've often seen on magazines.

every single damn thing was here.

he claims that he did it because he wishes nothing but to see the finest shade of happiness be illustrated on your visage; for bliss and satisfaction weaved under the strings of fairy tales, you shall wish nothing more but to remain abode.

yes, it is an exact replica of your dream room yet a lot more bigger, lavish, but certainly not home. a doll house would be a much better, fitting term. or perhaps, a prison—masquerade as the definition of your perfect little utopia.

his eyebrows knitted at the way you worded it, saying that such comparison is absurd, and certainly is not the truth. for all that was before you, is all yours to take—and so is he.

all yours to take, he says.

but if it was yours, then why can't you wear all it outside? has he ever thought that all these things is fucking useless if you can't even bring it with you out of this sickening room? what's all these even for, you asks. he replies with that same sickening smile, "why, silly, of course it's for you."

you repeated it with spite, "no, this is not for me. you're doing this for you."

"if you say so," he brought his finger against your cheek, stroking it ever so sickeningly, causing you to lean away. "you're my priority here, your wants and needs are at the best interest of my heart. nothing more, nothing less."

it didn't miss your eyes how his composed visage falters ever so slightly, so subtle—it almost slips away from your fingers but you saw it and you didn't care.

his soul, you despises—every word etched of his existence, you loathed. death shall greet him, and you'd never spare a glance.

why would you? when just a month ago, a world filled with the brightest prospects was all waiting for you, but his grim arrival dims every glowing lantern ahead of your path, ultimately sealing the door to your future tight and begone.

akin to a rat in a trap under a cat's claws; your sanity wilting with each passing day. how many days or months has it been? you lose track of time. where is your phone, even? oh why, he asks? books and magazines was what you'd prefer over some petty little devices, so why would you need them now?

rage, despair, helplessness; you released all these pent-up frustration with each object you slammed against the floor, scattered about in a hazard mess. broken, shattered in pieces like you do. he should see it, feel it, of how his own hard work are gone into the drain, like what he had put you into.

footsteps approaching from the distance.

the door flew open, just like how he often appears, ruining every single opportunity you had back then. he appears too composed, inexplicably unfazed at the ravage scene before his eyes. his own efforts obliterated into nothing, every single thing he spent time on perfecting was wasted, in downright shambles.

you drop on your knees, suppressing your sobs as he approaches with small steps.

it was all too silent, with only your shaky gasps blending with the solemn air. with your head down, eyes locked against the wooden floor, and on your clenched fists shaking with grueling anticipation, you glance nervously at how he stands so still—staring down at you like you were an object.

you wish he just would kill you right now.

in your peripherals, however, you caught the sight of his fingers grabbing the tossed lipstick, now broken in half—it's smoothened tip now uneven. you waited for him to say something, perhaps throw profanities at you for ruining this dollhouse he had spent hours and days at.

grow mad at me, hate me, and then throw me away. in your head, you chanted these words—prayers it ultimately morphs into.

however a gasp spills out of your lips, your breath caught at the back of your throat upon seeing him applying the lipstick on his lips, still and all—while humming a melodic tune as he does so.

"is this how you do it?"

you didn't answer, only imbued with aghast at the deep shade of crimson hugging his lips. as peculiar as it may seem, you can't deny that this visage of his perfectly adorns it.

he steps closer, alarming you—manifesting straight to your eyes widening in sheer panic.

with strong arms, jungwon catches your legs before you could push him away, pulling you closer where he forces you to face him, gripping your jaw so tight and suffocatingly so into his well of eyes; with it's depths you could never fathom till your last breath.

yet he begs you to drown in them, to answer all the questions written all over within—what's so fucking wrong to just stay obedient, and be his oh so sweet darling? why can't you see his love and dedication for you? of how he's ready to give up everything for you?

maybe a slap to your pretty face would tighten the screw in your head a little, or perhaps a yell pulled out from his throat would do the trick, but oh darling—profanities don't suit you, nor does it do you justice to be treated so harshly.

fragile you are, and such a fragile one should be nested, sheltered away from this merciless world. you do not need to lift a finger, or tire your pretty little head over useless things but..

but why is it that you refuse to understand him?

evident it was, through the way you dug your nails on his hands, imbuing your ever growing hatred to him. not a single word spoken, nor spitting at each other but through your eyes—your rampant wishes of spitting him death grows enormous.

die, die, just die.

you held your breath, as a stroke of his finger on your temple—slides down your cheek. a grimace takes form on your feature as he leans in, propelling your body to fight harder against his—though, he remains stronger and faster—pouncing on you like a prey, diving in with his venom-laced fangs into your lips, forcefully so.

his carnal desires takes form across your visage; smudged, blotted, and smeared. a shade so intensified through his vows to make you understand his perception of love.

they say that love is patient, love is kind, love is forgiving.

no, that's bullshit. it's fucking slippery, a mess, metallic taste leaking out from your lip—spilling into his tongue, only for him to hum in frenzied delight. a taste so sweet, so divine, like caramel melting in his cavern.

tilting his head sideways—his tongue went further into yours, twisting and knotting like wet fabric—pooling an amalgamation of saliva, blood, and lipstick down the corner of your mouth. sticky palms on the back of your neck, spiralling you down and down into these candied greed.

heat, searing, throbbing immensely—this pain, do you understand it now? that's how his heart mourns towards your ungratefeful, petty actions. have you perhaps realise it? maybe not yet, as you still had this little fight in you, a funny sight to behold.

your head spins, flashing in mismatched colors, jaw throbbing by his gracious mouth of flames—infiltrating every corner.

soaking everything in you with his relentless rhythm—a pace you could never match as it accelerates beyond what you can take with each second. his lips, like a paint brush—and you, like a paper being crumpled into every way possible. moulding your speech into incoherent sentences, strings of pathetic cries for help drowned out into the void, your prayers to god himself had been engulfed by a devil's kiss.

what's a god, even? they say humans are made in the image of god, but he dare say that not even god are comparable to you, nor those who reign above the heavens—angels, sirens, succubus or whatever the hell are there—your feet they shall kiss.

a canvas you are—pure, and untainted. a masterpiece in the making, not even the greatest artist known to mankind could do justice to your beauty.

you're his haven, his abode. yet also a temptation, a sin, his inferno. every edge of your portrait tweaked perfectly into his own ideals and fantasies, yet also a curse, the poisonous bane of his life, so toxic—it contaminates his soul.

decaying, decomposing—perhaps he was the serpent, and you're the tenant of the garden. insatiable, the apple of eden couldn't be as mouthwatering as your visage.

so why, can't you understand his love?

if you couldn't see it before, then he'll make sure you'll see it now.

dragging you across the floor, jungwon forces you to meet your reflection in the shattered mirror. on your knees, you met this drowned out visage of yours, all visible for you to observe; disheveled hair, your cheeks bathed in intense shades of red, all the same to your neck and shoulders, lips swollen with a visible cut, drenched in all his unspoken words. a mess, you are.

his pretty little mess.

yet what a masterpiece you are, still. he coos with lips pursing up in a sweetened grin, as if he had sucked out all remaining little bits inside your little jar of hope. do you see it now? how every part of you belongs to him, all for his lips to take and taste.

"you look even prettier, all broken like this." jungwon isn't very much different, but while you look like a corpse bludgeoned into mayhem. the image he bears was of a bloodthirsty demon, an animalistic abstraction.

through the mirror, you could see him shuffling around—looking for something amongst the mess, only for the same lipstick he used as an instrument for this macabre play—returning to his palms.

with him back to your side, he delivered a stroke down your hair, tucking your locks behind your ear. a chin he places on your shoulder, one hand under your tummy and the other looped around your shoulder to reach for your lips.

the same broken lipstick, made its way on your lower lip. a shade so deep, so heavy, amplified by his twisted affection. all dolled up for only his eyes to see. your luscious hair—inviting him closer and closer, savoring the way it hugs his fingers. too delicate, the broken mirror could only shy away from you.

"mirror, mirror on the wall," the lipstick tossed on the floor, replaced by his thumb lapping your lip. "who's the fairest of them all?"

© 2022-2024, pieroulette on [tumblr].

[hhnguyen]

aren’t you just precious

Everything medical related was a google search, so those in the medical field please don’t come for me - I was a literature major for a reason 😭

♢ Pairing: Parents!Jake & Neytiri x Oldest daughter!Reader

♢ Word count: 2k 

♢ Genre: suspense, action, angst, slight humor - Warnings: explicit description of injuries, blood, cursing, reader is a lil crazy

⌲ Description: Your iknimaya goes a little south. Aka introducing the ‘demon ikran.’

M A S T E R L I S T

Jake Sully, a marine veteran at the age of twenty-two had gone through absolute hell on earth before ever setting his disabled ass on Pandora. 

He thought he had seen the worse - comrades shot down right in front of his eyes, the blood covering their skin, blank dead eyes staring into his soul. Sometimes there were those who were actually blown to bits by bombs and grenades, screaming not even five feet away from him as they clutched their missing limbs, begging a nonexistent God for mercy.

Then there was his own injury. The pain he hardly remembered, because he had gotten to the point of delusion when they finally managed to drag him out of the war zone, half dead, and to the VA hospital.  

The incoherent words he had heard after waking up from his surgery despite his hazy vision and buzzing hearing at that time, yet the truth coming out of the doctor’s mouth had still hit him in the face like the largest ‘fuck you and your life’ to exist. 

“...ave severe spinal injury...fixable...expensive, marine.”

A severe spinal injury that was fixable but too expensive for a marine like him to afford. 

For an active man as he had been in the past, the thought of being paralyzed from the waist had been his worst nightmare to the point of being ready to waste away his life. 

Though even after all that shit, Jake Sully felt like he wanted to throw up as he stared at his oldest baby girl at the fresh age of fourteen laying there in front of him; delirious as he had once been in the same position, bleeding and bruised. 

He could only thank Eywa that your heart was still beating and your body intact. 

Well, mostly. 

The almost nauseous angle of your left wrist certainly did not look natural. And their bones were fortified, stronger than anything else to human knowledge. Yet it had managed to snap as easily as that. 

Neytiri - his beautiful, poor mate. She was distraught, one would say more so than him. Sitting only inches away from your fevering form in one of Hell’s Gate treating rooms for avatars, muttering prayers with dried tears upon her face. 

Your injuries had been so severe that not even the abilities of your grandmother, the Tsahik, could heal you solely through the spiritual power of Eywa. These kinds of injuries needed the advanced surgery of human technology. 

His other children were barred from coming inside, having been firmly ordered to remain in their village as he and Neytiri made sure that you would be okay. None of them wanted to keep them away, but neither did they want them to be traumatized by seeing your bloodied and broken form. 

A stark contrast from the smiling and proud sister that they knew. 

And yet, you had still managed to complete your iknimaya. 

Jake watched with a bated breath from the air upon Bob, his own faithful ikran through the years, as he saw the slight encouraging push Neytiri had given you on the edge of the nesting place. Your, oh so small form, looked firm and stubborn as you steadily stalked forward in a crouched form, the band for the beak held in your grasp with determination. 

He watched as one ikran flew away. Then another. And another. A third one. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. 

He had lost count after the eleventh. 

You were getting frustrated, he could see that. Neytiri was still there, calling out for you to calm down. To be patient as he moved Bob a little bit closer, but not too much to distract you if you were to see him hovering. 

And there he was. 

Jake had seen it before you did. The vicious screech even reached him high up in the clouds and echoed above all the other ikrans. 

He felt his blood run cold as the midnight blue beast, nearly black in color with its yellow and green detailing jumped down from the highest point of the rocks and landed behind you as you whirled around with snarl of your own. 

But then as fleeting as it had been, you had grinned, taking in the magnificent animal despite its bloodthirsty aggressiveness. 

“Aren’t you just precious?” Neytiri had told him of your words in the aftermath. 

His mate hollered in encouragement, and he could hardly stop the prideful tug of his own lips. 

Rather than you leaping on the beast, Jake straightened up as he saw the ikran run at you as well. Both were only inches away from crashing, as you last minute decided to slide beneath its belly - slight enough to fit as you rolled away on the other side and then slung the catcher around its mouth swiftly before throwing yourself on its back. 

His expectations had been hopeful from that moment. Positive. But wrong, oh so wrong. 

Rather than trying to snap at you by turning, he watched in horror as the ikran seemed to have a human mind as it slammed against a stone wall, you hitting it first. 

Neytiri had screamed, already half leaping forward but stopping herself as she saw you still clinging to the beast. 

Both had thought that had been the worst of it until the ikran tried it again. This time deliberately falling backward to land on its back with a rumble, where you were hung on. 

“LET GO MA ‘ITE! LET GO!” Neytiri was yelling. Or begging. He couldn’t be sure in his own fear. 

But both of them underestimate you, as a growl mixed with what Jake had assumed to be a painful yell from yourself erupted. Legs manage to wrap around the animal’s neck despite being crushed underneath its weight. 

He saw belatedly you were only holding on to the banshee catcher with one hand as you pulled at its head hard enough to make the animal let out another vicious muted screech. 

And then you truly proved you were his daughter. 

“C’MON YOU MOTHERFUCKER. GRANDPA BOB WAS BETTER THAN THIS!”

The ikran had gotten angrier, trashing before suddenly rolling like a fucking bowling pin on the stone-covered ground. 

Towards the edge of the cliff. 

Neytiri ran, and Jake dove, both reaching out and screaming your name as you and the ikran fell off the edge. 

As his mate leaned almost desperately over the edge, Jake forced himself to draw Bob back up, only for a few seconds - not to interfere with the rite. But it was in those few seconds he felt like his heart had stopped beating. 

There was that familiar screech again. 

Then you were soaring. 

Up in a straight line, past Neytiri and him. Tsaheylu clearly made as the ikran listened to your orders. 

There was a blinding grin on your face as you soared, clearly looking for him and letting out a whoop. 

The moment your eyes caught his, Jake felt his grin slip. 

Your eyes, open just moments before suddenly rolled back. Your whole body went slack as you fell over the side, your newly bonded ikran screeching at the sudden weightless feeling as the bond broke and your body went straight down. 

Jake hadn’t heard his desperate yell, this time diving down without stopping. 

He thought you were dead when he managed to catch you and flew back up, only to have Neytiri meet him in the air on her own mount, an expression so clearly in distress. Without a word, they both made haste back to the village, your newly bonded ikran following closely behind. 

“How is she?” His voice sounded like it had gone over fifty years of smoking with no water. It felt like his whole body was weighed down with stones. 

“She’s alive,” that’s all that Max could offer with a grim expression. “She will need surgery. The momentum of her slamming repeatedly against stones with the ikran’s weight on top has managed to collapse a lung.”

Jake had never wanted to sob like a newborn baby until now. But he needed to remain calm, or at least sane. For Neytiri’s sake, and your siblings.

“Usually surgeries like these lead to long-term conditions in life, but we’re certain that with the Na’vi biology she will heal just fine without complications. But it’s the healing that will take time.”

He was nodding along, but it felt like he was far away. Only hearing a slight inconsistent sound in his ears as he watched through the see-through glass into the room where you were all connected up to tubes and an oxygen mask. 

It was so human, the whole situation of you being in a hospital bed for avatars - Jake wanted to laugh. Not in humor, but maybe in slight delusion at the situation. 

“Okay, okay…” he swallowed. “Anything else?”

His human friend was taking pity on him, Jake knew. 

Max has been there since the beginning. Seeing Jake growing his own family and now being placed in this position. “Besides the broken wrist and strained ankle, it’s mostly cuts and bruises. So she will have to wear a brace as well as remain seated for the next week or so. And check-ups every three days.“

“Yeah, we can do that,” Jake croaked. “When’s the surgery?”

“As soon as possible.”

Another nod. “Thanks, man.”

“Of course.”

He had to nearly pry Netytiri away from you as she snarled protectively. But he had to explain that she couldn’t join in on the surgery due to contamination concerns. The whole room had to be fixed to match that of a Na’vi body, the surgeons wearing oxygen masks as the space was filled with Pandora’s toxic air for your sake. 

It was an open lung surgery, Jake had been told. A risky procedure even on earth. It had taken four hours. Four hours full of anxiety and fear. 

But you had pulled through, Max said, Norm closely behind with a relieved teary smile himself. The man was like another uncle to the kids despite his avatar form. He had watched their ceremonies, rites and connections to Eywa. So to Norm, this was just like a family member to him. 

You had slept for a full day and a half after the surgery, still confined to the avatar hospital room before your eyes had fluttered open with difficulty. A cough erupted followed by your painful whine at the action.

Netytiri had hushed you gently, crouching down and stroking your hair back. Fresh tears fell at seeing you conscious again after so long, sobs breaking out as you flashed a sleepy smile at her. 

Neytiri had felt like Eywa had pulled the entirety of Pandora away from underneath her feet during the hours of your examination and surgery. Clutching Jake to her and never wanting to let go as her oldest baby was at the mercy of nature and your own will to live through. 

But she knew. 

You were strong. You always had been. And you had fought. 

Neytiri had never imagined a day when one of her biggest nightmares nearly came to pass. 

To lose one of her children. 

She would rather throw herself off the highest point on Ayram alusìng than lose one of her precious babies before their time. She believed in Eywa with her whole heart and soul and knew their beings were only borrowed and one day had to be returned. 

But Eywa would not take her children away from her until Neytiri herself agreed. 

Until that time, she would do anything to protect them. But to have it happen during one of their most treasured rites in life had prevented her from doing many things. 

Interfering for once. Because you had said so before as if knowing how horribly wrong it could go. 

“Do not stop me, mama. I can do this on my own.”

Of course, you could. And you did. 

Despite having to brush the doors to Eywa’s home yourself to succeed. 

And as your parents carefully helped you back home to the village after five days of observation at Hell’s Gate after your surgery, you couldn’t help but snicker despite the stabs of pain.  

Your mom had admonished you gently to not aggravate your wounds. Whereas your dad held back the roll of his eyes with amusement tickling the sides of his mouth. 

“Why are you laughing, flower?”

Your grin was shit-eating as you looked up at him.

“My iknimaya was so much cooler than Toruk Makto’s.”

“You little skxawng.”

I feel like I lowkey pulled this one out of my ass, but oh well. 

taglist: @nao-cchi @eywas-heir @ssc7514 @spicycloudsalad @calums-betch @httpjiikook @ricecakeslove @fanboyluvr @iwaslikeblah   @the-wandering-pan-ace @avatarloversblog @eternallyvenus @enchantinggoateefox @arianapntn @heydemonsitsme @slyvixen1029​ @promiseofeywa @love13tter @directioner5life @bambisposts-blogs​ @melllinaa​  @sugarmummystuff6​ @lovekeeho​ @hai-kbai​

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Neon Moon

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Rhysand’s sister grapples with a one-sided mating bond that has yet to snap for the Shadowsinger. When a drunken night brings the two closer together than ever, Azriel is made aware of a circumstance that could change the course of her life.

This is a one-shot that is able to be read as a stand-alone fic.

This is also a prequel to Wicked Felina and elements of this prequel will be involved in the remainder of the series. Wicked Felina Part 5

Warnings: Sexual content, alcohol, language, age difference concerns

Y/N - 19 Years Old

When the sun goes down on my side of town, that lonsesome feeling comes to my door.

Pretty moans echo through the walls of the House of Wind only broken by an ocasional deep groan.

I roll over with an aggravated sigh, pulling an overstuffed pillow across the back of my head, covering my ears. Not that it will do any good. Curse being High Fae and the exceptional hearing that comes with it.

I lay awake, taking deep breaths, trying to sink into the starry depths of my mind but Azriel’s hook-up of the week lets out a particularly loud cry of pleasure before her moans are muffled by what I assume is a gloved hand and a low reprimand.

I roll my eyes. He may as well chide her with a warning of “Shh, don’t wake the baby.” by the way he treats me.

Never mind the fact that I am an adult now. I have tits for cauldron’s sake, nice ones at that. I wouldn’t be wearing this oversized, ridiculously soft knit sweater if I didn’t.

And yet he still views me as a child.

It’s cruel to think that on my eighteenth name day, a golden thread snapped. Tethering my soul to him… and yet, he has no clue. That, or he does, and has no intention of acting on it, refusing to view me as anything other than the little sister of his best friend.

I’ve got a table for two, way in the back where I sit alone and I think of losing you.

So I grin and bear it. And if I happen to wear clothing a bit too cheeky when he is around and other males inevitably gawk at my exposed skin, thus prompting the overprotective bat to shuck his sweater off and toss it to me, and then I spend the rest of the night drinking him under the table? Well, that will have to do for now. So, I wait for the day his soul is ready to seek mine.

Y/N - 21 years old

He’s watching her again. He always does. She dances through the room like petals on a breeze, enamoring the crowd with vivacious conversation as she skirts throughout those gathered in the room. How will I ever compare to the radiant and lovely enigma that is THE Morrigan? I shouldn’t feel bitterness toward my cousin and yet I do. I get why people flock to her, she’s kind and lovely, strong, somehow both approachable and unobtainable. She’s a total pain in my ass busybody cousin-acting-as-older-sister I never wanted.

I requested that the band play Azriel’s favorite song tonight. The one time he’ll loosen up and let himself enjoy a moment. It has become a routine, our dance. The one time that he holds me a little closer. The one time I can pretend he sees me as the mature female that I am and not the child I was.

But tonight, the song plays, and it’s Morrigan in his arms, not me. It’s not the first time he’s chosen her over me. When she’s here, I don’t exist.

I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t watch this.

I spend most every night beneath the light of a Neon Moon.

I turn to leave, exiting the hall, winding through the crowd of pompous nobility from all courts. The garden. I’ll find solace in the garden, beneath the glittering stars, among the fragrant blooms. Sneaking down a quiet corridor and out a shadowed alcove, a guard opens the door for me and the warm, lavender scented breeze greets me like a friend. My steps fall swiftly, distancing myself from the evening revelry. As I wind down a path of blooming roses, a loose stone causes my sole to slip, bracing myself for the fall and the sting of rock to my palms. Instead, I am shocked to feel warm, strong arms catching me. Looking up at my savior, a few long golden locks of hair fall over the concerned, emerald green eyes staring down at me.

Y/N - four months later

“Shit, Shadowsinger. You look like you could use this more than me.”

The start of a grin tilts the left corner of his lips upward as an incredulous laugh slips from his throat. Reaching a scarred hand toward the bottle of my brother’s finer wine and swiping it from me.

Azriel’s hazel eyes assess the bottle, giving a raise of his brow. “Looks like you’ve done a number on this one already.”

“I never do things halfway.” I tease. Giving a nod toward the wine that was indeed half-empty. His dark brows rise again as I unveil a second bottle before he could remark on it. “Some Spymaster you are. You should’ve know I’d come prepared with the best selections from Rhys’ secret-” The playful jest is interrupted by the tickle of a shadow trailing up my arm and spiriting the second bottle right out of my hand, eliciting a pout of my lower lip.

“Hey, now that’s just greedy.”

The handsome planes of Azriel’s face illuminate in the twilight, causing my heart to stir. Perhaps it’s the way the night shrouds him in ominous twilight, or the way his shadows sit strewn across his shoulders but I know tonight was hard for him.

Mor had shown up to dinner as radiant as ever, a red dress clinging to her delicious curves, some male she’d picked up at Rita’s on her arm.

Now if you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely

I should leave him alone but I can feel it in my chest. Stoic and broody? Yes. A lonely soul? Also yes.

And damn, do I know I deserve better than to be the female that will never be chosen first? Yes. And yet, he’s my mate and more importantly, my friend.

“Scooch over,” my arm waives in a correlating gesture. “This grass is dewy and cold and this dress is far too thin. Your leathers can handle the chill, I’m stealing your warmth.”

With a small shake of the head, a lock of raven hair falls over his forehead, Azriel scoots, exposing the vacated patch of grass for me to sit on. “Gods, it’s still chilly.” I complain as I swipe one of the bottles back from the Shadowsinger.

“Nobody asked you to come out here.”

“And yet here I am.”

Azriel eyes meet mine, a small flicker of emotion passing behind them. “Yes.” He whispers fondly. “Here you are.”

I ignore the blush threatening to redden my cheeks and fire back at him. “Your breath smells like a vineyard. You’d already gotten started on the drinking without me?”

Recognizing the rhetorical question for what it is, Azriel presses his lips to the bottle, tilting his head back as he takes a long swig of the bittersweet wine. My breath catches as a harsh swallow bobs his adam’s apple. Heat pools through me and I quickly turn away, searching for something, anything to distract from the effect he has on me.

To watch your broken dreams, dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon

Shadows dance around us, like figures on the wind, weaving in and out of the moon’s luminescent rays.

“Y/N…” I turn to face him as a scarred hand reaches for me before seemingly thinking better of it and pulling back. “I didn’t dance with you at the ball.”

It’s my turn to laugh incredulously. “That was months ago Azriel, why bring it up now?”

That peculiar flicker of emotion crosses his eyes again.

“I’m sorry.”

I pause, taken back by the apology. Had he known how much it hurt to see him dancing with her? Thinking on it, I can’t seem to grasp whether it is better or worse that way.

I freeze, grappling with emotion as he ruffles his hair with a scarred hand, dragging his palm over his face. “Y/N. The conflict that wars within me, it’s… .”

Confusion conveys on my features and I resist the urge to dive into his mind and read exactly what he’s thinking. “What?” I ask as his sentence trails into a void of lost words.

He shakes his head as if he’s already pushed whatever he was about to confess aside. Hurt washes through me and I begin to turn away. A broad, calloused palm grasps my wrist. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.” He leans closer, his wine addled breath mingling with my own, only centimeters separate his lips from mine.

I think of two young lovers running wild and free. I close my eyes and sometimes see you in the shadows.

I’m certain he can hear my heartbeat as it roars through my ears. My eyes flutter looking into his heavy-lidded hazel and onyx eyes. His head tilts, low voice barely more than a rumble.

“You’re everything.”

Azriel inhales, his gaze searching mine in a silent ask of permission, preparing to close the hairs-breadth of distance between our lips. Suddenly those lust-addled eyes go wide, nostrils flaring, and he abruptly pulls away, swiping my bottle of wine as he withdraws his hand. “You don’t need any more of this, Y/N. Go to bed.”

My mouth gapes slightly, processing what just happened. “What?”

“It’s late and I have to leave for a mission for your father in the morning.”

He stands straight, stretching out his tall body and those glorious, broad wings, stiff from sitting on the ground.

My heart is crushed, once again. The words that could change it all sitting on the tip of my tongue.

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate.

But his feelings for my cousin still run strong and we have centuries ahead of us. I refuse to be in second place.

Azriel extends a tanned arm to me, eyes now softened, a slight crease between his brows as he takes me in. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s get inside.”

Taking his extended arm, we walk in silence through the grand entryway of the House of Wind, winding down the corridors within, stopping at my room, I murmur a rushed “goodnight.” before escaping behind the shield of my door, to the quiet lonesome solace of my room.

I sense Azriel’s presence outside my latched door for several moments before his steps pad down the hall opening the door one down from mine, into his room.

No telling how many tears I've sat here and cried, or how many lies that I've lied telling my poor heart he’ll come back someday.

Azriel

Azriel couldn’t take it. The way the walls closed in around him. Sleep was always just out of reach but tonight, he felt the weight on his chest in a crushing embrace.

If you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely.

He’d spent the past few years dicking around, ignoring the shift he’d felt toward Y/N. For fuck’s sake, she was Rhysand’s little sister, barely an adult. She’d always gravitated toward him in her childhood. Looked up to him. And he cared so deeply for her, like a little sister. And then soon after her eighteenth birthday something began to shift in his chest. Something that he felt so incredibly wrong for feeling - and yet something he’d buried deep within begged him to accept that it was right.

He was a bastard for it and latched onto his feelings for Mor even harder, despite the fact that they’d simmered down in previous years. And then Y/N had changed her demeanor toward him and he knew- gods, he knew she wanted him but he couldn’t do it. Rhys would kill him for it if her father didn’t first. It was so wrong.

And it had gotten harder and harder recently. He’d brought females home, spent more time around Mor when she’d visit, anything to push her away without actually owning up to what his feelings were.

And then Mor had shown up on a whim tonight with some male that she’d picked up gods knows where, he couldn’t even fall back on clinging to her, leaving him forced to face how strongly he felt toward Y/N, so he’d indulged in booze and snuck out to sit beneath the moonlight and drown in his own pool of self-pity.

To watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

When she’d found him, any semblance of willpower was gone. Y/N was a goddess beneath the moonlight. Kind, strong, intelligent, and so damned beautiful and, out here, it was just the two of them. So, he’d finally given in. One kiss, one kiss would help him see how wrong this was. And yet as he leaned in, all he could feel was how right it seemed to be.

Until he’d inhaled, taking that final breath of courage to close the distance. That’s when he smelled it, the shift in her scent. Her scent was there but there was something somewhat familiar and earthen intertwined a scent so light and sweet, almost like roses. A scent that was not her own, not of her.

She was pregnant. He had no idea by whom but the realization sobered him up entirely. He swiped her wine and panicked. Did she know? Should he say something? Instead, like the older brother figure he’d once viewed himself as to her, he escorted her into the house and told her to go to bed, ensuring to keep the alcohol out of her reach.

Gods, he didn’t know what to do from here

He spent the rest of the night flying, taking in the stars and the moon as they shone brightly above, ethereal just like her.

He’d go on his mission this week, and Y/N and her mother would travel to the war camp that her father was at to visit him, and when she came back he’d talk it all out with her.

Yes, he’d support her and love her however she needed to be, whether it be as a friend, as chosen family, or as something more. It would all work out. It had to.

Come watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

————————————

Although this is a one-shot, it is also the prequel to Wicked Felina, you can read Part 1 here.

Tags

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Wicked Felina tags: @glittervame @julesofvolterra @saltedcoffeescotch @candyjaypoppins @st4r-girl-official @nocasdatsgay @gxdsmonsters @honk4emoboyz

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮

evil rick x reader

request: evil rick x reader? but... with a softer version of evil rick? tags: soft dom rick, kinda angsty, daddy kink, praise, p in v, dirty talk, fingering, age gap, pet names (baby girl, little one, baby, good girl), fluff notes: inspired by an audio i found on tiktok. it’s linked at the end of the fic. you’re welcome, rickfuckers words: 2.7k minors dni!

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the empty room, Evil Rick sat alone in his couch, the only company being the dim glow of a solitary lamp. His frail fingers clutched a faded photograph, a relic of happier times, now serving as a painful reminder of what once was. The man in the picture wore a wide smile, surrounded by loved ones who had long since vanished from his life. Beth, Summer, Jerry and even his Morty.

Evil Rick was a man consumed by loneliness, a loneliness that seeped into his bones like a bitter chill, never relenting, never fading. He had outlived his friends, his wife, and even his own child, leaving him stranded in a desolate landscape of memories and regrets. 

But perhaps the cruelest twist of fate lay in the betrayal of his own flesh and blood. His grandson, once the apple of his eye, had become a shadowy figure, lurking in the periphery of his existence, only to emerge when in need of something. Morty had exploited him, manipulating his emotions for his own gain, leaving behind a trail of broken promises and shattered trust.

Rick's heart ached with the weight of betrayal as he stared at the photograph, tracing the faces of those who had once filled his life with warmth and laughter. Now, all that remained was the hollow echo of his own solitude, a vast emptiness that threatened to engulf him whole.

In the midst of Rick's profound solitude, there existed one flicker of light, one beacon of warmth in the form of his neighbor, you. You were a young woman, your vibrant presence a stark contrast to the dull monotony of Rick's days. Despite the gaping chasm of years between you, you had extended an unexpected hand of kindness to the elderly man next door.

Every Sunday like clockwork, you would knock softly on Rick's door, bearing a homemade cake adorned with delicate frosting and sprinkles of sweetness. The gesture was simple yet profound, a small reminder that amidst the vast expanse of loneliness, there existed pockets of unexpected kindness.

For Rick, those Sunday visits were a lifeline, a brief respite from the suffocating weight of solitude. He would eagerly anticipate the sound of your gentle knock, his heart lifting at the sight of your radiant smile as you presented him with your latest culinary creation.

But then, without warning, the Sunday visits ceased, leaving Rick adrift once more in a sea of loneliness. One week passed, then another, and still, there was no sign of you at his door. The absence weighed heavily upon Rick's heart, casting a shadow over the one bright spot in his otherwise dreary existence.

He found himself consumed by worry, his mind plagued by questions that remained unanswered. Had he done something to offend you? Have you grown tired of your weekly ritual? The uncertainty gnawed at him, filling him with a sense of unease that refused to dissipate.

As the days stretched into weeks, Rick's anxiety reached its peak, his thoughts consumed by visions of your smiling face and the tantalizing aroma of your cakes. The way he would much rather eat you up. He longed to reach out, to inquire about your sudden absence, but fear held him back, fear of intruding upon your life or worse, of discovering a truth he was not prepared to face.

And so, Rick waited, his heart heavy with the weight of unanswered questions, his only solace the memories of those precious Sundays spent in the company of his kind-hearted neighbor. Desperation clawed at his soul, driving him to seek solace in the bottom of a bottle.

With trembling hands and a heavy heart, Rick reached for the whiskey bottle tucked away in the recesses of his cupboard. He poured himself a generous measure, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light of his solitary abode. With each sip, the harsh burn of alcohol seared his throat, momentarily numbing the ache of longing that threatened to consume him whole.

In the hazy fog of intoxication, Rick allowed himself to drift into a realm of bittersweet memories, his thoughts lingering on the warmth of your smile, the few times his hand caressed your thighs and your cheeks blushing instantly. He raised his glass in a silent toast to you, a silent plea for your return echoing in the caverns of his mind.

And then, as if summoned by the depths of his despair, there came a soft knock on the door, so gentle it was almost imperceptible against the backdrop of Rick's inebriation. Startled, he blinked away the haze clouding his vision, his heart pounding in his chest as he staggered towards the source of the sound.

Rick swung open the door, his breath catching in his throat as he beheld the figure standing on his doorstep. It was you, your eyes filled with concern and compassion.

"y/n," Rick breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "I–I thought…why are you here?"

A flicker of sadness passed across your features as you gazed upon Rick, your heart aching at the sight of the man you had come to care for. Without a word, you stepped into his home, the sadness disappearing from your eyes as you showed him a big smile.

“I visited my family for two weeks. Missed me?”

“You wish”, Rick snickered. He did miss you and he missed teasing you.

With a confident stride, Rick stepped aside, allowing you to enter. His eyes lingered on your figure, tracing the curves of your body with an unabashed hunger that set you ablaze with desire.

"I made this for you," you said, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness as you presented him with the cake.

Rick's lips curled into a sly grin as he accepted the offering, his fingers brushing against yours in a tantalizing caress that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins.

"Thank you, baby," he murmured, his voice dripping with seduction.

You felt yourself growing weak at the knees under Rick's intense gaze, your breath catching in your throat as you struggled to maintain your composure.

"Rick, are you alright?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper, “You seem drunker than usual.”

"I'm more than alright," he replied, his voice low and husky. "Especially now that you're here."

You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks as Rick's words washed over you, the air thick with tension as you danced on the edge of something electric.

Rick was always drunk when you came over. He was always teasing you yet you could feel that something was never quite alright with him. Carefully you put the cake down before walking over to his couch and taking a seat. Rick’s eyes never stopped staring at you. Slowly he followed suit, sitting down right next to you. His knee pressing into your thigh while his arm laid on the couch, right behind your back. Evil Rick’s thought were spiraling, getting dirtier and dirtier by each second when suddenly–

“You have a family?” You found the picture Evil Rick had been staring at before.

For a moment, a flicker of pain passed across Rick’s face, his expression clouded with memories long buried beneath layers of loneliness.

"I did once," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "But they're all gone now."

Your heart ached at the sorrow in Rick's voice, your own emotions swirling as you reached out to gently squeeze his hand in a gesture of comfort.

As you lounged on the couch, the air between you and Rick crackled with a potent mix of tension and desire. Rick sat with his arm draped casually over the back of the couch behind you, his legs spread wide in a display of relaxed confidence. You, feeling the heat of his presence, couldn't help but lean into his proximity, your body humming with anticipation.

In a moment of vulnerability, Rick's head began to droop, his exhaustion evident despite his attempts to hide it. With a heavy sigh, he leaned his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke.

"Do you ever wonder if some people are just meant to be alone?" he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy.

Your heart clenched at the raw honesty in Rick's words, the ache of loneliness reflected in his soulful gaze. But beneath the sadness lay a simmering undercurrent of desire, a magnetic pull that drew you together like moths to a flame.

As Rick's head rested against your shoulder, you felt a surge of heat course through your veins, your body responding instinctively to his proximity. Despite the weight of his sadness, you couldn't ignore the overwhelming attraction that pulsed between you two, a primal urge that begged to be satiated.

With a hesitant touch, you reached out to gently caress Rick's cheek, your fingers tracing the lines of his weathered face with a tenderness born of longing.

"Some people may feel alone, Rick," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "But that doesn't mean they're destined to stay that way."

Evil Rick's gaze met yours, his eyes dark with desire as he drank in the sight of your flushed cheeks and parted lips. In that moment, the barriers between you dissolved, leaving only the raw intensity of your shared desire burning bright.

Unable to resist any longer, Rick closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that ignited a firestorm of passion between you. And as you surrendered to the intoxicating pull of your desires, you found solace in each other's arms, two lonely souls finding refuge in the heat of your mutual longing.

As Ricks's lips met yours in a hot, sloppy kiss, a primal hunger ignited between you, consuming all reason in its fiery embrace. Your mouths moved in a desperate dance of passion, tongues intertwining with a fervor that left you both breathless and wanting more.

Your senses were overwhelmed by the heady scent of Rick's cologne, the rough texture of his stubble against your skin sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you surrendered to the intoxicating whirlwind of desire.

Rick, emboldened by your response, felt a surge of primal possessiveness wash over him. With a low growl, he pressed you against the back of the couch, his body pinning you in a gesture of dominance.

The air crackled with tension as Rick loomed over you, his gaze smoldering with unbridled passion. Your chests heaved in unison, the heat of your bodies mingling in the confined space between you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you gazed up at Rick, your eyes dark with desire. You felt an electric current coursing through your veins, igniting every nerve ending with a fiery intensity that left you trembling with anticipation.

“Do you want to–want to help daddy feel less lonely?”

Red tainted your cheeks as you heard Rick call himself daddy. If only he knew that this was exactly what you would imagine while playing with your soaking pussy almost every night.

“…Yes”

Swiftly Rick positioned himself between your legs, his hard on pressing against your crotch. As usual you were wearing a skirt, which both you and Rick were more than thankful for. It made everything easier–faster. His calloused hand pulled your skirt up. A growl fell from Rick’s lips as he pushed your thong to the site to take in your pussy.

“Fuck…b-been dreaming about this pussy, baby”, his hand reached down, his finger moving up and down between your folds, “Already so wet. I didn’t even do anything…yet.”

Grinning he pressed his thumb against your clit, circling, taking in the way you arch your back and move your hips to meet his finger on your most sensitive part.

His other hand ventured upwards. He ran it lightly over the curve of your breast before briefly circling your nipple. You unconsciously arched your back and a sigh was the only sound that escaped you. He felt you stiffen briefly. Reassuringly, he squeezed your waist lightly, simultaneously trying to show you that it was okay, but also to urge you to do more.

"It's okay, baby girl" he murmured in your ear and as his hand moved a little further down and now circled your belly button, Rick felt you relax again. His lips made their way down your neck. He pressed delicate kisses onto your heated skin and when you willingly tilted your head to the side to give him more room, he let his tongue glide along your artery.

Rick flooded you with stimulation. His thumb was still playing with your clit while he sucked on your neck and his other hand kneaded your tits. Without warning, Rick eased his middle finger inside you while his thumb continued to take care of your pearl.

“S–such a good girl, for daddy”, he cooed, his finger being clenched by your needy cunt, “So fucking wet for daddy. See? Took another finger in.”

Rick continued to fuck you with his two fingers while planting soft kisses all over your body “You’re doing good, baby”, he reassured and praised you over and over and over again. His raspy voice filled your head. Rick took his time prepping you because he knew that not everyone could simply take his cock. He wanted both of you to feel as good as possible.

Need flooded every fiber of your body as you reached down and tried to unzip his pants. You wanted him badly, now. As soon as Rick understood what you tried to do, he took it upon himself to free his cock from his ever growing pants. When you saw it your eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Rick Sanchez, your lonely old neighbor from next door, had a big cock, veiny and hard as a rock, pre cum leaking from its tip. Upon the sight your pussy clenched and pulsated around his fingers harder, something that Rick didn’t miss out.

“Hm, guess you like what you see”, Rick pulled his fingers out to wrap his hand with your sickly sweet juice around the head of his cock. “Daddy is going to–to reward you for taking his loneliness away.”

He pulled your legs over his shoulders, his thick cock now pressing exactly against your wet entrance. Oh, how he would love to just ram inside, his tip kissing your cervix as he pounds into you like a wild animal in heat, filling you up with his cum, breeding you like the good lil’ girl you are. Not now though, at least not tonight. Evil Rick felt something deeper, more than just sexual attraction and bent up rage, he felt an emotional connection.

Rick could feel your legs trembling against his chest as he eased into you with a slow space. Your cunt stretched around his cock, taking him – almost sucking him in. “Ahh…R-Rick–daddy.”

“‘s okay, baby”, he lowered himself, kissing your temple and pushing the rest of his length into your squelching pussy, “Ugh…fuck, y–you’re tight, baby, daddy’s g–good little girl.”

“yours…I’m yours, daddy.”

That was all Rick needed to hear. He began to thrust into you faster, harder feeling your walls tighten around him. He loved the sounds you two made together – his balls slapping against your ass, the wet sloppy sounds your pussy made everytime he pushed in and out, his own growls and moans filling the apartment.

He loved the way you squirmed and trembled under him, how you begged for him to fuck you even depper (though he was already hitting your cervix). He was filling you up completely, Rick was the biggest cock you’ve ever taken. Your hands reached out, grabbing his biceps, scratching him and leaving marks.

He loved how you made him forget his loneliness, the betrayal and rage rooted deep within him.

“fuck…ugh, oh…oh my god…ugh– daddy loves you…ah, that’s daddy’s good girl.”

[runariya]

Prompt game:

🥰🤪👽

Alien Jungkook's tentacles try to get attention from the reader. But reader is mad and giving Jungkook the silent treatment. So tentacles decide to take it in their hands (?). I'm sorry my imagination is bad, but i trust yours ;)

a/n: I hope it's alright that I used this request as a Y(E)ARNED bonus...it just fits the couple so well

To spend your days alongside Jungkook is nothing short of pure bliss, a kind of beauty that shows itself in moments both grand and unspoken. There is, indeed, a profound sweetness in being the object of his love, of his adoration, a warmth that seeps into every corner of your existence, making even the most ordinary hours shimmer with a peculiar magic. 

Yet, as with all such beautiful things, this love, though a balm for your soul, does not come without its moments of maddening frustration—little flashes of exasperation that threaten, every now and again, to undo all the softness with their dizzying intensity.

It is during these moments of quiet contentment, where you’ve developed a peculiar fondness for collecting miniature porcelain figurines of Earth’s animals—everything from delicate little ducks to turtles no bigger than a thumb, from bees captured mid-flight to cows rendered in the most absurd detail. 

You‘ve chosen each piece meticulously, though the greater part of the collection, truth be told, bears the mark of Jungkook’s love and generosity. There’s no species left unrepresented, no space on the shelf unfilled. But amidst them all, there is one that‘s your favourite, a tiny maneki-neko with a raised paw and a chubby little face, who commands the centre of the shelf of your now shared home. And of all the figurines, this one—Jackson, with his impossibly cute charm—holds a special place in your heart, the only figurine affectionately christened with a name, as if that alone elevates him from all the others. 

So when you hear the unmistakable, gut-wrenching sound of porcelain colliding with the hard floor while you’re busy tidying the kitchen, something inside you breaks too. 

You turn and see Jungkook standing by the shelf, frozen, his wide eyes filled with a kind of helpless guilt, his lips parting to release the softest, most regretful “oh-oh” that barely registers in the quiet room. Jackson, once proudly perched in his rightful place, is nowhere to be seen, and the realisation dawns on you as swiftly as the growing pit of frustration inside you.

“What did you do?” you ask, your voice tinged with horror as you throw unceremoniously the dish towel aside, running towards the shelf, your heart and mind already brace themselves for the worst.

Jungkook’s wide, panic-filled eyes lock onto yours, and as you glance down to to find poor Jackson, or rather what remains of him, shattered and scattered across the floor in a hundred tiny pieces before Jungkook’s feet, your heart shatters too, as though a part of it has been dashed against the cold floor with Jackson. 

“No…” you desperately whisper, the word as fragile as all your figurines, as you resist the overwhelming urge to drop to your knees  and gather the broken pieces, knowing full well that no amount of careful reconstruction will restore Jackson to his former state.

This isn’t the first time Jungkook, with all his towering presence and boundless energy, has accidentally decimated one of your precious figurines, his sheer physicality, though endearing at many other times, always at odds with the delicate world you curated and that is so easily fractured. But this time, it’s Jackson, and somehow that makes it worse.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammers, his voice fumbling over itself as he scrambles for some sort of excuse, eyes darting as if searching for a way out of the mess he’s created.

“Oh, right,” you say, incredulous, “Jackson just leapt off the shelf, did he? Jungkook, you knew he was my favourite! How could you—how could you let this happen?”

“I swear, it wasn’t me… it… it was them!” he protests, pointing towards his remaining two and free tentacles that hover ominously behind him, as though they too have witnessed the grand disaster. The tentacles, however, seem none too pleased with his accusation; they rear up, jaws flexing as though insulted, ready to challenge his words, daring him to continue with the absurdity.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, turning away, exasperation and resignation rolling off you in waves, the whole spectacle having become too much to bear, leaving the wreckage of both Jackson and your patience in your wake as you walk away, tired of this particular chaos.

"Princess, please, I’m sorry!" Jungkook follows you in a desperate attempt to soothe your anger, fully aware that he’s really messed up this time.

But you don’t answer. He’s destroyed your things more times than you can count—accidentally, yes, but still enough for you to give him the silent treatment before you say something you might regret. So when you enter your bedroom, lying down on your side and huffing with a blank stare, you refuse to acknowledge Jungkook, who’s now kneeling before you, clasping your tiny hands in his, puppy eyes in overdrive.

"I’m really sorry, Princess. Please forgive me, I’ll buy you another Jackson." Jungkook’s pleading eyes would usually make you give in, but this time he’s destroyed more than just a replaceable figurine. No, he murdered Jackson, your precious maneki-neko, taking your good fortune with him. So, no, you’re not giving in. You pull your hands away from his and huffily turn around to avoid his face.

Jungkook scrambles to his feet at that, running around the bed, stumbling over his own big feet, and jumping onto his side. "I mean it, I’ll buy you ten! A hundred! A million! Please, Princess, don’t be mad at me." But again, you just turn back around.

You hear Jungkook sigh in resignation as he plops down on his pillow, mumbling apology after apology that you’re not willing to acknowledge. It doesn’t take long before you feel one of his tentacles tentatively brush along your shoulder, but you shake it off, too fed up to accept any affection.

It tries again, but this time, you stop yourself from pushing it away, realising the tentacle—or rather, they—aren’t the ones at fault. A second tentacle soon joins, poking your side as if to tease you into letting go of your anger. But you still are, not at them, but at Jungkook. You start to pet them, though, and the simple action begins to soothe your frustration.

"Oh, so you’re giving them attention but not me?!" Jungkook whines.

"My precious babies," you coo lovingly, "got accused of doing something they didn’t."

"But they did! It’s all their fault!" He shouldn’t have said that, because his tentacles don’t see it like that though, and the next thing you hear is Jungkook yelping, "Ouch! Don’t attack me! Ouch! You’re supposed to protect me! Hey!"

You do your best to suppress the laugh bubbling up, knowing full well Jungkook deserves it for lying so boldly. When his tentacles slither back towards you, settling over and in front of you, you resume petting them, while Jungkook sulks silently behind you.

Your anger gradually fades, the soothing motions of Jungkook’s tentacles helping you calm down. "Do you know why Jackson was my favourote? He was the first figurine you ever gave me. On our 100th day anniversary." 

He remains silent, so you go on. "He wasn’t just a figurine. He was a symbol of our relationship and our good fortune."

"I’m sorry," Jungkook whispers, clearly sad now.

"You can’t replace him."

"I know."

"And you can’t make him whole again."

"I know." His voice is faint now, as if he truly understands just how deeply he’s messed up.

His tentacles begin to run along your arms, sensing your sadness too. You feel movement behind you, and as Jungkook’s breath fans across your neck and his big hand lightly strokes your arm alongside his tentacles, your resolve to stay mad a little longer disappears entirely. You turn around, facing his beautiful face and mesmerising eyes.

"I never understood why he was your favourite, but now I do. I’m really sorry, Princess."

"S’fine," you mumble, gently stroking his cheekbone.

"Do you want to know what my symbol of our relationship is?"

"Hm?"

Jungkook’s connected tentacles lift behind his back. "This. And this is something that’ll never break, no matter what."

Your eyes well up with tears because, frankly, he’s right. It shouldn’t be a fragile figurine that carries the very symbol of your love, but Jungkook himself. You regret ever giving Jackson that meaning, because there’s something so much stronger than porcelain—a living, conscious bond that shows just how meaningful and overwhelming your connection with Jungkook is.

"I’m sorry."

"You don’t have to be. Please don’t say that. I love you, Princess."

"I love you too, Jungkook."

And it's true, you’re the happiest woman in the world, now and always.

[finniestoncrane]

Pornstar!Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, multi-part au fic cooper howard is a former actor, novice pornstar, and current wasteland escort. reader mistakes him for a bounty hunter and ends up getting far more entwined in his lifestyle than they intended in a bid to get what they need from the first 'kind' person they've met in a long time🤎

☢️ Chapter 2: Misunderstanding, word count: 4.7k reader is just about the simplest, sweetest thing that's ever gone on a journey to find a bounty hunter who can get revenge for her. unfortunately, she doesn't find the bounty hunter she was looking for. fortunately, she finds cooper howard instead, which i think we can all agree is a blessing Chapter 1 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: unprotected sex but cooper can't get you pregnant and i doubt any diseases can survive in his blood stream, lil bit of angst, one night stand with feelings, fairytale style connections here like pussy so good it has a man questioning the existence of soul mates

Your feet were no longer willing to participate, and you found that much of your energy was going towards convincing your lower half to keep going, even at the painfully slow pace you were struggling to keep. Trudging along what was left of the highway, you wondered how much of the difficulty was physical, and how much of it was the mental block. Because for all the effort it had taken you to get this far, with the end goal in sight you were beginning to reconsider.

What were you even going to say when you found the man you were looking for? 

“Hi, I’m looking to hire a bounty hunter, and I’m told you’re the best.”

Far too formal. Almost pleading. He’d know you were someone he could take for a ride immediately.

“Hello. Are you a bounty hunter? The famous one?”

That sounded like you were about to ask for his autograph before you asked if he could take on your job.

“What’s up, good sir. Are you by any chance willing… to… do…”

“Fuck.”

You’d had this entire journey to figure out what you were going to say, and now you were so close to reaching the settlement marked on your map and you were, if anything, less prepare than before.You couldn’t even blame it on distractions, because aside from a few standard dangers, it had been smooth sailing. A small mercy you were incredibly grateful for during the journey. And yet, instead of putting that time to good use, you had daydreamed your way along broken highways, beating the occasional radroach to death with your tire iron, and willfully ignoring what you had set out to do.

It just seemed so dangerous. So seedy. 

But unfortunately necessary.

Four times in the past three months, your quiet settlement had been attacked by raiders. Crops were destroyed and stolen, four brahmin were killed, and almost all of your prized possessions had been taken. It was only by sheer luck that they’d missed your stash of caps under the floorboards, and you’d vowed to use that to get your revenge. It was only this deep, burning desire for justice that had kept you going the past few days. Walking and walking and walking, interspersed only with fitful, uncomfortable sleep. You’d barely eaten, barely drank anything, and you were running low on supplies. But the signs for the next settlement were there on the walls, ushering you in, promising you food, rest and a solution to your problems. 

That was if you could convince the solution to do what you needed. 

And that itself hinged on your ability to recognise the bounty hunter.

“Oh, you’ll know him when you see him.”

That’s what the mayor of your settlement had told you. And what kind of advice was that? 

It’s not like there was a uniform they all wore. And as far as attitude went, what were you supposed to look out for? Handy with a gun and a cruel, cut throat demeanour? That was everyone in the Wasteland.

As you entered the large town, a settlement thriving somehow, you decided the bar was the best place to start your search, and the lure of having a drink, surrounded by voices and music, was far too enticing. There was nothing like that back home. Travelling traders and the makeshift common house was as close as it came to any kind of socialising or excitement. And while you were here on business, and rather serious business at that, you felt like you deserved a reward, a little bit of something to look forward to.

The bar gave everything that you hoped. The minute you walked through the door, you were quickly distracted by a fight that had just broken out. It was stopped by someone you assumed was working security who smashed the heads of the two men involved against the table, and then carried them through to a back room, one over each shoulder. A few people looked up from their drinks or away from their conversations to take you in, none of them settling for too long. This was a trading town, strangers came in and out all the time, you weren’t special here. You blended in. It felt nice, actually, not to draw too much attention. 

Sidling up to the bar, you asked for a water, deciding that quenching your thirst was a better option than beer, and settled into your crooked, wobbling stool. You couldn’t help but smile as you sipped at your cup and looked around the place. As dark as the reason you were here was, it felt like it had given you purpose, meaning. You were on a noble quest. The excitement was dulled, however, as you looked to your left and noticed the man beside you. Only then did the seriousness of your journey settle back in, heavy on your shoulders. 

The stranger next to you had shielded most of his face with a worn cowboy hat, one that was frayed and aged, but his skin was still visible, telling of his kind. A ghoul. The scars that marred his cheeks, sunken eye sockets, and no nose to make up his side profile. He was sipping at a dark liquid in a chipped glass, holding it with gloved hands. His body was covered mostly by a tattered duster jacket, but below it there was a glimpse of blue and gold, hidden under a thick, leather waistcoat. 

He certainly looked the part. The thought made you feel guilty, as though you had judged him based on his looks alone, but that was all you had to go on. Either this was the man you were looking for, or he was bound to know where to find that person. So you took the risk and tapped on his shoulder. 

Immediately, you understood that you had made a mistake, as his dark, brown eyes focused in on you, his lips curling into a sneer. 

“I will be polite, since you look like fresh meat, but do not touch me.”

“I-I’m so sorry, I just-”

He put up a hand, silencing you. 

“I only speak by appointment, darlin’.”

As he turned back to staring into the space in front of him, you decided you’d already come far enough not to push, just a little. Besides, the attitude, the way he spoke, the suggestion that he took on appointments. You were so certain that he was the man you were here to speak to.

“Well… you don’t look too busy right now…”

“You got ten seconds before I take this glass and make an awful mess of you.”

“I want to hire you! Please, just… Can I buy you a drink, Mr…?”

He looked down into his glass, almost empty except for one large gulp, which he swallowed with a sigh before he pushed the glass forward.

“Name’s Cooper.”

“Cooper. So…?”

“Whisky.”

“Whisky. Right. Thank you!” 

Cooper watched as you attempted to make your voice heard over the noise of the patrons in the bar, intrigued by you, far more than he would have liked to admit. Usually, clients were all the same. In town for the night, passing through, a regular. It didn’t matter, they were all there for a reason, and they wanted to get straight to the point of it. He preferred that. No beating around the bush, at least not until they had paid him. 

“Here you go! He said that was the best they had… it was expensive, so I hope he’s right.”

Eyeing the liquid, Cooper swirled it and grimaced, and when he raised his glass to drink, you copied him. The swig was lodged in your throat, a burning, painful taste that lingered at the back of your tongue and had you coughing and spluttering. From beside you, you could hear Cooper’s cruel chuckling, finally smiling, albeit at your expense.

“What’s so funny? What? Do you actually like the taste of this?”

“Oh, darlin’, don’t get yourself all worked up. I just find it amusing that someone like you would want to hire someone like me, that’s all.”

“And why is that?”

Cooper sighed, setting the glass down on the bar and turning in his stool to look you in the eyes. His gaze was intense, his eyes soulful, deep, focused.

“I just don’t think you’re lookin’ for what it is I can offer you.”

“Really? Well, what is it that you can offer me then, and I’ll tell you whether or not I can handle it.”

With a wry smile, Cooper nodded towards the bartender.

“Why don’t you go rent a room and I can tell you all the things I can offer you.”

That settled it for you. He was definitely the guy you were looking for, or at least, the kind of guy you needed. Secretive, trying to act threatening, scarier than he might be, to let you know how dangerous he was. He would be perfect. So you smiled back, hopping off your stool to go and speak to the bartender who gave you a key and a room number. By the time you had turned back around, Cooper was already making his way to the corridor, and you rushed to catch up to him. 

“Room number… five.”

“That’s a nice one, in the centre of the hallway, so it’s kept warm.”

“Uh…huh…”

He seemed to know it well, the whole space, as he confidently took the key from you, opened the door, and ushered you inside. That certainty with which he held himself, the confidence that flowed out of him, it was so oddly enticing. And as he settled himself down in a chair in the corner of the room and lit up a cigarette, you realised that you found him quite attractive. Bravery, danger, those soulful eyes that held what you could only imagine were decades upon decades of secrets, of history. Plus, despite his cold demeanour, he was oddly charismatic. You assumed that’s how he got by in this town, or any settlement. Usually, ghouls weren’t welcome, but Cooper seemed like the kind of man who could charm his way into anywhere. 

“So, what is it that you think I can do for you, sweetheart?”

You’d been staring at him blankly for a minute or so, watching as he commanded the space, relaxing himself into it. If he didn’t have years of being a fetishised novelty to back him up, he could have sworn that you seemed genuinely attracted to him. It had been so long since someone had looked at him like that, a blush on their cheeks, taking in his personality as well as his scarred and interesting body. 

Truthfully, he was looking forward to this himself. He’d have been lying to himself if he denied that you were his type. A little naive, sweet and cheerful, perfectly corruptible. But it was more than that. Your eyes seemed gentle, understanding. A trait that was hard to find these days. A look of the past about you, likely your upbringing. Those smaller settlements up in the hills were generational, clutching to what their ancestors had known before, living on kindness and the American spirit. THe nostalgia settled in his gut as he took you in. 

“Ok, so! Raiders.”

“... Raiders?”

He raised his brow, questioning you silently. It had been a long time since someone had asked for any roleplay in their encounter with him, and he could hear the jingling of caps as he wondered how much he could charge you for that.

“Yeah, raiders. They’ve attacked my settlement four times already.”

“And… they took you hostage? Kept you as a prisoner?”

“N-no… why…? No. They keep destroying our crops.”

“Oh, so you’re hungry.”

“I mean… yeah, but most of all I just need-”

“Need a little relief from all the stress you’ve been under?”

“I guess so, but not before I’ve solved the problem. What I really need is a bounty hunter.”

Cooper raised his hands, silencing you, a confused look on his face.

“I’m gonna stop you there, missy. This is verging on an acting job, and I don’t do those any more. Now what do you mean a bounty hunter?”

“Sorry… I don’t… what is there not to understand? I figured that’s what you did… isn’t it? Hunt bounties? Someone told me I could find a guy here that was good with a gun and-”

“Oh, you gotta be fuckin’ shittin’ me!”

He let out an exasperated laugh as he stood up from the chair and walked to you by the door.

“You think I’m a fuckin’ bounty hunter?”

“I thought… but now I’m sensing that you’re not in fact a bounty hunter.”

“Yeah, you got that right at least, lil lady.”

“So what are you then?”

“I’m an escort.”

You didn’t want to be presumptuous, and you couldn’t quite believe what he was saying, so you sought out some clarification, much to his dismay.

“So you… you go with me to get the raiders like a chaperone?”

Cooper stood in front of you in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at your perceived stupidity. 

“No, I ain’t escorting you anywhere except to this bed. Or the floor. Or against the wall.”

“Like sex?”

“Yeah. Like sex.”

You had so many questions, and not one of them felt appropriate. He just didn’t seem like the type of person who was well-suited to that particular line of work. Of course he was handsome, and there was that alluring, cruel nature that you found so beguiling, but his exterior was so rough and cold that you couldn’t imagine a lot of people getting past that.And with that thought, you wondered if he considered you to be that kind of person, someone who would shrug him off based on his demeanour, or worse, his looks. 

“Why were you so surprised about me wanting to hire you then?”

“Well, darlin’, you just don’t strike me as the wild type.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Means I usually only offer my talents to the people who want something a little weirder than what’s on offer elsewhere. Kinky folks, someone looking to get a bit freaky.”

“Huh…”

He didn’t know you well enough to make that judgement, and it smarted a little. And you were learning more about yourself too, because you were interested in him. Even before he’d revealed to you his line of work you’d been finding yourself stuck in a trance by Cooper. Of course you’d already reasoned that he would never be interested in you, but now that you know his affections could be bought…

“Is that all you brought?”

Speaking of money, Cooper had begun to rifle through the stash of caps that you had laid down on the dresser beside your backpack. 

“Uh… yeah. I thought that would be enough.”

“This would barely cover my fees, and you were gonna try and hire a bounty hunter for that? That is just about the stupidest god damn thing I’ve ever heard.”

You stepped to him purposefully, pulling the caps from him and putting them back into your bag. Even with your little quickfire crush, you found yourself irritated by his constant, snippy remarks. 

“Listen, I had no other choice. My settlement is struggling, this is all we had left after the raiders. I was hoping that someone would take a little bit of pity.”

“Sounds like the plot of some corny old cowboy movie.”

“Makes sense now, me thinking you were the bounty hunter, hm?”

Gesturing at his outfit with your hand, you let your eyes take him in from the floor up, and when your gaze settled on his face, you noticed him stepping closer, leaning into you. 

“I ain’t just some cowboy, missy. I am the cowboy.”

The way his voice lowered for emphasis, growling in his throat as he spat the words out at you with every intention, made your body flush with heat. A near immediate clenching formed in your gut, a tight coiling as you felt your saliva collecting against your cheeks. If you didn’t ask, you’d regret it forever. So you swallowed your nerves and spoke.

“So, can you do anything for me then?”

“I can do plenty, sweetheart. I can give you an earth-shattering orgasm and something to think about on your travels back to your little settlement. I cannot kill someone for you, but I can make you forget your troubles for a little while.”

“A-and… I have enough for that?”

Cooper grinned, more of a smug sneer than anything that resembled genuine happiness. 

“Are you asking to hire me for these other talents, then?”

“I guess so. Can I?”

“Hey, you got the money, then you’ve got me.”

You reached for your caps once again, handing them all over to him and watching as he put them into the pocket of his coat. All of it gone, in a moment of weakness over a man you’d just met. Before you could resent the decision too much, though, Cooper began shrugging off the long, duster jacket, your caps jingling as he did so. With it off, you could get a better look at his tarnished outfit underneath. He looked even more like a cowboy now. He hadn’t been lying before. Everything about him reminded you of those old holotapes you’d seen, the tarnished posters on the walls of buildings, or in the thankfully spared comic books you had been able to read. 

Noticing that you were just standing there, staring at him, Cooper broke the silence. 

“You look nervous, and I am a busy man. Shall I get things started?”

You weren’t even aware that you had started nodding until he was in front of you, fingers pulling at the material of your shirt and untucking it from your pants. He really wasn’t shy about it, no hesitation at all as he teased it up and over your head, already working on his own.As you stood there, awkward, exposed, he tossed his shirt to the side and began working on his belt, unbuckling it as you watched him. His body was lean, but not slim. The scarring on his face followed over his entire body, covering him completely. Each little line and ridge in his skin looked tempting, and you wanted nothing more than to run your fingers along him, to feel the texture against you. 

Cooper was quick to fulfil that desire, wrapping his arms around you as he worked at your pants. The embrace felt warm, and you couldn’t help but let your own hands travel around to his back, stroking up and down his spine as he pulled your pants down, letting them fall to your knees. As you stepped out of them, kicking them to the side, Cooper did the same, stopping briefly to take you in fully as you admired him in return. 

His cock was average in length, thicker than most, but what intrigued you most, once again, was the way it might feel against you. Ridged, tickling, with a stretch. You could feel yourself drooling at the thought, only pulled back to reality by Cooper’s voice.

“A quick disclaimer: you’re not going to get pregnant, and my blood kills diseases. I’m clean, so anything wrong with you, you can’t blame me.”

It was an oddly comforting statement, and solved a problem you hadn’t thought of until then. You nodded, standing in an awkward silence until Cooper spoke again.

“So, where do you want it?”

“I, uh… on the bed, I guess?”

“Well, that answers that question, but I meant my cock.”

“Oh! Maybe… uh… I…”

Cooper interrupted you, putting you out of your misery as you fumbled around for the right words and the bravery to ask for what you wanted. 

“Listen, just… lay on your back and spread your legs so I can get to your cunt. Nothing too adventurous for you, I think.”

You did as you were told, thankful for the instructions and his easy way of speaking them, even surprising yourself at how enjoyable you found the vulgar way he spoke to you. Everything about him was a little bit vulgar, though. But all the same, exciting and attractive, only fueling your arousal as you watched him spit on his hand, a long strand of drool connecting from his lips to his palm, before he stroked it along his cock. 

“You good?”

“Skill wise, or-”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. Yes…”

With a roll of his eyes, not quite the look you had hoped for admittedly, Cooper lined the head of his cock up with your slit, pushing the tip past your folds and into your cunt with a soft groan. You were tight around him, stretched by his girth, and the way your fingers clawed at the mattress gave him a feeling of accomplishment already. 

Already, this felt different to him. You kept your eyes focused on him, when they weren’t closing against the pleasurable pain of him thrusting his cock into you. And not just to take in his body, instead, you were looking into his eyes. It felt like he was being seen for the first time in a long time. 

At one point, a soft smile crossed your lips, almost shy, and it pushed a grin to his own lips. It reminded him of someone from so long ago. Someone who looked up at him, body exposed to him, admiration and giddy glee in their chest. From that day, the last one. He couldn’t remember her name, but he remembered how she made him feel. She was sweet, and she saw him for who he was, not what he’d become. And given what he’d become now, he could be certain that it was the last time someone had seen Cooper, until you. 

Cooper grunted as he pushed himself deeper into you, up to the hilt, his hips pressing into you, hands on either side of your head against the bed. Everything about you was enticing. The soft giggles you let out, deep, breathy sighs as he worked at you, half-lidded eyes that sparkled with joy as they took him in. Usually, he was good for a solid half hour of pleasure, well worth the money he charged, but he could feel himself coming undone already. 

“Cooper… this is… you’re so good.”

Usually, he wasn’t one for speaking during sex, unless he was paid extra. But he indulged himself in your praise, wetting his lips and pushing past the grunts of exertion to ask for more. 

“Yeah? Tell me then, darlin’... tell me how good it feels.”

Your words spilled out with surprising ease, given how shy you had seemed. Kindness was clearly natural to you, and Cooper was incredibly grateful for it. It was beginning to feel like less of a job, a task, a need to get you fucked and out of the door and more of a genuinely pleasant experience for him. The more he considered how good it felt, to be touched, to be held, felt, appreciated for more than just fulfilling a kinky niche, the faster his rutting got. He wanted this to last, wanted the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock, your body warm under him, your eyes trained on his, to last for as long as possible, but it wasn’t easy to hold himself back. And it seemed less likely that you would be able to hold on either, as you had begun whimpering, fingernails scratching at the sheets, your hand finding his and clinging to it as you began to jerk your hips into him.

With a sharp hiss that opened into a shriek, you felt yourself reaching your climax, clenching around him as you quivered, your body electrified for those thirty seconds of extreme pleasure, your body overwhelmed with the sparking sensation that had you tingling all over.

When your breath was steady once again, you reached a hand up to Cooper’s cheek, holding it there and stroking his cheekbone with your thumb, enough energy left to utter one word.

“Wow.”

The way you uttered that one word was enough to push Cooper to his own orgasm. There was more kindness and genuine feeling in it than anything he’d heard in the past two hundred years. And as he felt himself being emptied inside of you, he couldn’t help but hit an incredible low, realising that it was over already, before he had begun to properly appreciate it. So he sank down into the mattress, rolling over and settling in next to you.

Laying there, your body cooling in the wet patch under it, you could barely speak, but you pushed past your heavy breaths to get at least one thing out.

“Thank you.”

Cooper kept himself as still as possible, letting his body come to a regulated pace, trying not to react to the words he was sure he had just heard you say.

“Thank you.”

No one had thanked him, for anything, for a long time. And least of all for his efforts in sex. The only reason he really made it, so to speak, was that he was a niche commodity in the world of sex. There to be used, to get off on or with, and then to leave again. And if he thought too hard about it, no one had ever thanked him before either. Not Barb. Not his co-stars. Not the directors who he performed for. No one. Was he actually good at it? Talented? Had he now fucked so much that he was an acceptable lay? Or were you just an outlier? Connected to him in a way that made it good? It seemed far more likely, given that he himself had found it far more pleasurable than anyone else in the last two hundred years. But that thought was a difficult one to process, so he rolled over in the bed in a bid to avoid those feelings, focusing so hard on the bare wall in front of him that he fell asleep remarkably swiftly.

Noticing that his breathing had slowed, a soft snore occasionally rumbling over his lips, you stood up from the bed and moved quietly and carefully to the sink in the corner, filled with old, stale water that felt cool against your skin. You didn’t want to risk waking Cooper, mostly because he looked like he needed the rest, but partly because you wondered what you would say, if anything, after what had just happened. So you took a seat to try and ground yourself.

From the chair in the corner of the room you watched him for a few more moments, perching there as you considered everything that had happened that day so far. A journey wasted, in some ways. But now you had an experience worth remembering, truly an adventure. It was almost difficult to imagine it as a one-off though. A singular event, never to happen again. And as you watched Cooper’s body moving slowly, inhaling and exhaling soundly in his sleep, you realised the thought was actually quite painful. And silly. You’d only just met him. He did this with so many people, and you weren’t special. It would be foolish to let yourself think that. How ridiculously typical would it be for some naïve country girl to find herself attached to her first one night stand, with a paid professional no less. So, rather than face those difficult thoughts any longer, you collected your things up, stopping only to reach into Cooper’s jacket and take enough caps back to pay for another room. At the bar, you were given another key, and you headed back up to try and get as much sleep as you could before making the decision about the next steps in the morning. 

[hansolen]

sunlight blooms within the crevices of my soul. (it burns a little, but i still love you.)

꩜ pairing ⇾ aventurine x gn reader

꩜ word count ⇾ 2k

꩜ author’s note ⇾ i don’t know what happened here lol this guy has been rotting my brain for the past 4 months and suddenly i combusted and decided to write something for him <3

when you first met aventurine it felt like you were gazing at the sun itself. he was flamboyant, bright and unafraid to be the centre of a show. or at least that’s how he tried to present himself as.

his presence was magnetic, it drew you in relentlessly. you wondered if this was how pirates felt — when sirens lured them into the depths of the ocean with their melodious voices. aventurine was akin to a siren. he was alluring, unreal and dubious. almost otherworldly in the sense that there was always a distance between the two of you. one you couldn’t exactly point out, but the feeling always lingered. even with his arm around your waist, pulling you in — it felt like he was worlds away. despite how you both were just centimetres apart.

to you, aventurine is the sun. and if there is one thing you know about the sun, it’s that you should never stare at its light for too long. else it starts to blind you. however when it comes to aventurine, you can’t help but look. you gravitate towards him like a moth does to a flame.

afterall, you were someone who was locked into the shadows for too long. someone who had gazed at the sun for the first time in ages, admiring his light from a distance. what you hadn’t expected was for the sun to gaze right back at you. with those mesmerising eyes of his, aventurine looked through your soul with the same intensity as you looked through his.

that’s where it felt scary, you think. the realisation that his gaze alone brought out certain parts of you to light. parts you didn’t even remember existed — the kinder, sweeter bits of you. yet, just how there’s a duality between light and dark, and how one cannot exist without the other, the darker parts of you also emerged. the more murky and broken pieces of you — wherein you desired him carnally. yearning for his touch, his warmth.

that’s the thing about aventurine, his presence is warm — in an addictive way. the kind where once you’ve had a sip, you just can’t seem to get enough. nothing quenches your thirst quite like his affection. this ache for him, you kept it all in the dark for a reason, for self preservation. yet when it comes to him, you can’t help but succumb to these desires. you can’t help but lean onto him.

another fact about the sun is that it is all encompassing. get too near and you will burn. it is inevitable. you wonder if that too is a form of self preservation. his form of sustenance. rays of light that pierce so harshly, people can’t help but look away. perhaps there is a reason why he tries to shine so brightly, so that no one stares too long, lest they see what he actually is. what he is hiding. the ugly parts of the sun, his blemishes, his lack. him.

aventurine was resting with his head on your lap as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. a small moment of intimacy shared between the two of you. unspoken words laced within the strings of silence that hung over the two of you.

he often left you confused with his conflicting actions. when it came to all matters related to you — he was greedy, yet distant. whenever you both got too close and you brought him to put down a mask of his (among his many), he always ended up leaving you for days at a time. it hurts, it always does.

to him it’s scary. scary how you make him crumble with such ease. he can’t let you. so he won’t meet you for days, weeks even. you are left on your own and it feels as though your light has been snatched. that’s what truly terrifies you. the possibility that one day he might truly leave, and you won’t be able to stop him. (little do you know he feels the same. he isn’t the idealised version you think of him. he is no Sun. he is just a dying star.)

aventurine is used to hurting himself, used to putting his life on the line, on bets and games of chance. but that never meant that he wanted to hurt you in the process. in all honesty, he is afraid. just as you think of him as the sun, he thinks of himself as a shell. he has many facets in this mask of his, filled with what others wish to see him as, want him to be. he often thinks of them as characters to play in a script. he is so used to living in this facade he has created that he no longer feels in touch with the ‘self’ under his myriad of masks.

he doesn’t like how he hurts you. yet he can’t help but be thankful that you still take him in despite it all. in some dreadful way he is glad. glad that you always forgive him. that you want him just as much. it is both scary yet comforting that someone craves him, too.

what he doesn’t know is that you want to be led to him. not just in the light touches or small moments of intimacy. no. you want him. you want him to eat you whole and form you anew. it doesn’t matter if you get burnt in the process, doesn’t matter if at the end of the day he is but a dying star.

you wish for him to know that it is alright for you to come too close and end up seeing him for what he actually is. that you know he really isn’t all that shiny, and he isn’t all that warm either. he is cold and he is dying. he is a dying star.

you too, are afraid. afraid of being left alone in pitch black darkness once more. afraid of the sun no longer letting you bask in the essence of his warm rays. the ones that you had made yourself all too familiar with — to a fault.

you know all stars die one day. and the sun too, is but a star. you wish for him to know that you wouldn’t blame him if he cracks. you wouldn’t leave him. you love him and you will stay. even if he consumes you in the process.

he doesn’t know that you are but a defenceless sailor. giving yourself — whole, to the siren. doesn’t matter if you are being hypnotised by him. by his voracious light. by his enigmatic eyes. by him.

he’s like a ray of sunlight. with the way how you feel his warmth reach the most intimate parts of your soul, but as soon as you reach out to touch him – he disappears. as if he was never there to begin with. yet his warmth lingers.

so you do what you can. you numb yourself. you try not to lean into his comforting touch. try to to revel in his presence. you try, you really do. to put up the curtains so that the sunlight can no longer enter. but one thing about the sun is, it is insatiable, and so is aventurine.

he finds a way. mere curtains are never enough to push the light aside. if he wishes to, he will have you whole. he will engulf you into his light. and you — you let him. you allow him make you one with the sun. let him swallow you whole. maybe it's true — if he was the sun, then you were Icarus.

the sun is calling you in and you can’t help but reach for it. you fly towards him despite how it sets your skin ablaze. even with your wings melting, the feeling of hot wax burning you as it dribbles down your skin. as the heat rips your insides out. you can’t help but let it. because you know that no one has flown higher. no one else has reached this close to the sun him.

you close your eyes as you fall. you let him in. and in return he lets you stay. as you fall, you brace yourself for the impact of the cold harsh earth. it never comes. you end up being pulled into the depths of the ocean instead.

© hansolen do not translate and re post anywhere else.

[dee-writes-smut]

WINTER (Chapter Two)

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY in the aftermath of your kidnapping, you find it harder than normal to cope and continue on with life, causing you to push the people closest to you away. (THIS IS A PART TWO)

CONTENT WARNINGS descriptions of injuries, pain, torture, severe depression, and PTSD. If you thought the last one was dark, buckle up.

AUTHORS NOTE wow, three fics in two days?! What happened to me? I have just been super motivated to write creatively recently, which is exciting! So here, enjoy the second part of the Season's series, Winter.

Winter's embrace was a bleak grip, the world laying shrouded in a suffocating blanket of ice and snow, each flake a cruel reminder of nature's indifference. The landscape stretched out before you like a desolate wasteland, barren trees reaching up like skeletal fingers towards a sky heavy with the promise of more bitter cold to come. There was no warmth to be found here, only the biting chill that gnawed at your bones and numbed your very soul.

Gone were the vibrant colors and lively sounds of spring, replaced instead by a deafening silence broken only by the hollow howl of the wind as it whipped through the skeletal remains of once-thriving forests. The air was thick with a palpable sense of despair, each breath a struggle against the icy grip of despair that threatened to crush you under its weight.

As you trudged through the snow, each step felt like a punishment, a relentless march towards an uncertain fate. The landscape seemed to taunt you with its emptiness, a cruel reminder of the futility of your existence in a world so devoid of life and hope. Shadows danced across the frozen ground, twisting and contorting into grotesque shapes that seemed to mock your very presence.

And yet, amidst the desolation, there was a perverse beauty to be found – in the stark contrast of black against white, in the delicate lacework of frost that adorned the barren branches, in the eerie stillness that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was a beauty born of darkness, a twisted reflection of the cruel whims of fate that had brought you to this forsaken place.

In the heart of winter's icy grip, you found yourself consumed by a sense of isolation and despair, a prisoner in a world that had long since abandoned any pretense of kindness or compassion. It was a season of suffering, of unrelenting cruelty, of darkness so deep that even the faintest glimmer of hope seemed but a distant memory. And as the cold crept ever closer, you couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be an end to the endless winter that had consumed your very soul.

(Wintertime, Velaris)

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, I sat alone on the edge of my bed, my gaze fixed on the empty space where my wings used to be. The pain, both physical and emotional, gnawed at me like a relentless predator, sinking its claws deep into my chest, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. My once majestic wings, the very essence of my being, were gone, severed from my body by those who sought to break my spirit.

With trembling hands, I traced the scars where my wings had been, feeling the phantom sensation of membrane-like skin against my fingertips. The memory of their hard, bone-like ridges, their graceful span; it lingered like a bittersweet melody, haunting yet achingly beautiful. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the world around me with their shimmering veil, but I refused to let them fall. Crying felt like admitting defeat, acknowledging just how shattered I truly was. So instead, I pushed the pain down, burying it deep within me, where no one could see.

But the emptiness inside me was a vast abyss, yawning wide and hungry, impossible to ignore. I had always prided myself on my resilience, my strength, but now I felt like a mere husk of my former self. The trauma of my kidnapping weighed upon my mind like a heavy shroud, casting shadows that danced and twisted in the corners of my consciousness.

As the days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months, I withdrew further into myself, cocooning my heart in layers of solitude and silence. The world outside seemed distant and hazy, a blurred landscape of faces and voices that I could no longer connect with. I couldn't bear the pity in their eyes, the whispered words of sympathy that fell like stones upon my wounded soul. So, I built walls around my heart, brick by brick, until I was encased in a fortress of my own making, impervious to the outside world.

Even Azriel, my steadfast companion, my unwavering ally, found himself barred from the inner sanctum of my heart. He tried to reach me, to break through the barriers I had erected, but I turned away, unable to bear the thought of exposing my vulnerability to anyone, even him. I didn't want their pity or their well-meaning words. All I wanted was to be left alone with my pain, to drown in it until it consumed me completely.

But even in my darkest moments, a flicker of hope danced on the periphery of my consciousness, a tiny flame that refused to be extinguished. It whispered of resilience and redemption, of healing and renewal, but I pushed it away, hiding from its warmth like a frightened child. For now, I would remain adrift in a sea of darkness, lost and alone, clinging to the fragile thread of hope that promised a way out of the abyss.

The memories played out in my mind with vivid intensity, each scene etched into my consciousness like a brand of torment.

I remembered the moment I was jolted from unconsciousness, the harsh voice of my captor slicing through the haze like a blade. "Wake up, whore," he hissed, sending a shiver down my spine and igniting a primal fear within me. Blinking against the darkness that enveloped me, I felt the oppressive weight of a bag over my head, suffocating and disorienting. Panic surged through me as I realized my bound state, my struggles against the restraints futile in the face of impending doom.

The voice, dripping with malice, mocked my defiance. "No need to struggle, sweetheart," he sneered, his words a cruel reminder of my helplessness. As I strained to make sense of my surroundings, fear clawed its way through my throat, leaving behind deep grooves of despair. The familiar scent of damp earth and mildew filled my senses, a chilling reminder of the unknown horrors that awaited me.

A flicker of hope emerged in the form of Azriel, my steadfast protector, but it was quickly extinguished by the looming presence of Lyris, a childhood friend turned tormentor. His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he brandished a dagger, the cold metal glinting ominously in the dim light.

With a cruel smirk, Lyris descended upon me, his voice filled with twisted pleasure. "Time to finally take what's mine," he taunted, the blade poised to inflict unimaginable pain.

The first cut tore through me like a bolt of lightning, a searing agony that ripped through flesh and soul alike. My cries echoed off the walls of the chamber, lost in the darkness that enveloped me.

But the torment did not end there. With each merciless stroke of the blade, Lyris carved away my very essence, leaving behind a shattered shell of my former self. I watched helplessly as my wings, once symbols of freedom and strength, were mutilated and discarded like worthless scraps of flesh.

And as the last remnants of my identity fell away, a hollow emptiness consumed me, leaving behind only the cruel scars of my torment. I was no longer whole, no longer the person I once was. I had been robbed of everything that defined me, my essence stolen by the darkness that lurked within the depths of my captor's soul.

As the soft rap echoed through the hollow corridors, it felt like a distant echo of a life I once knew, one filled with warmth and camaraderie. Reluctantly, I approached the door, each step heavy with the weight of my turmoil, the heavy thud of my heart matching the rhythm of my footfalls.

Feyre stood there, framed by the soft glow of the hallway lanterns, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the bonds I had once cherished. In her hands, she cradled a delicate tray, a small offering of sustenance amidst the darkness that engulfed me.

"I brought you some food," she offered, her voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the room, a fragile thread of connection in the vast expanse of my solitude. "I thought you might be hungry."

My response was curt, a reflexive defense against the vulnerability her kindness exposed. "I don't need your pity, Feyre," I retorted, the bitterness in my voice a stark contrast to the warmth of her offering. "I can take care of myself."

For a fleeting moment, hurt flickered in her eyes, a silent plea for understanding that cut through the barriers I had erected around my wounded heart. But she quickly masked it with a forced smile, her resilience a testament to the depth of her compassion.

Without another word, she set the tray down on the table beside me, the scent of warm food mingling with the heavy silence that enveloped us. It was a gesture of kindness in a world that had grown cold and indifferent, a fleeting glimpse of the friendship I had once treasured.

As Feyre lingered in the doorway, her gaze lingered on mine with a quiet intensity, a silent invitation to let her in, to share the burden of my pain. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked, her voice a gentle reminder that I was not alone, that there were still those who cared enough to reach out a helping hand.

But I shook my head, my walls still firmly in place, my pride a shield against the vulnerability her presence exposed. "No," I replied curtly, my voice a harsh echo of the emptiness that echoed within me.

With a nod of understanding, Feyre turned to leave, the weight of her disappointment a heavy burden on my already burdened soul. And as the door closed behind her, I was left alone once more, the silence of the empty room a stark reminder of the walls I had built to keep the world at bay.

The evening air was thick with the scent of spices and laughter as I made my way through the bustling streets of Velaris, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm hue over the cobblestone pathways. Each step felt heavy, burdened by the weight of my own thoughts, as I navigated the vibrant tapestry of the Night Court.

Amidst the lively chatter and cheerful bustle of the city, familiar voices pierced through the haze of my melancholy. Mor's vibrant laughter echoed through the air, drawing my gaze towards her radiant figure standing across the street. Beside her, Cassian, his presence as imposing as ever, offered a welcoming grin that tugged at the corners of my lips despite my inner turmoil.

"Hey, there she is!" Mor's voice carried on the breeze, her smile bright as she beckoned me over. "Come join us!"

Cassian's invitation followed, his boisterous enthusiasm contagious as he gestured towards the tavern. "We're heading for a drink. You should come with us."

My heart clenched at the genuine warmth in their gestures, a stark contrast to the icy grip of my own despair. The desire to lose myself in their company, if only for a fleeting moment, warred with the overwhelming sense of unworthiness that gnawed at my soul.

But as Mor reached out to take my hand, her touch a gentle reminder of the bond we shared, a surge of jealousy and resentment swept through me. My gaze flickered to Cassian, his powerful wings a constant reminder of everything I had lost. Anger boiled within me, bitter and consuming, as I struggled to suppress the envy that threatened to engulf me. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll pass," I managed to say, my voice betraying a hint of regret. "I'm not really in the mood for drinking tonight."

Mor's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of concern crossing her features before she masked it with reassurance. "That's okay," she said softly, her words a soothing balm to the ache in my heart. "But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us."

With a nod of understanding, I watched as they disappeared into the throng of revelers, their laughter fading into the night. Left alone on the deserted street, the weight of my solitude pressed heavily upon me, a reminder of the chasm that separated me from the warmth of their companionship. As the echoes of their laughter dissolved into the stillness of the night, I couldn't shake the pang of resentment that lingered in my chest. But even amidst the darkness of my despair, I knew that I couldn't risk dragging my friends down with me. So, with a heavy heart, I turned away, retreating into the shadows once more, the silence of the night swallowing me whole.

The faint glow of moonlight, a silver cascade, filtered through the windows, casting ethereal patterns across the dimly lit kitchen of the Night Court's sprawling estate. I stood amidst the chaos, surrounded by a haphazard array of pots, pans, and ingredients scattered across the countertops. My attempt at cooking had quickly spiraled into a messy disaster, each failed endeavor only serving to fuel my frustration further.

As I grappled with the stubborn lid of a jar, a voice sliced through the silence, its presence both unexpected and unwelcome.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Startled, I turned to find Rhysand standing in the doorway, his silhouette a stark contrast against the luminescent backdrop. His wings, a breathtaking display of power and grace, unfurled behind him like the majestic sails of a ship, the membrane-like skin gleaming in the moonlight. They seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy, each beat a testament to the freedom and strength they embodied. My heart clenched at the sight, a bitter pang of jealousy twisting in the depths of my soul. Once, I had known that same sense of freedom, had soared through the skies with effortless grace, my wings slicing through the air like a blade through silk. But now, they were gone, cruelly ripped from my back by those who sought to break me.

An ache, dull and persistent, throbbed in the space where my wings had once been, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. I longed to feel the wind beneath me, to taste the exhilarating rush of flight once more, but it was nothing more than a distant dream, forever out of reach.

"None of your business," I snapped, my voice a whipcrack of frustration, my fingers still wrestling with the stubborn jar lid. The last thing I needed was his pity, his condescending attempts to help when I clearly didn't want it.

Rhysand's gaze softened, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he approached with cautious steps, his movements a ballet of grace. "You're making quite a mess," he observed, his voice gentle but firm, like the soothing murmur of a distant stream. "Let me help you."

I recoiled from his touch, the anger bubbling to the surface like molten lava erupting from the depths of the earth. "I don't need your help," I spat, my voice tinged with venom, the bitterness like bile in my throat. "I don't need anyone."

There was a brief pause, a pregnant silence hanging heavy in the air as Rhysand regarded me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "You're clearly upset," he said softly, his words a gentle caress against the storm raging within me. "Let me help you. Let us help you."

But I refused to listen, the tempest of my emotions raging unabated, the walls around my heart fortified against any intrusion. With a strangled cry of frustration, I shoved past him and fled from the room, the echoes of his words following me like a haunting refrain, the cadence of his footsteps a melancholy echo in the corridors of my mind.

Alone in the sanctuary of my darkened chamber, I collapsed onto the bed, the weight of my own solitude pressing down upon me like a suffocating avalanche. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and stinging, as I buried my face in the pillows, the emptiness consuming me like a ravenous beast, its jaws gnashing at the frayed edges of my soul.

"Mind if I join you?"

Nesta's voice broke through the silence, her presence a welcome intrusion in the stillness of the night. I turned to face her, my expression guarded and wary, unsure of what to expect. She stepped onto the balcony, her graceful movements a stark contrast to the heaviness that weighed upon my own shoulders. There was a quiet understanding in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lingered beneath the surface.

"I know what it's like," she said softly, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet expanse of the night. "To push people away, to build walls around your heart so high that no one can reach you."

I bristled at her words, the anger and resentment bubbling to the surface like a dormant volcano awakening from its slumber. How dare she presume to understand the depths of my despair, the darkness that threatened to consume me from within?

"You have no idea what I'm going through," I snapped, my voice tinged with bitterness. "You have Cassian, you have someone who loves you unconditionally. I have no one."

Nesta's gaze softened, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she reached out to take my hand. "I may have Cassian, but that doesn't mean I haven't faced my own demons," she said gently. "I know what it's like to feel like you're drowning in darkness, to feel like there's no way out."

I recoiled from her touch, the walls around my heart growing ever taller with each passing moment. "I don't need your pity," I retorted, my voice laced with venom. "I don't need anyone."

Nesta's expression faltered for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it with a steely resolve. "Fine," she said, her voice tinged with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever change your mind. No judgments, no expectations. Just someone who understands." And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own sorrow.

The library exuded an atmosphere of solemn tranquility, its shelves adorned with ancient tomes and illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles. I sat ensconced amidst the towering pillars of knowledge, a solitary figure in the midst of a vast sea of wisdom, my thoughts tumultuous and unruly.

"I’m joining you.”

The voice, sharp and unwavering, pierced the silence like a dagger, its intrusion disrupting the fragile peace that had settled over the room. Startled, I glanced up to find Amren standing before me, her gaze penetrating and incisive, cutting through the veil of my solitude with unnerving precision.

"Fine," I sighed, my voice tinged with resignation as I gestured for her to take a seat. Amren wasted no time in settling herself across from me, her movements fluid and purposeful, her eyes fixed upon me with an intensity that made me squirm.

"You look like hell," she remarked bluntly, her words a harsh echo in the stillness of the library.

I bristled at her candor, the urge to lash out bubbling up from the depths of my despair like a tempest on the horizon. But there was something in Amren's gaze, a glimmer of genuine concern beneath the steely facade, that gave me pause. She wasn't asking out of idle curiosity; she genuinely wanted to understand the turmoil that churned within me.

"It's nothing," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I averted my gaze, unwilling to meet her probing stare.

Amren snorted in disbelief, her lips curling into a sardonic smile as she leaned forward, her eyes boring into mine with unrelenting intensity. "Don't give me that bullshit," she retorted, her tone sharp and unyielding. "I may not be the touchy-feely type, but even I can see that something's eating you alive."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing with each passing moment as I struggled to find the words to express the depth of my despair. But before I could respond, Amren reached out and grasped my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the steel in her eyes. "I'm not going to pretend to understand what you're going through," she said softly, her voice a quiet reassurance in the stillness of the library. "But I do know one thing: you don't have to face it alone. We're your friends, and we're here for you, no matter what."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and stinging, as I looked into Amren's unwavering gaze. In that moment, I realized that she was right. I didn't have to carry the weight of my despair alone. I had friends who cared about me, who were willing to stand by my side through the darkest of times. But even as the realization washed over me like a tidal wave, a part of me rebelled against the idea of letting them in. The walls around my heart, built brick by brick in an attempt to shield myself from further pain, felt impenetrable, insurmountable.

With a trembling breath, I pulled my hand away from Amren's grasp, my movements abrupt and jerky. "I don't need your help," I said, my voice strained with emotion. "I don't need anyone."

Amren's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with barely concealed anger as she stared at me, incredulous. "You're a fool if you think you can face this alone," she spat, her voice cold and cutting. "But fine, if that's how you want it. Just know that when you finally come crawling back, don't expect us to welcome you with open arms."

And with that, she rose from her seat and stormed from the room, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own despair. Even as the silence settled around me like a suffocating blanket, I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at my soul.

As the twilight descended, casting its ethereal veil over the Night Court's training grounds, I found myself standing alone at the edge of the courtyard, my heart heavy with the burden of my own anguish. The fading light painted the world in hues of amber and indigo, a melancholy backdrop to the tempest raging within.

With measured steps, Azriel approached, his presence a soothing balm amidst the chaos of my emotions. His silhouette merged with the shadows, his eyes alight with concern as he drew near. "Are you alright?" His voice, a tender caress against the backdrop of the evening's symphony, reached out to me, offering solace in the darkness.

I turned to face him, my heart aching with the weight of unspoken words, the tumult of my soul laid bare in the vulnerability of my gaze. "Do I look alright?" I whispered, the bitterness of my sorrow echoing in the stillness of the night. "Do I seem like someone who has it all together?"

Azriel's expression softened, his gaze a mirror to the storm brewing within me. "I'm just trying to help," he murmured, his voice a gentle melody that stirred the depths of my wounded spirit.

Tears welled in my eyes, the ache in my chest threatening to consume me whole. "Maybe I don't want your help," I confessed, the admission a fragile confession of my deepest fears. "Maybe I'm tired of everyone trying to fix me, like I'm some broken thing in need of repair."

The hurt that flickered in Azriel's eyes pierced through me, his anguish a reflection of my own. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice laden with remorse, a silent plea for understanding.

My resolve wavered, the walls around my heart crumbling in the face of his compassion. "I don't need your apologies," I confessed, the weight of my pain heavy upon my shoulders. "I just need… I don't know what I need."

With that, I turned away, the vulnerability of my confession hanging heavy in the air between us. As I retreated into the enveloping darkness, I felt the warmth of Azriel's presence recede, leaving me alone with the ache of my own brokenness. And in the stillness of the night, I grappled with the realization that perhaps, amidst the chaos of my despair, what I truly longed for was the one thing I had pushed away—the comforting embrace of someone who cared.

But even as I yearned for solace, the sight of Azriel, the one who had rescued me from the clutches of darkness, stirred within me a tumult of conflicting emotions. His Illyrian heritage, his wings—symbols of strength and freedom—served as painful reminders of the horrors I had endured. And in his compassionate gaze, I saw reflected the shadows of my past, haunting me with memories I longed to forget. It was hard to see him, to confront the echoes of my trauma that lingered in his presence, yet even amidst the pain, there remained a flicker of hope—something that clung so tight, that wouldn’t let go, and that throbbed in the presence of him.

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[jenflirts]

mending my broken heart

pairing: tara carpenter x fem!reader

theme: angst :)

summary: maybe you're the one...

warning: profanities, grammar, no ghostface and cheating

a/n: based on my feelings :) | enjoy.

Falling for someone isn’t for weak people,

Nor being attached,

Nor loving someone.

These are the feelings that will make you mentally and physically weak, just because you would do everything just to have them, just to give them all your attention, love, and hell, even your soul, but why isn’t it for the weak? Well, only emotionally controlled people can survive these challenges. These are the obstacles that we face when we’re in love and this makes us vulnerable.

We’ve always thought that if a partner loves or falls for you it means they’ve accepted your flaws, insecurities, clinginess, stupidity, good days and bad ones, but sometimes don’t you think that they accepted that because they needed too? Out of pity? Or sometimes just to play you cause they’re just bored. I’ve always thought about falling in love and being vulnerable to a person, but then my overthinking mind stops me from doing so.

Yeah, taking from my perspective—a person that’s been played and got attached too many times just because they showed affection—I’ve been hurt so much that I don’t even count how many times that they scarred my heart and still gave them another chance. I did everything I could just not to fall for someone, but I just can’t stop myself ‘cause it feels like an addiction I cannot control. I keep thinking about the past relationships I had and even thought about the times that I let my heart heal and mend it by myself and yet, I keep longing for the wrong people and their fucked up affections.

And then there’s Tara, the girl that makes me feel special, the person that let me believe that love is worth waiting for, and love really does exist. Tara is the type of person that would really make you fall in love with her and not in the bad way, but because she’s the type of girl that you’ll feel comfortable to be around with, rides with your antics, will help you in any possible way, and makes you love your true self.

Tara and I have been dating for almost 2 years and the truth is I’ve fallen deeply in love with her, she already accepted my vulnerability and I accepted hers so there’s really no turning back. I’ve thought about these feelings thoroughly ‘cause I don’t want to hurt her nor she wants to hurt me, I’ve always wanted to feel vulnerable around someone I trust and love the most ‘cause I don’t want to let people see my true facade. Tara saw something in me that people don’t and she’s been helping me to cope up with that.

Everything has been great ever since I dated Tara.

December 09

It's our finals and both of us are stressed out since both of us picked a hard course and I actually want to do something special for her since it’s our anniversary so I’ve prepared dinner, movies and gifts just to surprise her. I went home earlier than she did so I could prepare the things I wanted to give and the words that I wanted to say; Thankfully, Sam and Mindy helped me to do everything.

“Minds? Do you think Tara would like it if I gave her a promise ring on our anniversary?” I asked the girl as we strolled through the jewelry shop. She stopped her tracks and looked at me surprised “A promise ring? Really? Doesn’t that curse relationships?” She asked as she glimpsed the rings.

A promise ring breaks relationships? Now what kind of fuck-mind would believe that. “And where did you get that information? Is it one of those crazies at the uni?” I joked.

“I’m just telling you that rings don't mean forever,” she said. That’s actually true, but I’m not gonna listen to her and Tara deserves a promise that I will love her forever so I picked out the ring and necklace for our anniversary tomorrow.

I helped Tara go inside our apartment and took the blindfold off. She engulfed me into a hug and kisses all over my face. "Tara, we need to eat" I said as I put her down on the floor.

Everything went smoothly and both ended with a promise to love and hold forever.

December 14

The day that feels eerie and gut wrenching, it feels so slow and bothering. "Minds, Tara hasn't texted me for the last few weeks and it's concerning me" I said as I tossed her my phone to check Tara and I's conversation.

"She also hasn't been going home" I added and groaned loudly.

"Yeah, I noticed that. You didn't confront her about this? But I always see her at the uni tho" She said.

Is Tara avoiding me? Did I do something wrong last week? Did she do something wrong? Did something happen that I didn't know? A lot of things suddenly hits me, I thought about everything that I've done last week ago, but nothing really came into my mind.

It's already past midnight and I'm still going on about Tara. I heard the door open and keys tossed on the counter. I went outside and checked if Tara's here or just Mindy wanted to crash by.

"Tara? Baby? Where were you?" I asked as I sat beside her on the living room coach.

"Sam's and did some thinking, so can we talk?" she said.

Why does it feel so suffocating? The way she looks at me feels so different; it feels empty and drained. I nodded and sat in front of her.

"For the last few weeks I've been isolating myself to you and it felt different after what I did. It's been perfect for the last 2 years and I loved every single moment that we've done, but I think we must part our ways and fix ourselves" She cried.

What? Just like that? After 2 fucking years? She's just going to throw it all away? I was too stunned to speak, my brain was spewing out words, but my mouth can't function properly. I felt my eyes stung and tears rolled down on my cheeks.

"So? That's it? Gonna throw away our 2 year relationship out the fucking window like its nothing? Damn Tara, I don't know what to say nor to react" I said as I wiped the tears that keep continuing running down on my cheeks.

She doesn't say anything, but her eyes tells me differently like she's guilty for not telling me the reason why.

"Tara, what's the sudden break-up? what's the reason? 'cause I know for a goddamn fact that it's not about self improvement shits. Tell me so that we could fix it" I assured her

She shook her head no and keeps sobbing uncontrollably. I went to her and wiped her tears; I held her hands, "Love? what happened? tell me so we could fix it" I said as I gently squeeze her hand.

She slowly stopped crying and let me wiped her mascara tear-stains. "It was at Wes's parties and you were studying for your final lesson at that time. Amber snuck me out and helped me unwind by bring me to Wes's parties then I got drunk and I couldn't control myself and so did Chad" she explained.

I couldn't believe it.

The love of my life, cheated.

The girl that I trusted the most, cheated.

I felt my whole world fell apart. It feels like my heart just shuttered into pieces, it feels like there's a new cut to it. I feel betrayed, angry and disappointed all at the same time.

I stood up and went back to my seat and comprehend what just Tara said. I can't do this right now, my mind is all over the place.

"babe? hey? I thought we were gonna fix these" she said

does she really think there's something to be fix? I gave her my everything and this is how she repays me. cheating on me with my other best friend? damn, that's another form of betrayal.

"tara, get out. I can't right now. I just want to be alone for a moment"

She doesn't understand what pain I'm going through right now.

After Tara closed the apartment door, I tried smashing everything so that I could somewhat calm down.

I sat on the living room floor and thought about the things that I have done on why Tara have to do this. Wasn't I enough? Am I that easy to replace? Is our relationship just out of pity? There's so much unanswered questions that I have on my mind, but right now I just want to be alone and mend my broken heart.

I thought she was the one that’s going to help me mend up the open cuts that people leave on my heart, but I would never predict that she was going to leave a big one.

(part 2 of my lovely, jenna is on-going)

[space-blue]

SOTE rant (1)

One thing that I find very annoying, is the propensity for Lore video makers to completely jump on the DLC and analyse it in a void. Everyone is theory crafting like the base game doesn't exist anymore.

Everyone is taking Miquella's approach as the go to for divinity 101 and acting like only the people name dropped in the DLC matter, except for Radagon, who is very important, despite NEVER being named, ANYWHERE in the SOTE game files.

Oh no, excuse me, he's named ONCE in a delete dialogue (unless he speaks during battle but I was under the impression that he never does?) from Radahn:

Yet everyone is out there saying Marika used the gate to make herself a god and created Radagon in the process. And that he was created that way as her lord, and then immediately fathered Messmer and Melina.

But I... kind of don't see it? Why would SHE need to use a special vessel ritual like everyone is theorizing?

She already has a sworn lord : Godfrey.

Why is everyone making these Marika centric lore videos and never dropping the names of key characters?

Godfrey. Serosh. Maliketh. Why is nobody asking themselves WHEN did Marika get granted her "brother" Maliketh by the three fingers? Why is nobody making speculation on whether she had a pact with Hoarah Loux before becoming a god.

He could very well be the vessel needed. He doesn't need to have his soul separated from a body or any such nonsense. That's what Miquella ended up doing because he had no choice if he wanted to use Radahn.

Here is what we know of Godfrey :

Godfrey was a ferocious warrior. When he vowed to become a lord, he took the Beast Regent Serosh upon on his back to suppress the ceaseless lust for battle that raged within. The first demigods were The Elden Lord Godfrey and his offspring, the golden lineage. Crown of Godfrey, the first Elden Lord. The age of the Erdtree began amongst conflict, when Godfrey was lord of the battlefield. He led the War against the Giants. Faced the Storm Lord, alone. And then, there came a moment. When his last worthy enemy fell. And it was then, as the story is told, that the hue of Lord Godfrey's eyes faded. Helm of the Crucible Knights who served Godfrey, the first Elden Lord. Weapon of Godfrey, Elden Lord. It was broken in a battle fought as leader of the Tarnished during the Long March. This weapon is symbolic of Godfrey's vow to conduct himself as a lord, later becoming an emblem of the golden lineage. In the days of the past, a crown was warranted with strength.

The first demigods were The Elden Lord Godfrey and his offspring, the golden lineage.

This line either means that the voice of the game is lying, wrong, or not knowledgeable enough. Or that Messmer is not a demigod, or that Messmer is the son of Godfrey.

And while he does have red hair, he is cursed with a red flame... And his little sister, Melina, doesn't have the distinctive red hair of Radagon's children. She's also not a demigod as far as we know.

Messmer and Melina are named M like Mohg and Morgott! We have plenty of hints that they could be Godfrey's children, first and foremost being the canon base game text asserting all demigods first descended from him. We simply don't know otherwise.

It's also asserting he was the first Elden Lord, and not second or a later addition.

There's also his vow to conduct himself as a Lord, which seems like something he might have done prior to Marika making him Lord.

The beast depicted is Serosh, aged counselor who guides the golden lineage. The black nails protruding from golden fur are said to represent Serosh, Lord of Beasts, who went to become King Godfrey's Regent.

Serosh is very mysterious, and we just know he's some sort of limiter. I've made plenty of posts arguing for Maliketh and Serosh being the same type of beasts from the same global origins.

Beasts are reverred by the Hornsent! Our first boss is their storm beast guys, and the head looks quite similar to Serosh. Who, BTW, is also a spirit form?? Who turns real on command?

All this to say, it doesn't sound impossible at all, to me, that Marika would have come to the gate of divinity already having a lord lined up -- Godfrey -- and counsellors giving advice on how to execute her plan : Serosh and Metyr mother of fingers.

I assume it would be in Metyr's power to grand Marika her (necessary?) Shadowbound beast.

Isn't it interesting that Maliketh is a Shadowbound Beast? In our Shadow Realm DLC? He's never mentioned in the files, sadly.

But all of these people are key to Marika's ascension. I wish people would think about them more when they do their lore videos and not just roll right into creating Radagon out of thin air.

What bothers me most about the secret rite here, is that it says "the secret rite of the divine gateway", like THE rite, not A rite. It could be THE other one is not secret...

But more importantly, the line "usher in a god's return" just really does not fit EITHER of Miquella OR Marika. Neither of them is returning!! Maybe the God of Placidussax would be returning, but both Marika and Miquella are/try to ascend for the first time.

Miquella is also the only one with anyLord shennanigans we know of for sure.

I think Miquella divests himself of everything in order to comply with this ritual. So he has something to "return to". He sheds everything, so that he can pass through the gateway. But he's returning to an Empyrean's birthright. To a demi-god.

But we don't know that this is something Marika would have needed. We don't know that she used this specific ritual. After all, circumstances are VERY different for her :

The Gate of Divinity is fresh and bloody, implying a recent mass sacrifice. And then she plucks Gold from a corpse or receptacle of some sort.

None of this is depicted in Miquella's return, and he's not trying to emulate his mother, because her way of doing things came with a curse loaded "original sin". So we even have reason to believe Miquella would not actually be replicating the same ritual.

[sipho-pearl]

analysis of the soul contract

(if you haven't seen the translation for that yet, look it up or look at my original translation post here)

Major spoilers for the entirety of Gravity Falls and also MAJOR Book of Bill spoilers for like the whole thing so go look at that first, ok? (Seriously, this post makes more sense the more you know about the content of the book...and the series)

**if i make any mistakes within this analysis in terms of existing lore or there's something i should add, send me a dm/reply to the post!! or just rb it with the information lol

Under the cut because it's really long (but contains information that I believe to be very important to the overall lore!!)

There are three really interesting things hidden in the translation for the soul contract that I actually NEED to talk about because I haven't really seen them discussed anywhere else?? (yes it's divided up into sections, don't worry)

The Soulmate Passage

The soul contract passage starts off with Bill's lawyer talking about all of the things that they can legally do with your soul, but then they go into the idea of soulmates, and something about this passage feels eerily familiar.

YOUR SOULMATE WILL NOT RECOGNIZE YOU AND WILL WALK RIGHT PAST YOU ON A COLD AUTUMN DAY, NEVER MAKING EYE CONTACT, NOT EVEN PROCESSING THAT YOU GAVE EYES AT ALL. NO AMOUNT OF INTERACTION WILL MOVE THEM TO A PLACE WHERE THEY CAN REMEMBER, IN FEELING, THE THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES YOU HAVE ALREADY SPENT TOGETHER, EACH TIME CHOOSING WHATEVER FORM WOULD KEEP YOU CLOSEST LIKE OTTERS HOLDING HANDS IN A TUMULTUOUS RIVER. YOU WERE BIRDS, YOU WERE TREES WITH ROOTS ENTANGLED, DRINKING IN THE SUNLIGHT TOGETHER. WHEREVER WE GO NEXT, WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE, I WILL ALWAYS BE RIGHT WITH YOU.

(sorry for the long quote but it's kind of important here)

He gets way too specific here, even going into the first person to begin talking about how he will always be there for you. In the Book of Bill, the main concept is that Bill is attempting to win over the reader in order to convince them to make a deal with him and, therefore, release him from the Theraprism, and he seems to be doing the same thing here with the reader.

However, in my opinion, because for the majority of this he talks about you using third person pronouns, it can be somewhat inferred that he is talking about himself and his soulmate. Not specified who that is (totally not the canonically divorced couple), but it can definitely be interpreted as him doing some introspection.

The references to loss of memory could also be a reference to how Stanley defeated Bill by wiping his memory, and how up until the last minute, Bill believed that he was back in Stanford's mind.

"THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES" could be a reference to the trillions of years that Bill has lived and all of his exes, as well as how in every single one, he was the one getting broken up with. And, also, the many other muses that he (unconfirmed) may have had.

THAT'S DONE, BUDDY, CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE CHOSEN BILL INSTEAD.

Moving on!!

2. Bill's control over souls

**As far as I am aware, this is the first time in the canon that we see what control Bill has over the souls that he collects.

GOOD GOD! THE THINGS S I’VE SEEN. ME_ WHO AM I_ OH_ I_M BILL_S PREVIOUS LAWYER_ HE PUT MY SOUL INTO A QUILL PEN SO I CAN WRITE HIS LEGAL DOCUMENTS UNTIL THE SUN SNUFFS OUT LIKE A CANDLE IN THIS SICK UNIVERSE_ SPEAKING OF WHICH_ BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT YOUR SOUL INTO AN INANIMANT OBJECT_ A STRANGE CREATURE_ A CONCEPT_ A SENTENCE_ A TASTEFUL BUT RUSTIC MASON JAR WITH WILDFLOWERS IN IT_ IF AT ANY POINT YOU WISH TO HAVE VISITATION RIGHTS WITH YOUR SOUL_ YOU WILL BE SWIFTLY DENIED_

According to this, Bill's control over souls when signed over gives him the ability to, (as first shown in Sock Opera, but in a more limited way) put souls into other objects, take them out of your body. While put in a more simplistic way in this passage, it is clear that he has a lot of control over souls, and, when signed away, may have the ability to do anything with one that he wants.

However, going back to the mischaracterisation present in the first quote where it sounds as if Bill is talking, now that we know it was his pen, it is clear that he also has the ability to control the souls to do what he wants.

The time limit on how long these soul contracts last for is indefinite, as Bill's soul lawyer himself says.

*Side note: it is revealed, in relation to souls, that the human soul is 21 grams.

3. The afterlives of the universe of Gravity Falls

So, later in this passage, all of the places that you can go to after you die are revealed. This is mainly important because you can see more of the in-universe lore, but also because we can see more of what Bill Cipher was hoping to happen when he invoked the Axolotl at the end of the series.

YOUR SOUL MAY BECOME FRACTURED AND PLACED INTO DIFFERENT OBJECTS_ THIS HAS NO  PURPOSE AND WILL NOT RESURRECT YOU IF YOU DIE_ SIGNEE HAS FORFEITED ALL RIGHTS TO ANY AFTERLIFE_ INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO HEAVEN_ HELL_ PURGUTORY_ BIG CORNER_ FLOW STATE_ THE DREAM HOUSE_ THE REINCARNATION PROCESSING CENTER_ AXOLOTL_ S TANK AND CONSEQUENCES HOLD_

A definitive list of all of the afterlives present within universe:

Heaven, Hell and Purgatory

"Big Corner"

"Flow State"

"The Dream House" <- The Dream House could possibly be a reference to either Bill's Dream Realm or Bill's Nightmare realm.

"The Reincarnation Processing Center" <- This is where I believe Bill was hoping to go once he invoked the Axolotl. Going by what he said in the last few moments of Weirdmageddon 3, "A-X-O-L-O-T-L! My time has come to burn! I invoke the ancient power that I may return!" It is clear that he thought he was going to be able to reincarnate by invoking the Axolotl, and by doing this, he would be able to escape going to hell.

"AXOLOTL" <- This is a reference to summoning the Axolotl when about to die, such as what Bill did. Axolotls are known for being able to regenerate, so going back to what I said before, Bill probably believed that invoking the Axolotl would give him the ability to reincarnate or regenerate.

"S TANK AND CONSEQUENCES HOLD" I'm pretty sure that this is a longform name for the Theraprism.

More Notes:

The passage is written entirely in the cipher for the journals rather than any of the codes that Bill often uses (alchemic, theraprism, combined, bill's symbols) which I believe ties back to my theory in 1.

While dogs can sense when a soul is missing, cats don't care. Not important, I just thought that was interesting.

anyway, again: if i got anything wrong in this please rb this and add more stuff!! :3

[ghost-1-y]

Desecration

Pairing: Demon!Obanai x Angel!Reader

A/N: Here is the prologue for a work that I have been planning for months now. This has been on my mind ever since I wrote Temptation back in October. I am currently anticipating that it will consist of either 3 or 4 parts, but this may be subject to change and is most definitely not set in stone.

CW: This work will be NSFW, so minors please do not interact. There will be violence, death, smut, and a LOT of angst. I hope you enjoy :)

The very second Obanai began hunting you, he knew that your death would break him in one way or another.

The demon crept within the shadows of an abandoned house, simply watching as you wandered into a small garden, unaware that death followed you as the moon does the sun. His eyes never left you – to do so would be to let his prey escape – as he stood unmoving in the night.

“Kill it. Now.”

His thoughts were overrun with a voice that didn't belong to him, orders that demanded he complete his task before taking on another, and then another. 

As was his purpose in eternity – to deliver the end upon those who were deserving of his blade; those who were nothing but mere obstacles for both him and his Creator. 

And he did so with pleasure.

He watched as you crouched down,  golden light flickered in the palm of your hand as you pressed it into the cold, dried-up soil; the surrounding flowers, once wilted, slowly standing upright with their petals unfurling; it filled the demon with a hint of curiosity.

You weren’t human.

No matter, he thought, brandishing his weapon – a sickle created from the very metals found deep in the hells; a weapon smithed with infernal ore that burned hotter than that of melted iron and dealt sharper blows than the finest obsidian – as he continued to lurk within the shadows of a home that wasn’t his. 

He had killed many of his kind before; those who were defective and broken, too, deserved to be punished. You would be no different than the thousands of bodies that lay in his wake; just another corpse whose purpose wasn’t divine enough to be considered worthy of life.

Yet, the smallest inkling pestered him in the back of his mind – suggesting to him that you were no demon, either. Your soul wasn’t scalding like his. Instead, you graced him with a warmth that was unknown to him – a comfort that he’d not known throughout his entire existence.

It was disturbing. Foreign.

He needed to make it rot.

Tagging: @peachdues, @forest-hashira, @xxsabitoxx, and @meowzfordayz because I've been discussing this story with them non-stop lmao

[whereserpentswalk]

Select an inhuman entity to go on a date with:

Iva: vampyr who was first turned in medieval Russia. Surprisingly enthusiastic and talkative. Always wears a black suit. Their body lacks any biological sex, and is inhumanity pale with yellow cat like eyes. They're mouth useally looks normal but can expand into a massive complex maw filled with many rows of sharp teeth when they want it to. They'd love to drink your blood as a form of bonding, and sort of want to infect you with vampirism.

LX73: a cyborg from another plane of existence whose had most of their human body replaced. They're head is really the only part of their body that still has skin, and even then the lower half of their face has been fused with a gas mask. They're still mourning the loss of their humanity, and they're still very skittish and sensitive. They might not want to be touched until they get to know you, but they really crave praise and kindness.

Shalshan: some sort of underworld spirit loyal to hades. They don't show any skin (if they have any), covering their body in a strange uniform of some kind, and their face with a hood and gas mask. Despite their appearance and job they're actually pretty naive, and curious about how the world of the living works.

Skishasri: subterranean goblin, who looks kind of humanoid, but completely albino, with pointy ears, sharp teeth, and long limbs. They're pretty excited to see the human world, though they don't seem to have much in the way of people skills. They are quite talented as an engineer/tinkerer though, and might try to take apart your phone if you let them.

Aria Aldorph: a which who was forced to sacrifice their eyes to a ancient entity to be granted power and forbidden knowledge. Despite technically being human they now have a very inhuman way of seeing the world due to their eldritch knowledge. They're very calm and relaxed, and will probably want to sing for you if you let them.

Trezoch: massive demon who takes the form of a horned reptilian humanoid with a pot belly and firey eyes. They're good humored and have a deep bellowing voice, though be warned, as good natured as they seem, they are still very much a demon, and will buy your soul if you let them.

Uaeiieo phrthdrn IX: a deep one who escaped dagon's control. They look like a humanoid creature, with transparent skin, a lamprey like mouth, tentacles on their back, and long black hair. Since they don't have jaws they can only communicate through sign language or aac. They're very interested in what humans are like, and while they can be a bit nervous, they enjoy being cuddled or pet a lot.

Aeullion: a fallen angel, whose body looks like a human sized porcelain doll, with a golden halo and wings, though now the segments of their body are cracked, and their halo is broken in half. They're pretty depressed after what happened to them, and they're kind of quiet right now. A hug could go a long way for them right now.

Aereon: an horned faerie knight with green armor (that could just be an insectiod exoskeleton that looks like armor), their mind is alien to a human’s, and they probably see you as something to protect and/or study. There's a good chance they will try to lift you at some point.

The Flesh Sculptor: an unknowable masked entity with many arms, with strange powers over human bodies. They seem good natured and extroverted at first, talking about their craft as if it's a form of art. But be warned, they probably really want to be allowed to scult your flesh.

The Operator: a reptilian entity whose race is heavily involved in an organization attempting to destroy capitalism and liberate humanity. Like all of their kind they're an expert shapeshifter, though they haven't yet figured out how to emulate human mannerisms. They're probably the nicest entity on here, though a bit socially awkward, and they'll probably infodump Marxist theory to you if you let them.

Ithquol: an entity that's half faerie on their mother's side and half demon on their father's side. They look like a stunningly beautiful humanoid, with a horned head, massive black wings, and a snake where their reproductive organs should be. They're very affectionate, and will encourage you to enjoy yourself more, though they don't have the best idea as to what's acceptable in human society. They also really don't like that you're mortal, and might try to make you something not human because of that.

Reblog to meet the entity. Like to give them a little gift.