#❝Who do you dream of at night?❞ — Desires

[wildfloweroutlaw]

Sticky Fingers

warnings: SMUT!! minors dni. some fluff. friends to lovers. switch!azriel. unprotected sex. oral (male and female receiving). underwear fetish. a bit of voyeurism. azriel is an after care king. wing play. shadow play. i really threw the kitchen sink at this one so lmk if i missed anything!

word count: ~7k WHOOPS my fingers slipped.

a/n: reader matches azriel’s freak!! this is more fleshed out continuation of this little piece AND my first ever azriel fic. for the sake of this story, let’s just assume that you can winnow to The House of Wind because let’s be fr, only being able to fly or walk up the 10,000 steps would be such an inconvenience. and to the one person who asked for this @darkbloodsly …. thank you ❤️

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Azriel’s little escapade in your bedroom a few weeks ago had been one of the most exciting things he’d done in quite some time. It was also one of the most violating. After he had returned to his room with your obscenely tiny pair of panties, he had been filled with a whirlwind of emotions. Shame. Guilt. Self loathing. But underneath all of that, the desire remained, unchecked and unbound.

Which is probably why every couple of days since that incident, he found himself staking out your room, waiting on you to leave The House so he could go in and rummage through your underwear drawer freely. He found that you had acquired a very intriguing collection. Several lacy black pairs, a pair that was a deep red and made of the softest silk, a strappy blue pair that he felt perfectly matched his siphons.

He couldn’t help but to let his mind run rampant, picturing you in every single one, picturing himself pulling them off of you. However, today’s discovery may have just been his most favorite of all.

Unsure of how he missed them all the times before, Azriel’s eyes caught on a light shade of pink. Digging to the very bottom of the drawer, he grasped the lovely material and pulled it free.

While not as daring or extravagant as some of the other items in your trove, this pair was sinfully soft and seemed so unlike anything you would normally wear. Instantly taken with the dainty pink shade and the tiny little bow adorning the front, Azriel decided that these would be his prize of the day.

Pocketing the skimpy undergarment, he sent several of his shadows through the house to ensure you were still out running errands. When they reported that the coast was clear, Azriel silently made his way down the hall and back to his own quarters.

A sick thrill went through his body and curled low in his stomach as he closed the door behind him. He pulled your lovely pink panties out of his pocket and studied them once more. Gods he should not be as turned on as he was by a pair of fucking underwear, but they were yours and they had touched you more intimately than he knew he ever would, no matter how often he dreamed of that.

Typically, Azriel held off on this part until it was late at night and everyone had already gone to sleep… but The House was empty for the next few hours and his cock was already painfully straining against his pants.

Fuck it. Pushing off the door, he made quick work of his clothes as he crossed the room to his large bed.

Laying back against his dark, plush pillows, Azriel made himself comfortable, tuning everything in the world out except for the thought of you and these godsdamned panties.

He palmed himself gently at first, the head of his cock already flushed and leaking with anticipation.

He imagined what your hands would feel like against him, how big he would look in your smaller hands, how you would stroke him. Would you prefer to pleasure him soft and tenderly? Or would you set a punishing pace with a tight grip? Azriel knew that he would let you touch him anyway you wanted to, he would let you do anything you wanted to him.

He let depraved images of all kinds fill his mind. He let himself imagine what your soft skin would feel like under his touch, let himself imagine what beautiful sounds he could pull from you. Azriel knew it was unlikely he would ever truly know, considering he had never allowed himself to openly pursue you. However, he supposed he would settle for your panties.

Finding the delicate fabric beside him on the bed, he brought the soft material that carried your sweet scent to his aching member. He shuddered at the first touch and let out a deep groan at the sensation. Several of his shadows trailed down his body, the cool sensation only adding to his pleasure. They always got rather excited when he used your undergarments in this way.

Seeing your panties against him like this always brought about a feeling of wrongness that only served to turn Azriel on even more. Now, watching the pink cloth and that fucking little bow caress his cock, he was fairly certain this could count as a sin.

And damn if that didn’t make his blood pump all the faster.

Fisting your panties against his cock, Azriel let his head fall back, soft black curls splaying upon his pillow. He allowed his mind continue to run wild with thoughts of you, deep guttural groans and soft moans of your name slipping from his lips.

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You opened the front door to The House, finding the place quiet. Which made sense considering Cassian had matters to tend to in Illyria this evening, and you were supposed to meet Nesta for dinner in just a little while. Azriel most likely had plans of his own that he almost never felt inclined to share.

You had been out running errands for the last few hours, but the evening had proved to be chillier than you anticipated. You decided to just run home and grab a sweater, assuming you would probably be out late with Nesta. Kicking off your shoes by the door, you made for the stairs.

As soon as you rounded the corner to your hallway, you were greeted by several of Azriel’s shadows.

Suppose he is here then.

The wispy tendrils wrapped themselves around you and begin to gently tug you down the hall. Confused but curious, you followed along hesitantly.

“Is everything okay?” You knew you would never get a response, but you always had a habit of speaking to Azriel’s shadows. You were actually very fond of them.

Several of the shadows trailed up your arms and twined into your hair. Apparently they had grown fond of you as well. The feeling of them against your skin was always something you enjoyed, and you found their presence to be very comforting.

You allowed them to lead you past your own bedroom door and down the hall to Az’s room. You found a few more shadows waiting outside, and they too greeted you warmly. Tugging you forward, the shadows continued to urge you towards the door. “I-I don’t understand…” you whispered to the wisps of darkness.

“(Y/N).”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, and for a moment you questioned if you were hearing things. But you had heard your name, however faint. You were certain of it.

You raised your hand to knock on the door, not wanting to just barge in to Azriel’s room, even if he had presumably called out to you.

Before your fist could make contact with the wood, some of the shadows darted out, turning the knob and silently pushing the door open. You were certain your heart stopped beating as you took in the sight in front of you.

Azriel. With his head tossed back. Face dusted with pink. Large wings splayed across his bed, eyes screwed shut, plump lips parted, legs spread wide, tendrils of shadows trailing down his body.

And he was stark naked.

Oh gods. You should walk away. You should close the door and pretend you never even came home. But by the mother, he was pumping himself with his hand, hips bucking up in response, and you couldn’t help but drink in the beautiful sight and the lovely sounds tumbling from his lips.

This was wrong. You should not be here. You weren’t sure why his shadows had pulled you to his room, but Azriel’s lack of awareness of your presence made it clear this was not intended. And the longer you stood here, watching like a fucking pervert, the stronger the pulsing between your legs grew.

Suddenly your eyes caught on a piece of pink fabric clutched against Azriel’s… well, extremely large member. You quickly took note of the familiar tiny bow peaking out from his hand and you thought your heart was going to break free from your ribcage and leave you standing here like the fool that you were.

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Azriel was lost in his darkest fantasies. He wasn’t sure if it was the long week he had, or the way you had looked in that dress that fit you just right before you had left The House this afternoon, but he just completely gave himself to the pleasure.

And gods he could smell you, stronger than any other time before. Your lovely scent entrapped within the fabric of your panties seemed thicker, sweeter… headier.

Azriel’s eyes flew open, shooting to the other side of the room and he saw you, standing there. Face tinged with red, eyes wide, and chest heaving against your dress.

And he wanted to die.

With an unspoken command, the mass of his shadows flocked to him, some of them unfurling themselves from where they had been twinning around you, and came to conceal his naked form. of course he had left his clothes halfway across the room.

He pushed himself up off the bed and felt heat crawling up his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. He literally could not imagine a worse scenario than this.

Fuck, you would probably hate him after this. This would ruin your friendship for sure. You would want to move out of The House, far far away from him and his demented perversions. Azriel’s mind, once filled with glorious images of you, was now flooded with a whirlwind of thoughts. And none of them were good.

“(Y/N) I-I can explain-“ Azriel managed to stammer out. How could he explain this? He doubted there was any excuse he could come up with that wouldn’t make him look creepy. Maybe you hadn’t seen the panties? He could perhaps say they weren’t yours, even if you had seen, but he wasn’t sure how long you had been standing there.

“Those are mine.” You simply stated, as if you were telling him the sky was blue.

“I…. Well, I-“ gods be damned, this would be a good time to be able to form a cohesive thought. But his racing heart and overwhelming mortification were short circuiting his brain.

“And you said my name.” You took a step forward into the doorway. Azriel’s shadows were obscuring the majority of his body, and at your words, they seemed to grow all the more restless.

Azriel briefly considered winnowing out of his room and fleeing Velaris- No, Prythian. “(Y/N) I am so sorry, shit, I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry. I-I know this is so wrong-“

You took another step forward. Well, you were already knee deep in this horrifically embarassing situation, for both of you it seemed. You may as well see where this takes you. “You can continue… if you are comfortable doing so, that is.”

Azriel’s heart stopped beating for probably the hundredth time in the last 5 minutes. “I… what?” His hazel eyes scanned your face for any sign of mockery or judgment or disgust.

“I was enjoying the show. Quite thoroughly, I must admit.” Your heart was thundering, and you were terrified of what Azriel might think. But you felt the overwhelming need to own up to invading his privacy, to watching him. To take control of this situation.

And he had very clearly been thinking of you… “If you are alright with it, you can carry on. Don’t feel like you must though. I can also leave if you’d like.” You motioned behind you to the door.

“You… aren’t angry with me?” Azriel’s shadows dissipated slightly, now he was visible to you from the chest up.

“Do I seem angry to you?” You asked, managing a smirk that you hoped made you look braver than you truly felt.

Azriel allowed himself to take you in fully now. You had been shocked, yes, but there was also something else dancing in your eyes. And your scent was slightly different than usual. He took a deep breath in, mind going quiet. You were aroused. “No. I suppose you don’t seem angry.”

Azriel allowed his shadows to slowly leave him, some of them choosing to return to you. A chill ran down his spine as he watched your eyes drink in his bare form.

He took a couple steps backward until he could rest on the edge of the bed.

He searched your face again, wanting to ensure that this was really alright with you. Finding no signs of discomfort, he plucked the dainty undergarment from the bedspread and began to tentatively work the material against his still hard cock. “Is this… what you wanted to see?”

Your chest began to rise and fall quickly again and you sucked in a breath at the sight of him. “Yes…” you sighed out, fingers going to the clasp of your dress at your neck. You quickly undid the mechanism and let the material fall and pool at your bare feet.

Azriel’s eyes widened and he let out a soft moan at the beautiful sight. You weren’t wearing a bra and stood before him in only your underwear, the tiny, lacey black pair that had originally caught his eye the very first time he thieved from your chambers.

What in the seven hells was happening? He decided not to question it, tightening his grip on his member and began to stroke more confidently.

Your eyes were glued to him, wandering from his proud wings, across his gorgeous face, down his heavily tattooed chest and muscled stomach, all the way to his scarred hand fisting your fucking panties against himself.

You had desired Azriel for so long, but he never pursued you beyond friendship. The male was notoriously difficult to read, and you were always too afraid to go beyond simply flirting with him in case he truly wasn’t interested in you. You never in your wildest dreams could have imagined this.

You took a few more steps forward, brushing your fingers against the erect tips of your breasts, sighing at the sensation. The pounding between your legs had amplified to an all out ache, and you were more than eager to find out just how far Azriel would let this go.

You now stood before him, between his spread legs, eyes locked to his hazel ones. You brushed back a stray lock of his dark hair, and lightly ran your fingers across his flushed cheek. “Do you enjoy pleasuring yourself with my panties Shadowsinger?” You let your eyes drift back down to where he worked himself.

Azriel was reveling in your sweet touches and felt there was no reason to attempt to deny the claim now. “Yes.” He groaned.

You felt a sudden surge of power, his words stroking your ego like his hand stroked his cock. “And is this the first time you’ve stolen a pair from my room for this purpose?”

Azriel tried to avert his eyes, still feeling ashamed of his actions, but your hand gripped his chin and turned his gaze up to meet yours. If his senses weren’t currently being overwhelmed with the scent of your arousal and you weren’t staring down at him like you wanted to devour him, he would have thought this was some cruel attempt to get him to confess. “No.” He answered honestly.

You smirked at his admittance and you could feel your panties growing more soaked by the second. You dropped to your knees before him and you could not deny that he looked like a god above you. He was absolutely divine. And your face was a mere foot from his cock. This was not at all how you had expected your evening to go, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

You took in the sight of his swollen tip, shaded an angry color of red from lack of release. His pre-cum had soaked both his member and the fabric of your panties, leaving him glistening in the evening light

“Fuck, you are so hard.”

Azriel moaned in response, as he watched you with curious eyes. He wasn’t sure what you were doing, but he loved that you were here with him, and seemed to be just as turned on as he was.

You inched your face a little closer, leaning between his thick thighs. “Oh Azzie, this seems rather uncomfortable. Would you allow me to help you?” You crooned as you looked up at him through your lashes.

Azriel felt like he could die happily any moment now. That nickname and the image of you, between his legs, staring up at him like that, was something that would stick with him long past the grave. However, a thousand protests rose to his mind.

He didn’t want you to feel like you had to do this. He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to, that you shouldn’t, because he was unworthy of your touch. But he stopped himself.

Everything told him that you wanted this too, wanted him. As hard as it was to believe, he did not think you would be here, responding so… positively, if you didn’t want to. However unworthy he felt that he was, he felt the desire to be selfish more.

He had dreamed of this for so long, and now the opportunity to have you, in whatever capacity, finally has arisen. He would be damned if he didn’t seize it.

“Yes. Please.” He didn’t care if the plead sounded pathetic. He needed you to touch him. Now.

With a grin that could only be described as devilish, you gently grasped his wrist, urging his hand away from his member. He still clutched the now spoiled pink panties in his hand. You tenderly pulled them from his grip, unbunching the material and letting it dangle in the space between you two.

You studied the damp fabric, glancing between it and Azriel’s face. “You’ve made such a pretty mess of these Az. I can tell how much you like them.”

Beyond words and drowning in anticipation, Azriel could only muster a nod in response.

You tossed the underwear across the room to join your dress. Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly gripped Azriel’s cock. You tested the waters with a gentle, almost teasing stroke and you felt him throb in your hand. You quickly glanced up at his face to see if he was still okay with this.

You found him leaned back on his palms and studying you intently, eyes half lidded and filled with desire. The look of sheer need gave you a shot of courage, and you tightened your grip slightly and increased your pace.

Azriel moaned out your name and your core turned to molten at the sound.

“Does that feel good, Az?” You cooed to him, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure there.

“Gods, yes (Y/N). Touch me however you like… please.” He could not stop staring at you, your gorgeous practically naked form, and how small your hand looked wrapped around him.

This was better than any fantasy he had ever conjured up.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth at his praise, loving how it sounded in his deep voice. “How about this?” You leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, sucking gingerly.

Azriel short circuited, his entire body shuddering from the feel of your warm, wet mouth on him. He let his head loll back and his eyes flutter closed as a guttural groan reverberated from deep in his chest. “Fuck I- yes.” He gripped the blankets beneath him.

You hummed against him in response. You always felt that Azriel was too hard on himself, punishing himself for gods knew why. You were determined to spoil him with much deserved pleasure.

You licked him from root to stem before taking him deep, one hand working what you could not fit in your mouth, and the other gently caressing his balls.

Sounds that may have been considered embarrassing to some males, spewed from Azriel. He could not help it, nor did he care to hide them. You were making him feel this good and you deserved to hear that. “Sweet girl, shit- that feels incredible.” He growled.

As you continued your ministrations, Azriel worked a hand into your hair. Not forcing your head down, or applying any pressure, just reverently caressing your locks. He finally peered down at you again, discovering you staring back up at him, head bobbing up and down his length and moaning around him. He noticed you had brought one of your hands between your legs and were grinding your clothed cunt against your palm.

You were going to kill him.

You were going to suck him within an inch of his life, and the sight of you touching yourself to pleasuring him was going to send him on to the after life.

Just as Azriel was about to pull you off of him, you released his cock with a pop of your lips. You stood then, placing your hands on Azriel’s firm chest and urging him backwards. “Lay in the center of the bed for me please, Azzie.” You asked sweetly.

Azriel nodded and found himself scrambling backwards, doing as you said and moving to lay back. Azriel rarely ever relinquished control in the bedroom, preferring to service his lovers to their liking. However, he felt very comfortable following your lead and this was actually really lovely. Well, it was far beyond lovely.

You moved to hover over him, straddling his waist and you felt a thrill surge through your body at the sight of the massive Illyrian warrior beneath you. “Is it alright if I try something else?” You asked, still unsure about how much Azriel wanted from you.

He gingerly grasped your hand, one of the first few touches he had allowed himself since this all began, and guided it to his chest where he pinned it beneath his own larger hand. “Of course,” he rasped, “I told you already. Touch me however you like… I am yours.” The admission was vulnerable, but felt so right to him.

Your heart clenched at his words and you nodded, lowering your hips to his. You began to slowly, but firmly grind your still clothed pussy against his length, loosing an airy moan in response to the glorious contact.

“I bet my panties feel much better like this, hm?” You leaned down to murmur in his ear, nipping at his lobe.

Azriel shuddered underneath you, wings twitching against the sheets. “Y-yes, (Y/N). So much better.” His hands hesitantly reached up to grip your waist, giving you time to protest if you wanted. When you showed no objections, he tightened his hold on you and pulled you down against him, harder. Azriel delighted in the noise he drew from you.

He continued dragging your hips across him, both of you breathless at the sensation. “Gods above, you are so gorgeous…” He let one hand travel up to your breast, stroking a thumb across a hard nipple and smiling to himself when you cried out.

“Would you like to see what you’ve done to me?” You breathed against his neck, a hand tracing circles against his chest.

Azriel nodded, then almost protested when you pulled away from him. That was until he saw you standing at the end of the bed, slowly shimmying out of your panties. His breath hitched to see you completely and utterly bare before him, then sputtered out of him when he took in the way you crawled up the bed towards him.

Kneeling beside him, you pressed the soaked cotton of your underwear into Azriel’s hand. “You’ve turned me into a complete mess Az…” you confessed.

Azriel took in the absolutely drenched material, and let out an almost animalistic groan when he scented your arousal coating the fabric. “All of this is for me? I’ve barely gotten the chance to touch you yet.” He would be lying if he said that wasn’t a major boost to his ego.

He slipped an arm around your waist and turned, pinning you beneath him and slotting himself between your legs. “Let me change that…”

He pressed messy kisses along the length of your neck, sharp teeth grazing over a particularly sensitive area. Azriel reveled in the sound of your breathless moan and the way you pulled him tighter.

He dipped his head to lav at a nipple, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger before latching his lips around the sensitive bud. Azriel slid a well muscled thigh against your leaking cunt, applying just enough pressure to have you gasping for air.

He did not miss how you rocked your hips against him, desperate for friction.

Thus far, Azriel had allowed you to take the lead, to show him how much you wanted from him, making him feel better than anyone ever had before. Now, Azriel wanted to return the favor and show you how good he can make you feel.

He kissed a path between your breasts and down your stomach, glancing up to find your bottom lip between your teeth and eyes pressed closed. He worked his way lower, and lower, until all he could smell was your heated sweetness.

He inhaled deeply, and let out a long breath that fanned against your sensitive cunt, causing chills to erupt all over your body.

Guiding each of your legs over his shoulders, his hands found purchase on your thighs, spreading you open for him. He placed a couple of gentle nips along the inside of your thigh, before softly asking “Is this alright?”

“Yes. Gods, yes.” You excitedly nodded your head, as if you took too long to answer he may change his mind. Although, a quick glance down at Azriel’s face told you that wasn’t the case. He stared up at you like you were his favorite meal. You lifted your hips slightly, urging yourself closer to his mouth.

He huffed a laugh before pinning you back down to the bed. “Try to stay still for me, sweet girl. Want to make you feel good.” And then his tongue was upon you. He licked a strip right up your center, expertly locating the sensitive bundle of nerves and swirling around it.

White hot pleasure shot up your spine, and you cried out. Hands searching for more contact, you reached down and entangled your fingers in his dark locks, Azriel rewarding you with a low growl when you pulled slightly.

His mouth was maddening. It was like he already knew all of your favorite things as he stroked your clit with the warm velvet of his tongue. Every time you managed to crack your eyes open, you found hazel ones staring back at you, full of hunger and reverence. He kept your hips throughly pinned down, leaving you no choice but to take everything he was giving you.

Suddenly, you felt a cool brush against your collar bone and looked down to find several of his shadows curiously exploring you. The inky tendrils wound themselves around your nipples, the ghost of a touch just enough to drive you crazy, just as Azriel wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

Every thought in your head ceased to exist and your back arched away from the sheets. A wanton scream tore its way up your throat and you fisted Azriel’s hair tightly, which only seemed to spur him on more.

“Fuck Azriel, there- yes!” You babbled as his grip on your hips loosened slightly, allowing you to wind your hips against his mouth. And mother above he was moaning into your pussy and… oh gods.

You raised your head and watched him unabashedly rut into the mattress, just as needy as you were.

And that was nearly your breaking point. Seeing this beautiful male, wings spread behind him, letting you fuck yourself on his face, shadows twining around your body. You were not like to forget this as long as you lived.

Right as you teetered on the edge of oblivion, you pulled him off of you quickly. “Azriel… need you. Want to cum on your cock. Please.”

“As you wish.” Azriel rose slowly, chin glistening with your slick, and placed his aching cock where his face had just been.

He leaned down and studied your pretty face intently, sliding one scarred hand to your jaw. He then pressed his lips against yours, the kiss searing his very soul.

This was the first time his lips had ever touched yours, other than that one drunken night when you all had played spin the bottle. Although that kiss had kept him up for many nights, it was nothing like this.

“Can you taste yourself? Can you taste how sweet you are? Could spend an eternity with my face between those beautiful legs…” Az mumbled against you.

“Y-yes. I want you to show me more of what you can do with that mouth another time.” You grinned up at him.

Another time. His heart leapt at that. Azriel had not allowed himself to think past this moment, for fear that this could be the first and only time he experienced you this way. Yes, he could show you everything he knew and more.

Grabbing the base of his cock, he lined himself up with your entrance, and pressed his forehead against yours. He ever so slightly began to push in. You were soaking wet, but you were also extremely tight and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

The stretch burned, but not in a way that was painful, just uncomfortable. Holy gods he was huge. You felt his shadows run up and down your arms in a soothing caress, Azriel’s hand at your waist mimicking their motions.

Once his hips were flush with yours, you both sat utterly still, chests heaving against each other. Azriel fought back the urge to thrust as he allowed your body to adjust to his size. “Are you alright, Princess?” He cooed, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek.

“Yes… Azzie. Please.” You began to squirm underneath him, unable to patiently wait any longer.

“I know, sweet girl. I just don’t want to hurt you.” He brushed a loose strand of hair back that had fallen into your face.

“I appreciate your concern Azriel, but I will die if you don’t move. I need you to move.” You pleaded, fingers digging into his muscular shoulders.

Without another moment of hesitation, Azriel slowly drew out of you before pressing back in to the hilt. He had never, never, felt anything as good as this before. He knew that with just the first fucking stroke, he was losing himself to you

“Fucking hells (Y/N). You’re so godsdamned tight… feel so good on my cock sweet girl.”

You cried out at both the sensation and his words, any feelings of discomfort giving way to burning hot pleasure as Azriel fucked you slow and deep. The normally stoic and reserved Shadowsinger was passionate, shocking you with how intently and thoroughly he was loving you.

Azriel angled his hips, rutting in to you at a slightly faster pace now. He buried his face deep into your neck, panting and moaning like he was young male all over again. He was trying his best to fuck you the way you deserved, but it was already so difficult to not unravel completely.

“Azriel…” you moaned his name like it was a prayer, “gods you’re so big… stretching me out just right. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.” You pulled his face to yours for another searing kiss, carding your fingers through his soft hair.

Azriel was genuinely surprised that you had thought about this with him, and the confession only turned him on more. He sped up his pace more, pulling back slightly to watch you.

And you stared back at him. You took in the massive wings looming behind Azriel, noticing how they twitched every so often, like they were restless. You remembered one drunken night that Azriel had admitted to you that the rumors about Illyrian wings were in fact true, but that he very rarely felt comfortable enough to allow his lovers to actually touch them.

You wanted so badly to run your fingers down the beautiful membrane. Not only to see his reaction for yourself, but also because you wanted to feel special to him.

Maybe that was foolish, and maybe this whole situation was no more than a manifestation of your shared physical attraction and nothing more. But you could not stop yourself from wanting. “Az… may I touch your wings?” You asked nervously, afraid to ruin the moment.

Azriel drove home a particularly deep stroke, causing you to cry out and tremble around him. His hand came up to guide your eyes to his, and his stare was molten. “I’ve already told you baby, touch me however you like.”

Your heart squeezed at the fact that he felt safe enough with you to allow you to touch him in a way he rarely let others.

You nodded, taking in his words through the haze of pleasure. You reached out slowly, fingertips just inches from his wings. “H-how?” Your hand remained hovering in the air, unsure.

He huffed a laugh that turned into a groan as his hips met yours. “However feels natural to you. There’s no wrong way, just be gentle.” He extended a wing, offering you better access.

You searched his face for any signs of discomfort or hesitancy. Finding none, you simply nodded and ever so lightly grazed your finger tips across the ridge of his wing.

Azriel’s entire body went taught as a bowstring before he shook, the most delectable whimper working its way out of him. His fingers found that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs and began to draw quick, tight circles against it.

You were certain the entirety of Velaris could hear your sounds of pleasure now. You placed another exploratory stroke on a different part of his wing, and continued when you saw the way Azriel’s eyes screwed shut and his brow furrowed.

“If you keep doing that you are going to make me-“ Azriel was interrupted when the soft pads of your fingers rubbed against a particularly sensitive spot.

His hips faltered, a string of curses tumbling from his lips as he went careening over the edge and into the abyss of ecstasy, crying out your name and hips snapping against yours.

At the feel of his fingers against your clit, his shadows caressing your body, and his warm seed pumping deep inside you, you came completely undone on his cock. Consumed by burning pleasure, all thoughts eddied out of your brain except for Azriel.

For several moments the two of you remained there, chests heaving against each other, both attempting to unscramble your minds. Azriel eventually pulled out rather reluctantly. “Sit tight.” He murmured against your heated skin, before disappearing from sight.

Minutes later, Azriel reappeared with a wet rag in one hand and a glass of ice water in the other. He set the glass on the table before turning back to you, using the rag to clean you up. “Are you alright?” His eyes flickered between your face and his hands.

You nodded, a grin blooming on your face. “I think I’m more than alright Az. Are you alright?” You parroted his question back to him.

“Yeah. Yes. I am… maybe a little surprised that we somehow ended up here, but I’m glad that we did.” He offered you a grin to match your own that showed his dimples.

His hand found your back, helping you to sit up, and he situated you against the mountain of pillows on his bed before handing you the glass of water. “Here. Drink.”

You accepted the refreshing drink greedily, drinking about half the glass in just a few gulps. Offering the drink back to Azriel, you cleared your throat. “I myself am surprised as well. This was… not really what I expected of my evening. Or ever honestly.” You gave a small shrug.

Azriel settled in beside you, pulling the fluffy duvet up to cover you both. “(Y/N) I do really need to apologize for what I did-what I’ve been doing…” he studied his lap intently, suddenly finding the bed spread mighty interesting.

“It was wrong. Very wrong. I shouldn’t have entered your room without your permission, let alone rummage through your dresser and…” he trailed off, feeling red hot shame creep up his neck.

“And steal my underwear?” You finished for him, brows raising in amusement.

“Yes. That. It was an extreme invasion of your privacy, and wrong on so many levels. If you never want to speak of this again, or never want to speak to me again… I would understand.” Azriel could not bring himself to look at you, to see what you might be feeling.

You gripped his jaw, guiding his gaze back to you. “Az… I told you already, I’m not angry with you. I felt like I proved that rather thoroughly, but I will say it again. You are my friend Azriel. None of this changes that fact. If you are open to it, I’d actually like to do more of… this.” You motioned between the two of you and gave him a big smile.

“I-I am definitely open to it. I would like that very much. I guess you could say I’ve had a bit of a crush on you for a while now…” Azriel glanced at you with heated cheeks and a dimple peeking out as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You let out a breathless laugh, the sound making Azriel’s heart jump in his chest. “Well I guess I can now admit that the feeling is mutual.” You snuggled down into the pillows further, cherishing the warmth of his body next to yours.

Azriel turned to you, propping his head up on a fist. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving. I was actually supposed to meet Nesta for dinner.” You glanced to the window in Azriel’s room, noticing that the sun had already slipped below the ridge. “She is probably pissed I stood her up, but there’s no sense in going now… and I’d like to stay with you.”

Azriel grinned at you then. “Well perhaps you would consider sharing a meal with me? We can stay here if you want.”

You agreed eagerly and Azriel offered you one of his large, but incredibly soft shirts to wear even though your room was just down the hall. You cherished the feel of the material against your otherwise naked body, his scent surrounding you, the shirt reaching your knees. It made you feel special.

Azriel had the house whip you up your favorite foods and the two of you stayed in his room for the remainder of the evening, chatting and swapping stories as usual. However things definitely felt…. different between the two of you. But in a good way. In the best way.

You must have dozed off eventually, because you awoke to the early morning sun spilling in through Azriel’s parted curtains. You quickly realized that Azriel himself was curled around you, one arm slung over your waist and your back pressed to his chest.

Feeling you stir, he mumbled a groggy good morning, voice rough with sleep. You would be lying if you said the sound didn’t send heat straight to your core all over again.

You turned in his grip to face him, “good morning…” you brushed a couple of your wild strands of hair back from your face and cleared your throat. “I’m sorry if I have over stayed my welcome. I didn’t intend to fall asleep here last night.” You studied his face for any sign of annoyance.

One side of his lips tipped up in a lazy grin, revealing a dimple. “Nonsense. I’ve enjoyed your company... even if you did snore.”

Your eyes widened for a moment, face growing hot. “I do not snore Azriel! I think I would know if I did.” You protested, brow furrowing.

Azriel’s grin only grew, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “And how would you know that?”

“Well I’ve never had any complaints about it before.” You explained, praying to the gods that you actually didn’t snore the very first night you ever spent in Azriel’s bed.

Tracing lazy circles on your side, Azriel’s eyes perused your form. You looked so beautiful wrapped in his huge shirt, blankets pulled up over your hips, hair askew in a thousand different directions.

“Perhaps they were just too polite to mention it?” His gaze flicked back up to yours, unable to hide his full on smile at your flustered responses to his teasing.

“You could have done me the same courtesy, asshole.” You shoved his bare chest playfully causing a laugh to spill from Azriel’s lips. Despite what happened yesterday, things felt… comfortable.

You reluctantly untangled yourself from his arms, sitting up to stretch. “I better go inform Nesta that I’m still alive. She’s probably assuming someone kidnapped me last night.”

“I pity the person who would try to kidnap you.” Azriel placed an arm behind his head, watching you shuffle out of the bed, secretly wishing you would stay longer.

You snorted. “True. I also better find a peace offering to give her as well, as an apology for flaking on our dinner date.” You turned to Azriel then, drinking in the sight of him sprawled on his back, blankets pooling around his waist, tattoos swirling down his bare chest and arms. Gods, he was delectable and you wanted to jump his bones all over again.

Azriel was staring at you as well, admiring the length of your bare legs and how his shirt hung down to almost your knees. A surge of male satisfaction flowed through him at the sight. “I think that’s a good idea. I apologize for ruining your plans.” Azriel wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

You gave him another big smile, something you found happening very frequently when he was around. “You can ruin my plans anytime you’d like Shadowsinger.” You began gathering your belongings, preparing to make the trek down the hall to your own quarters. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Azriel nodded. “Anytime you’d like.” He parroted your earlier words back to you.

You bid Azriel goodbye and began making your way out the door, your pile of clothes filing your arms, when you heard Az call out your name.

Turning back towards him, you found him holding up your lacy black panties from yesterday, a smirk plastered on his face. “I think you’re forgetting these.”

You gave a one shouldered shrug, one corner of your lips curling to match Azriel’s. “You can just hang on to those for me.” Watching his eyes widen, you closed the door behind you, smiling all the way down the hall to your own room, and already counting down the seconds until you could see the Shadowsinger again.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°

EEEEK i had SO much fun writing this!! feel free to let me know what you liked, i always appreciate feedback 🫶🏼.

[madamechrissy]

🍰Birthday Cake🍰

Pairings: Suguru Geto x Fem reader

Drabble- MDNI- suggestive/kissing/touching- fluff/light smut

It's your roommate Suguru Geto's birthday, and of course you, Nanami, Haibara, Shoko and Satoru, are celebrating. Satoru is trying to shove cake in Suguru's face, Shoko is throwing back shots, and Nanami is trying to make everything precise, while you're getting together your gift for him.

But you can't stop thinking about the way his soft silky dark hair is falling over his shoulders, how he gives you the sweet, sleepy smile, the one you see every night before you sleep. You always wonder... would he ever feel the same? If you let it blurt out!?

You step nervously towards him now, you know him better than anyone, but the gift may be too much, it may make things complicated between you. It may very well get you friend zoned forever, or worse, but you can't stop yourself. When he nibbles on a bite of the cake, licking frosting off his lips, your breath catches.

"What is it, Princess?" He asks softly, and you clear your throat, handing him the little package, in a pretty gold bad with glittering paper, leaning close, murmuring in his ear.

"If it's way off, please... just forget it." He frowns then, blinking just a bit, before peering inside and seeing it, a picture of you in nothing but lingerie, his eyes open wide at it, violet depths shooting up to catch your blushing face.

"Oh my..." He pauses then, and you think shit, you've really fucked up, when he's dragging you to the room, pressing you against his door, and your friends are snickering in the living room. "Any chance you're wearing it now?"

"There very well may be." You tease, unbuttoning one button, than the other of your blouse, until you let it fall, revealing the black lacy bra, see through, and he moans softly, cupping your face.

"You're beautiful." You exhale, blinking rapidly, feeling emotions at his thumb brushing your lower lip. "I'm one step from fucking losing it with you, all the time, and now this?"

"You are!?" He chuckles softly, nodding then, leaning forward and capturing your lips in a seering kiss, before pulling back, glaring. "What!?"

"Who took that?"

"Oh, Satoru did- I'm kidding! It was Shoko." His anger immediately turns to relief, then your hand cups the sharp jaw of his, happy to see him smiling again, it's been a rough year for all of you. "I want more, Suguru, if you do."

"Let me show you how much." He's kissing you deeply, and it rushes through you, the desire, his tongue ring clicking your teeth, as he grips your breasts in his big hands. You're moaning softly when he unbuttons your skirt, letting it fall, touching you with sure fingers, finding you damp. "You're soaked, princess."

"Mnh..." Is all you manage, when he's kissing down your neck, making you cry out softly.

"Shh, Princess." Suguru's leaning low now, one hand entangling in your hair, and you taste the frosting on his tongue, mixing with him, Suguru, you feel like you're dreaming, as a strong thigh parts yours, feeling your heat against him. He's throbbing under his slacks as he watches your hips roll, thinking you're the gift he couldn't imagine.

"Suguru, shouldn't I be doing that on your birthday?" You ask, as he's on his knees, kissing you over your lacy barier, hot mouth teasing your twitchy clit, and he smirks, looking up under dark lashes. You're crying out as he tastes how sweet you are, your wetness pouring through the lace as he laps at it.

"Pretty sure this is my birthday cake, hmm?"

Happy birthday Suguru! <3

Some silliness for our emo babe, he does NOT get enough love on here, ever.

Perma Tags: @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @n1vi @aldebrana @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy @beachaddict48 @miizuzu @honeybunnnnie @1brii @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @jinjen

[hrrtshape]

the trolley problem, but it’s you vs. your doubts.

the trolley is coming. clattering, shrieking, vibrating on the rails like god’s own migraine. it’s you vs. your doubts. two tracks. one choice. who do you save??

the problem is, your doubts have been bulking up. they’ve got protein shakes and a personal trainer named existential dread. they bench-press every bad thing you’ve ever thought about yourself. they run five miles every morning whispering, ‘what if it doesn’t work? what if you’re delusional?’

you, on the other hand, are exhausted. shifting realities, manifesting desires, rewriting the universe with the sheer force of your will. it's a lot. you are both creator and creation, and sometimes the weight of divinity gives you a migraine (or at least makes you crave a nap). you wonder, in a quiet moment, if maybe it's easier to let the trolley hit you. not metaphorically. not poetically. just plain old, iron-crunching impact, the obliteration of doubt and dream alike. tabula rasa via public transportation.

but then again, haven't you done enough suffering? haven't you walked through the fire of self-doubt, barefoot, with broken glass crunching underfoot? haven't you already burned in the acid rain of hesitation, second-guessing, the endless purgatory of ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybe laters’ and ‘perhaps i am simply not the chosen one after all’?

listen. the world does not hand out permission slips for greatness. it does not tap you on the shoulder and grumble and mumble, ‘now is your time.’ if you wait for certainty, you will fossilise in indecision. if you wait for validation, you will spend eternity licking the boots of your own hesitation.

you are the main character. the god of your own making. you are the hand on the lever, and you are the trolley, and you are the track that will carry you forward into a reality where your desires are not just possible but inevitable.

the trolley is coming. it’s you or them. you flick the switch.

no hesitation.

save yourself.

and if you ever find yourself here again, if the doubts creep back onto the tracks, if they whisper their saccharine little lies in the dead of night, remember this: they have no weight, no form, no truth. they are only as real as you allow them to be. you have done it once. you will do it again. and again. and again.

until there is no track left to switch because you are already where you were meant to be.

[honeyryewhiskey]

mirrored souls

or, dean dreams of what he believes he can never have. warnings ! angst, hurt/some comfort, dean's feelings are hurt, unexpected pregnancy, tough conversations, two ppl with the same fears j's note ! hey so let's not even talk about the fact that this is neither of the two fics i posted snippets of lol idk what possessed me to write 5k fucking words for this i'm sorry i just want to baby trap dean winchester erm idk enjoy? it's sad but maybe pls dont take my word for it i'll continue this and let them be happy also i stopped proof reading half way through bc it is my bed time <3 5k words

He’s had this dream every night for weeks. 

The sun is golden, thick with warmth, stretching over endless fields of green. It settles on his skin like an old friend, seeps into his bones, loosening the ever-present tension in his shoulders. The air is clean, carrying the scent of wildflowers and summer, and for the first time in his life, he feels safe. Like he could lie back in the grass, close his eyes, and let the world move on without him.

Then, he hears her.

A laugh—small and weightless, like wind chimes in a summer breeze—rings through the stillness. It stops him cold, strikes something deep in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name.

He turns, and she’s there.

She can’t be older than four, standing barefoot in the grass, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes—green as polished emeralds, too big for her little face. His eyes.

But everything else—her delicate nose, the slope of her cheekbones, the way her wild hair frames her face—that’s you.

She tilts her head, smiling in a way that makes something inside him shatter. Then she reaches for him, small fingers wrapping around his calloused hand like she’s always belonged there.

And just like that—like the break of a wave, like the snap of a thread—she’s gone.

Dean wakes with a sharp inhale, the remnants of warmth already fading, replaced by the cold press of reality. His chest aches, heavy with something deeper than longing. A quiet, creeping fear slithers in, curling around his ribs.

Because she has his eyes and your face—a combination that will never exist.

You left. And you haven’t come back in months.

It was always cat and mouse with you—years of fleeting moments, an unspoken desire for more that neither of you had the courage to face. You’d cross paths, use each other's bodies to release some tension, but never linger long enough to ignite anything real. 

Until about eight months ago, when everything changed. You stayed longer than just a weekend. Dean had you in his arms for four months—four months that felt like a lifetime of stolen moments, of finally letting down walls you both had built so high. But when it all started to feel too real, when the weight of it all settled between you like an unspoken truth, you pulled away. You told him it was too much, that you needed space, that you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to breathe, to step back before it swallowed you whole. And with that, you walked away, leaving him to sift through the pieces of something that was never meant to last.

His heavy hand slams down on the bleating alarm clock beside his bed. The sharp noise cuts off, leaving only the ragged sound of his breathing in the dark. He drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his tired eyes, but it doesn’t do anything to clear the remnants of the dream—the sunlight, the laughter, the way she looked at him like he was her whole damn world.

Dean exhales sharply and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Another short night, another dream of something that doesn’t exist, of someone who will never be real. He tells himself it’s just a trick of the mind, a byproduct of too many years spent running on empty. But the truth—the one he won’t say out loud—is that the dreams never started until you left.

And maybe that’s what makes them feel more like a haunting than a fantasy.

He’s spent each day the past four months trying to shove it down, burying it under booze and hunts and half-hearted distractions. But it doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself he’s over it, that he saw it coming. Because he did. He knew you would run the second things got too real, the second you got too close, too comfortable, like maybe you wanted this life with him.

And then, just like his dream, you were gone.

You never said it outright, but he knew—deep down, you were always more like him than you wanted to admit. Built for the road, for the chase. Love wasn’t something you stayed for.

Except you never really left, not completely.

Every now and then, his phone would ring, and it’d be your voice on the other end—casual, distant, asking about a hunt, about a lead on something nasty you were tracking. Always avoiding the bigger conversation, never asking how he’s been, never giving him the chance to ask where you are.

And Dean let it happen. Let you keep him at arm’s length. Because at least this way, you were still something in his life.

But now, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, the dream still fresh in his mind, it pisses him off.

He stands, yanking on a t-shirt and running a hand through his hair before heading for the door. He just needs coffee—something to shake off the lingering ache sitting heavy in his chest.

But the second he steps into the hall, Sam is there, hovering with that anxious look that never means anything good.

“Hey,” Sam starts, lifting a hand like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Before you go in there, just—don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean’s stomach tightens, his muscles tensing. The look he cuts Sam with makes the younger brother’s eyes widen, searching for words to mediate and settle the storm brewing at either side of him. “Sam, what the hell are you—”

Before Sam can answer, Dean hears it.

The sound of pacing. Quick, uneven steps against the kitchen floor. His body goes still, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t need to see you to know.

You’re here.

Dean’s pulse pounds in his ears. His stubborn rage choking out the glimmer of childish hope that sets his nerves on fire. He stares at Sam, waiting for some kind of explanation, but Sam just shifts on his feet, uneasy.

That’s when another sound cuts through the silence—your voice.

Muffled, pacing, like you’re muttering to yourself between shallow breaths.

Dean swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he pushes past Sam. His mind is already racing, his thoughts a tangled mess of you, his dreams, his heartache and the damn voice in his head telling him to grip you tight enough so that you can’t leave him again. Whatever this is, whatever brought you back, he’s not in the mood for it. Not today. Not after all this time.

But when he steps into the kitchen, the world tilts on its axis.

You freeze mid-step, eyes wide, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter as if you’re holding yourself together, bracing for something. For him, maybe. Your posture is rigid, your whole body taut with tension. You look… different. There’s an unreadable heaviness in the way you stand, the nervous bite of your lip as you chew it—like you’re preparing for a blow, for him to lash out, to reject you. 

A heavy silence falls over the room, thick and suffocating. His heart hammers in his chest, but there’s no anger now, no easy target to aim it at. Just this painful, aching pull between what he wants and what he’s afraid to hope for.

“You…” He’s barely able to get the word out. His throat feels tight, words caught somewhere between anger and something much softer, something more dangerous. He’s not sure which one is scarier.

You glance at him, then quickly look away, the uncertainty in your eyes like a crack in a mirror he never thought he’d see. Dean feels something in his chest twist—familiar, painful, like it’s been waiting for you to come back and break him open all over again.

His mind is a whirlwind. He wants to be angry—hell, he’s had four months of anger built up over your disappearing act. But standing here, with you so close, he realizes just how torn he is inside.

He wants to scream at you, demand to know why you didn’t come back sooner, why you couldn’t have just stayed. But that’s not the real question, is it? Because deep down, a part of him knows it wasn’t just you who ran. It was him, too. He shut off long ago, convincing himself it was easier that way. He was easier that way.

But you? You always seemed to slip through his defenses.

Dean stares at you, struggling to find his voice, his hands suddenly feeling useless at his sides. The walls he’s built up for his entire life—years of anger, bitterness, and pain—are cracking, piece by piece, and he has no idea how to stop it.

Dean crosses his arms, trying to shove down the storm already brewing inside him. “Well,” his voice is rough with sleep and something dangerously close to hurt. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Your spine straightens, and just like that, the tension shifts. Whatever nerves had you pacing seconds ago are buried under the sharp edge of your own attitude. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on it either.”

Dean scoffs, a bitter chuckle, the undertone to the eye roll he throws you. “Oh, great. That makes me feel real special.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers digging into the edge of the counter before you let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Dean. I don’t know if this is the right thing, or if I’m just—” you stop yourself, biting your lip again. You were never as good as he was at hiding your pain. It’s evident now, in the vulnerability in your eyes that cuts through him, raw and unguarded, and it makes everything inside him spin faster.

Sam clears his throat. “Why don’t I give you guys some space?” He glances between the two of you, clearly ready to escape the tension.

Dean doesn’t look at him, just stares at you as you stand firm, the scowl on your face trying desperately to cover the sadness in your eyes. The fact that you’re asking for anything at all should piss him off. After months of the half-hearted check-ins that only ever came when you needed something, after the way you left—why should he give you the time of day?

But he can’t say no.

And that scares him more than anything.

Sam nods to himself when neither of you protest and slips out of the kitchen, leaving you and Dean in thick, suffocating silence.

“Why are you here?” His voice comes out quieter than he intended, but the question hangs in the air, laced with something deeper, something that sounds too much like hope. A falsehood he’s terrified to acknowledge.

You take a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping just slightly, as if the weight of being in the same room as him is too much to carry alone.

Dean takes a step toward you, his feet heavy on the floor, his chest aching. His instincts shout at him to pull away, to protect himself from the inevitable hurt, but something else—something buried deep inside him—begs him to go closer.

The words come out before he can stop them, quieter now, barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this again, are we gonna keep pretending we have nothing to talk about?”

You wince, a flicker of pain crossing your face, and it rips through him. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he can’t stop the words. He can’t stop the fear, the resentment, that’s built up over all this time.

"I don't know if I can just act like nothing ever happened between us. Like you didn't leave me. Like..." His voice breaks off, his throat thick with emotion he’s been swallowing for far too long. He’s not even sure who he’s trying to convince anymore, you or himself.

His hands are trembling now, and he clenches them into fists, fighting to keep the storm inside him contained. But every time he looks at you, sees the way you’re standing before him, so tired and lacking the fire that he always adored. That you’re here now when he never thought he’d see you again, it pulls him under a wave of emotion he can’t quite place.

“I don’t know how to do this, not after everything,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to be okay with it.”

Your eyes fill with regret, but there's something else too—a quiet understanding. You know what you’ve done. You know what this looks like, but still, you're standing here. And that small, painful spark of hope flickers in the pit of his stomach.

“Can we just sit and talk, please?” Your voice is soft, pleading. And this time, you don’t look away.

Dean stands there, his whole body tense, his mind screaming conflicting words in the crosshairs—walk away, stay. But something in your gaze, in your quiet desperation, tugs at him. For a moment, he’s paralyzed—conflicted in the most unfamiliar way.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nods. “Fine. But we talk,” he jabs a finger at you, his brows set with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat, “really talk. No more running.”

You nod, your shoulders relaxing, just slightly, and Dean wonders, not for the first time, if maybe—just maybe—he’s still capable of believing in the possibility of this. Of you.

His eyes narrow, the weight of years of unresolved anger and hurt pressing down on him. But despite it all, despite everything you put him through, he can’t seem to dig his heels into this anger. Not when you’re standing here, so close, with those big, pleading eyes that always seemed to strip him bare.

The years of touch and go, the broken promises, the words left unsaid—they all float between you, a suffocating fog that neither of you knows how to break. But Dean’s tired. Tired of fighting this pull, this pull toward you he can’t seem to ignore, no matter how many times you leave.

With a frustrated sigh, he crosses the kitchen, the hard floor beneath his boots clacking louder than it should. He grabs two chairs from the worn wooden table, scraping them across the linoleum as he sets them down. Wordlessly, he nods toward the seat beside him.

“Sit,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You stand there for a moment, the air between you thick with things left unsaid. And then, quietly, you take the seat next to him.

Dean can feel the weight of the moment in every fiber of his being. He doesn’t want to look at you. Not yet. Not until he’s ready to hear whatever it is you came to say.

The silence stretches on, thick and uncomfortable, as you sit side by side, neither of you knowing how to begin.

Finally, you clear your throat, a small sound, but it’s enough to break through the tension. “Look, I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything. But… can we just talk, like we used to? No games. No running away this time, okay?”

Dean stares at the table in front of him, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge. Your words hit harder than he expected, and for a second, his chest tightens with something raw and unfamiliar.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore, you know?” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Every time you leave… it’s like you take a piece of me with you. And I’m just left here picking up the pieces, wondering if you’ll ever come back.”

You wince at the admission, and it hits him harder than he wants to admit. He doesn’t know why he said it—maybe because this is the first time in years that you’re actually sitting here, facing him. Maybe because it’s the first time in years that he feels like you might actually be willing to stay.

You reach out, placing a tentative hand on his, stilling the tapping. And for a brief moment, his breath catches.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean,” you say softly. “I never wanted to be another person who hurts you.”

to forget the months of silence, the aching space you left behind. He wants to pull you close, bury his face in your neck, and pretend none of it ever happened—that you never walked away, that he never let you.

But reality crashes down just as fast.

He can’t let himself go there, can’t let himself believe this is something he can have without it slipping through his fingers. So instead, he exhales sharply, shoving that fragile part of himself deep down where it belongs. His jaw tightens, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, edged with his angry armor.

“Then why did you leave?” he grits out, his voice quiet but commanding. He needs to know. Needs to understand why the person he thought he might finally let himself love disappeared without a trace.

You pull your hand back, lips pressed tight. “I—”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, like the weight of months spent apart. Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening, why you’re here, why you’re sitting beside him, but something shifts in your expression.

You take a deep breath, eyes falling to your lap before lifting to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words soft but full of weight. “I’m sorry for always running off. For disappearing when things got too real. I know it’s not fair.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t know what to say, what to feel.

“I was scared,” you continue, voice breaking just a little. “I still am. I…” Your words falter, but then you press on, searching his eyes for understanding. “I was consumed with this fear of losing it all. That I’d attach myself to you and this life would rip you away.”

The quiet admission sits heavy in the air. Dean feels his heart thudding faster beneath his rib cage. A pang of regret washes over him, for never admitting he shared that fear. That he thought he would be the thing that rips you apart. And maybe if he had, you wouldn’t have felt alone in those thoughts. 

You run a hand through your hair, a nervous gesture, and he watches the movement, the tension in your body. “I didn’t think I could do this. I didn’t think we could do this. I don’t see a world where something like that survives,” you shake your head, lost in the thoughts that shuffle through as you try to find your words, “Where… where we get a happy ending.”

Dean feels his chest tighten, his pulse speeding up as he takes in what you’re saying. The words hang between you, both of you holding your breath. And for a long, painful moment, the only sound in the room is the distant hum of the refrigerator, a constant reminder that time is still moving, even when it feels like everything’s frozen in place.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want it, Dean,” you add quickly, your voice cracking. “I just—I don’t know how to believe it’s possible. But I didn’t come here to ask for you to take me back.”

Dean stares at you, his pulse hammering against his ribs. There it is—that damn crack in your voice, the one that always cuts through him like a blade. He wants to be angry, to hold onto the bitterness that’s been festering since you left, but it slips through his fingers the second he sees the way you’re looking at him. Like you’re scared. Like you don’t expect him to want this.

Like you don’t expect him to want you.

His throat tightens, his fists clenching at his sides as he fights the urge to reach for you. “Then what do you want?” His voice is quieter now, rougher. “If you’re not here to ask me for anything, then why come back?”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for words. Your fingers twist in the hem of your jacket, your shoulders curling inward, like you’re bracing for him to tear you apart. And damn it, that does something to him, because he’s never wanted to be the reason you look like that.

Dean drags a hand down his face, trying to ground himself. His mind is a battlefield, waging war between the fear clawing at his insides and the need to fix this—fix you. But how the hell is he supposed to do that when he’s still not sure how to fix himself?

“You don’t know how to believe it’s possible?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, join the damn club.” His chest feels too tight, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “You think I had some fairytale idea of us, sweetheart? That I thought this would be easy?” He lets out a breath that’s more of a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Hell, I don’t even know if I’d be any good at this. But you didn’t give me the chance to figure it out, did you?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. And God, he hates that. He hates seeing you cry. Hates even more that he’s the reason for it.

“I was scared,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like shattered glass. “I am scared.”

Dean swallows hard, his anger flickering, giving way to something deeper, something more painful. He’s scared too. He’s scared as hell. Of not being enough. Of screwing this up. Of losing you all over again.

But when he looks at you—when he sees the way you’re trembling, barely holding yourself together—it hits him. He’s not the only one drowning in this.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before finally, finally stepping forward. His hands hover for a second before settling on your arms, grounding you. Grounding himself.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, softer now, “I guess we can be scared together.”

You drag the backs of your hands across your cheeks, trying to contain the tears that just won’t stop flowing. “No, Dean, you don’t get it—” you cut yourself off with a groan. Your breathing is coming out uneven as anxiety pulls at your every nerve, and suddenly you can’t sit still. You can’t do this. 

You’re up on your feet again, pacing slightly as you try to steady your breathing. 

Dean watches you, his stomach twisting as you distance yourself. There’s a wild, frantic energy in the way you move, your arms wrapping around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together. Your breath is uneven, shaky, and those damn tears keep slipping past your lashes no matter how hard you try to blink them away.

His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach for you again, to do something—anything—to stop that panicked look from overtaking your face. It melts his resolve, steadies his rising temper.

His voice comes quieter this time, hesitant. “Hey—what’s going on?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, shaking your head as if you can will away whatever storm is raging inside you.

Dean’s chest tightens. His mind is running through every possibility, each one worse than the last. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, the pet name easing off his tongue as if no time had passed since he last called you that, “talk to me.”

"I... I didn't catch it in time, I'm sorry." You start, your voice barely more than a whisper, the words thick with something he can't quite name. Your eyes squeeze shut as if the simple act of speaking is too much.

Dean’s chest tightens, a knot of confusion twisting in his stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?” His tone is gentle now, trying to coax it out of you, but the moment you raise your eyes, he sees it—the fear, raw and trembling beneath the surface.

He’s on his feet again, closing in on you like you’re a scared animal that’ll take flight from any sudden movement. 

“I just thought it was stress making me miss my period again, but…” You choke, your voice cracking as if admitting it out loud is tearing something inside you apart.

Dean’s breath hitches, and his heart races, but he doesn’t dare interrupt you, his own confusion giving way to a growing sense of dread. He takes another step toward you, but you flinch, eyes shimmering with tears that slip through your heavy breathing.

You finally break, the tears turning into sobs that shake your shoulders. You shake your head, wiping at your face again, as if trying to push it all away. But it’s too late now.

“I’m scared, D.” You gasp the words out, the weight of them crushing you. “I’m so scared.”

Dean’s chest tightens, a cold sensation creeping down his spine, even as his heart lurches in his chest. He can feel the tremor in your voice, the rawness in every syllable, but he can’t make sense of it. The world seems to slow, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place—but not quickly enough for his mind to catch up.

“What… What are you saying?” He asks, his voice quiet, strained with confusion and something that feels dangerously close to panic.

You glance up at him, eyes wide and glassy with tears. You open your mouth, but the words seem stuck, lodged in your throat. The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, you take a deep breath, almost like you’re gathering the strength to face something unbearable. “I’m pregnant, Dean.” The words fall from your lips in a broken whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Dean freezes. His entire body goes still, as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. The weight of your words hits him like a freight train, and for a moment, everything goes silent except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Pregnant.

His mouth goes dry, his thoughts scrambling, trying to make sense of it all. The pieces click into place—the missed periods, the way you looked at him when you walked in, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

His dreams.

 He takes a half-step back, his mind too far behind, too rattled by the weight of what you just said.

And then, slowly, it hits him—this isn’t just a shock; it’s a bombshell. One that could tear everything apart, and yet, at the same time, it pulls something from him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The edges of his world begin to blur. He’s scared. He’s terrified.

“Are you… are you sure?” His voice comes out rough, almost panicked, like he’s waiting for you to tell him this is some sick joke, but he knows it’s not.

You nod, sniffling. "I took a test, I went to the doctor and they told me I was already four months along." you whisper, choking back a sob. "I didn’t know what to do."

Dean steps closer, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you. But you flinch again, the space between you thick with everything you’ve never said to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you. I could have just called, I should have—” Your voice cracks, and you finally meet his gaze, eyes full of everything—regret, fear, and a raw, aching vulnerability that threatens to break him.

Dean's heart races, the panic starting to crawl up his throat. He wants to scream, to tell you that he’s terrified—that he doesn’t know how to be a father, that he’s too broken, too fucked up to raise a kid. The thought of something happening to you, to your child, terrifies him in ways he can’t even put into words. But you’re standing there, so small, so vulnerable, looking at him like he’s the only one who can fix this. And damn it, he has to be strong.

He closes the distance between and pulls you into his arms before either of you can second guess it. His hands are warm and steady on your back, but inside, his mind is a storm. His pulse is erratic, his breath shallow, but he holds you close, trying to give you the comfort he doesn’t know how to find for himself.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice like a lighthouse to steer your sinking ship. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

You shake your head against his chest, a shaky breath escaping. “I’m so scared, Dean. I don’t know what to do.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression soft but full of intensity. His thumbs pushes away your tears, warm and rough against your skin. “You don’t have to know right now,” he assures you, trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time. I’m here, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Inside, though, his mind is spinning out of control. He doesn’t know how to be the man you need. He doesn’t know if he can even be the father this child deserves. But in this moment, he’s all you have. And somehow, he knows that no matter how badly he’s freaking out, no matter how scared he is, he’ll find a way to make this work—for you, for the little life growing inside of you.

He gently strokes your hair, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, grounding himself in the act. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers again, his voice thick with the promise of something more than just words.

But inside, the panic churns, a rising tide he can’t escape. He holds you tighter, pretending for your sake that everything will be fine, even as the weight of the world presses down on him.

edit to add tags why do i always forget tags @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @ultravi0lence14

[miniscapes333]

your FS fantasizes about you like what at night ? (18+)

PICK A PILE READING LOVES ;)

👇 [PILE - 1] 👇[PILE - 3]

👆 [PILE - 2]

Disclaimer: The images featured are not mine. All credit and rights belong to their original creators.

PILE - 1

I see them lying awake, long after the world has quieted, after responsibilities have been tucked away for the night. But they can’t rest—not yet, not when their mind is full of you. They turn onto their side, exhaling sharply, one hand resting on their chest, the other gripping the sheets like they’re trying to steady themselves. But there’s no steadying this—no controlling what happens when they close their eyes and let themselves fall into you. They see you there, in the private corners of their mind, bathed in a soft glow, looking at them with that knowing gaze—the one that tells them you know exactly what you do to them. And oh, how they ache for you.

Their fantasies aren’t just about the act of having you; it’s so much deeper than that. They picture the lead-up, the slow burn of it all—how your fingers would skim over their skin, teasing, promising, never rushing. They imagine your lips ghosting over their pulse, how you’d linger just long enough to make them shiver, to make them want. It’s the way you’d push them to the edge, not just with touch, but with presence—the way you’d own the moment, make them feel like there was no one else in the world but the two of you. They crave that—the intimacy, the way your body would mold against theirs so perfectly, like you were meant to fit together. And when they let go, when they finally surrender to the thought of having you, it’s devastating. The kind of desire that leaves them breathless, heart hammering, hands flexing against the mattress like they can feel you there.

And when it’s over, when the fantasy has run its course and they’re left in the quiet aftermath, they don’t feel relief—they feel restless. Because it’s not enough. A dream of you will never be enough. They want the real thing. They want to turn over in bed and find you there, warm and waiting, your body tangled in the sheets with theirs. They want to hear your voice, your laughter, the whispered teasing that makes their pulse spike all over again. They want to wake up in the morning with you still beside them, the evidence of the night before lingering on your skin. And until that day comes? Until they can finally have you in their arms, their bed, their life? They’ll keep fantasizing, keep reaching for you in the dark, letting the thought of you pull them under, over and over again.

PILE - 2

It starts the same way every night. Restless hands, a heavy sigh, the dim glow of the night teasing the edges of their sleepless thoughts. They toss, they turn, but it’s you that keeps them up—you who lingers behind their eyelids the second they shut them. There’s something feverish about the way they crave you, something raw, untamed. It's not just about wanting you; it’s about needing you. Like a fire licking at their skin, like something that refuses to be contained. They imagine you standing in the doorway, a smirk playing at your lips, something teasing in your eyes—like you know how much you unravel them, and you enjoy every second of it.

Their fantasies don’t start slow; they don’t have the patience for slow. No, the second they let their mind slip, they’re already deep in it—your body against theirs, heat rolling between you like a storm about to break. They imagine the way you’d grab at them, the way your fingers would press into their skin with just the right amount of desperation, like you need them just as much as they need you. And gods, they would devour you. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just hands gripping, lips crashing, bodies colliding in a way that leaves no space between you. They burn for you, and in their mind, you let them consume you. Every sound you make, every shiver, every breathless plea—it pushes them further, makes them reckless. They want to ruin you, leave their mark on you so that no one—no one—could ever question who you belong to.

But then comes the part they hate. The comedown. The moment when reality settles back in, when they open their eyes and realize that the bed is still empty, that you aren’t there. The rush fades, but the ache lingers, deep and insatiable. They run a hand through their hair, stare at the ceiling, jaw tight with frustration. Because it’s not enough. It’s never enough. No matter how vivid the fantasy, no matter how hard they chase the high of you, it always ends the same way—with them wanting more. With them lying awake, restless, desperate, waiting for the day when they don’t have to imagine anymore. When they can finally reach out—and find you waiting for them in the dark.

PILE - 3

It creeps in like a whisper—soft at first, almost bearable. The thought of you. The way you tilt your head when you’re amused, the curve of your lips when you say their name just right. They try to shake it off, bury it under exhaustion, but it never works. No matter how many nights pass, how many times they try to push you away, you return like a ghost, haunting them in the most delicious, torturous way.

Tonight is no different. Their mind sways between the hunger and the ache, between the need for you and the pain of not having you. They imagine how it would be if you were there—if they could reach out and find your body against theirs, warm and real, not just some fading mirage in the dark. Their hands twitch at the thought of you beneath them, your skin soft under their touch, your breath hitching when they claim you like they’ve wanted to for so long. It’s not just about passion; it’s deeper than that. They want to erase the space between you, to take and take until there’s nothing left separating the two of you. Every kiss, every drag of their lips along your skin, would be a promise—a silent, desperate vow that this time, they won’t let you slip away.

But reality always hits like a cold rush of air. When they open their eyes, the bed is empty, their hands still searching, their body still burning with a craving that has no satisfaction. And gods, it hurts. It’s the kind of hunger that lingers in the bones, the kind that no amount of dreaming can sate. They roll onto their back, exhaling sharply, frustration thrumming in their chest. Because they know—no fantasy, no restless night, no imagined touch will ever be enough. They need you—not just in the shadows of their mind, not just in the spaces between wake and sleep, but in their arms, in their life. And until that moment comes, they will keep wanting, keep reaching, keep aching for you in the dark.

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[midnight-mourning]

Hearts & Home

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 4💘💘

Woahhhh more cowboys.... That's CRAZY... hehe anywho, i very much enjoyed taking another crack at these idiots, hope you enjoy reading about them :)

Prompt: Valentines continuation of the prev wild west x yn request i made last time perchance :)c i liked your story you made with em a lot teehee

Word Count: 2203

Read here if you prefer ao3!

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You keep your eyes on the horizon, mouth a firm line as you scan the distance for any sign of life. 

Nothing but the vast expanse of white and grey stares back at you. They're not here. Again. 

The breeze blows by, chilling you once more, and you shake your head, deciding it's for the best to head inside. Despite they're seeming lack of care for you in the moment, you know they wouldn't want you to freeze. You think, anyway. 

This was the third week in a row now, they'd promised they'd be back this time. Not another letter, not another empty promise. But, you couldn't be too harsh on them, they still had jobs to do, and with the weather as of late, you're sure they're being worked hard to keep their ranch in tip-top shape. You were doing the same here, afterall. Though, you were handling roughly the same size property on your own, whereas their boss had multiple hands to help out besides your cowboys—

You shake your head, the door slamming shut behind you. 

The warmth of your home greets you, but it does little for your mood. You're less worried and more, disappointed. For well over a month now they'd been promising to visit you, their usual trips having become few and far between. 

You hadn't been given an explanation for this shift either. Only noting that when you did see them this last time they'd become a bit skittish, off-put even. Your usual affections weren't returned in full, and if you had thinner skin you'd be alarmed by this. For now, you were just concerned. And annoyed, incredibly annoyed. 

 You thought that after the confrontation of your feelings, things would be more defined between you. You'd been mistaken of such. Rather, you felt as if you were stuck in a bit of a limbo. Though, part of that was your own fault to be fair. 

You were each seemingly too scared to take that next step. To go from casual flirting, joking back and forth, late nights spent together to something more, intimate neither you nor Sun nor Moon has made the step. Sure, you'd gotten close. On several occasions.

When Sun would corner you in the barn for a brief 'chat' that was filled with far more actions than words. Or when late at night, when you couldn't sleep, you'd find yourself in your kitchen and Moon would come up behind you, offering sweet nothings of comfort in whispered words and chaste kisses. 

But that's all it was, wasn't it? You bitterly think as you swirl the coffee in your cup, the black liquid seeming to taint your very being in the moment. 

All of it, it meant nothing. And again, perhaps you were to blame for such. In those moments, it was you who pulled away in the end, it was you who hesitated and froze upon hearing those murmured expressions of desire. And for what, fear? Fear of what? It surely wasn't rejection, not at the surface level at least, you knew they both wanted for you as you wanted for them, to an extent at least. 

Commitment then. Stability. Even if you told yourself it's what you wanted, the idea of it seemed impossible, and therefore terrifying to you. Being able to trust someone, multiple someone's was unfamiliar to you, it always has been. To have it all so easily within your grasp made you feel as if you were living in a dream. So you were doing everything that you could to wake up. 

But still, even with your own insecurities, that didn't explain their odd behavior, or their sudden disappearance altogether. That, was something you'd need to determine on your own. 

And the best way to do that, was with a confrontation.

So, you sent another letter. And another. And another. 

If that damn courier was going to pass through here daily and use your land as a shortcut, you were going to make well sure you made use of him. 

You sent letters without waiting for a response. As despite your insistence and incessant writing, somewhere deep in you you knew that one was never going to be enough. 

But as the days grow from one, to three, to seven, and still no answer to even one, you had enough. It didn't help matters that Valentine's a day you never really celebrated truthfully, but now desired more than anything, was about to be upon you. If anything, that fact pushed you over the edge finally. 

You hadn't wanted to resort to it, but now felt as if you had no other choice. You would have to do this directly. 

Face to face. 

You didn't pick the best day to go for this, you realize. The wind, once merely just a bother while going about your day to day around the farm, now bites mercilessly at the uncovered skin of your cheeks. You pull your hat down further with one hand, and snap the reins again with the other. 

Besides the wind, it's snowing hard, covering the plains in a way you hadn't seen in years. Just your luck it seemed, that a blizzard like this would happen right at the worst possible time. But, you're too far out to turn back now, even if you're admittedly beginning to lose your way a little. 

You knew it was only a half day's ride between your ranch and theirs, so surely you must be close by now. But with all the snow, your field of vision is nothing but white. Which frightens you just a tinge. 

Your fright becomes genuine alarm when suddenly, Felicity spooks. Unprepared, the reins slip from your hands as she bucks, sending you flying into the snow. You land, face first into the powder, almost grateful for the softer than normal landing. But still, it knocks the wind from you, and you groan in pain as you lift your head just enough to see Felicity fade off into the distance. 

Out of either desperation or disbelief, or maybe even delusion, you start to laugh. Quietly. Not because there's anyone around to hear you but because you're in pain. 

A lot of it, actually. 

As you lie there you become increasingly aware of two things; the cold, and your ribs. 

The first of which is starting to seep in despite your many layers, and the second you think might be broken. 

What a grand situation you've put yourself in here. 

You find yourself with a lack of care however, perhaps because of the dire absurdity of it all. No one's coming to save you. No one even knows where you are. Well, Felicity does but she's long gone. 

You may very well die out here, you realize. All for a couple of cowboys you couldn't even say 'I love you' to. 

Your own fault, truly.

You close your eyes, face cold against and feel a pull for sleep in you that you know is dangerous. One that tempts you, so, alluringly so. 

But luck was on your side, as right when you feel yourself beginning to slip, there's a muffled noise out in the distance. A shout. 

Soon enough you can make out the sound of hoofsteps and then footsteps that rapidy approach you. 

Your body is suddenly hoisted up, the light blinding even against your eyelids. Whoever it was, you weighed nothing to them. 

You find out soon enough, based on voice alone. "Come on darlin', stay with me now."

It's a struggle, but you find your voice.

"Tryin' to, Lone Star." You wheeze out, cracking open an eye to see his worried face staring down at you. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead then, hissing once he feels how cold you are. "You're frozen solid. Just what were you thinkin'?"

Sun starts to walk back over to his horse, you bite your cheek to hide the agony it causes you. 

"I wasn't. It's called desperation—" You can't help but cry out as he shifts you to mount his horse, biting your tongue again after a moment and speak through gritted teeth. "Can't a poor rancher be with their loves on the most romantic day of the year? Or some sap horseshit like that. You get the point."

Sun's too busy examining your body for damages, poking and prodding until he makes his mark against one of your ribs and you hiss. "Save that for somewhere warmer, won't you? Bit too cold to get a peek under there don't you think?"

He tsks, shifting you hold you tight against him with one arm, using the other the grip the reins and start moving. "I think the cold's made you delirious, Sweetheart. Just hold on a little longer for me, yeah."

"I'll try."

You're only able to half register as Moon rides up to the two of you, concern plastered across his features. They speak to each other, but you can hardly listen. Now that you have a sense of safety surrounding you, that urge to fade in the black pulls at you stronger than ever, and you can't help but close your eyes. Though, the  jostling pain of your broken ribs keeps you from falling asleep entirely. 

Soon enough, you find yourself in a warm bed in the boss' house, despite your protests the bunkhouse would be fine. You're treated and fed and warmed from the moment you step in the door. Something you're not taking for granted. To make matters better, you learn the reason you were found was because of Felicity wandering near the outskirts of the ranch, thus confirming to you that she was okay after all. 

With that news, you crash, weight off your shoulders—and ribs—waking up some time much later. 

When you open your eyes, you spy two restless cowboys nearby. Sun sits with his hands clasped in a chair beside you, frown settled heavily on his face. Moon is on the end of the bed, eyes trained on your face and thus, the first to notice you were awake. 

"You sure know how to make an entrance, don't you Starlight?" His tone is a mixture of displeasure and relief. 

You chuckle, wincing a little as you sit up. Sun reaches out to stop you but you wave him off. "Ah, couldn't help myself, Moonshine. Figured I needed to get your attention somehow, since it's been lacking here lately."

"You really risked your life for something so simple?" Sun asks, taking hold on your hand in both his own, squeezing tight. "All of that?"

You shrug, though not very well. "I didn't say it was a good idea. But it all worked out in the end, didn't it?"

Moon huffs. "If you call ‘working out’ almost dying, sure." 

You lay back again a bit, looking up to the ceiling as a quiet settles over the three of you. 

"An explanation would be nice."

"Suppose that's fair." Sun says. "Moon can share."

A tsk. "Of course you'd put it on me..." He grumbles, then takes your other hand and you glance back down. "Long and short of it is, we got fired."

Your eyes widen and Sun lets out a long, disappointed, sigh. 

"We didn't get fired. But we did ask to quit. Move on to somewhere else. Boss asked us to find replacements before we left." Sun explains. 

This does little to comfort you. "Somewhere else? Can't stand it and have to put more distance between us, huh?" You can't fight the bite in your tone. 

But, they both chuckle at this. Moon shifts to lay on his stomach beside you, grin cheeky as he leans in close. "Closer actually. Much closer. Within walking distance. You might even say kissing distance."

Before you can get further confused, Sun juts in, halting any chance of Moon getting what he wants for the time being. 

"We'd like to come work for you. If you'll have us. No need to worry about payment or the likes, just a place to stay, your hand to hold." He nods once. "That's more than enough."

You're more than surprised, shocked even. "I, you mean it?"

"We haven't been great 'bout it, but we care a lot, darlin'. Let us prove that to you." Sun kisses your hand, looking up to you with a plea in his eye. 

Moon pulls your focus by taking his free hand and setting it on your cheek. "You look ready to cry, Sweet Thing."

"Truthfully, I just might." You swallow, shaking your head. "You two are somethin' you know that?"

He tuts, leaning in and kissing you softly. "We take pride in it."

"One of us does." Sun grumbles. 

A snicker from his counterpart. "How about you wait your turn in silence, Sunshine?"

"How about you,"—You feel a tug on your arm pulling you away—"Learn to play fair?"

If you weren't stunned from your previous kiss, or in so much pain, you might've interfered with there argument. But, with the combination of both, you're content to simply lay back and watch it go down. 

You're getting kissed by someone, someway eventually, and that's good enough for you.

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Thank you for the request @alynwrench! The cowboys are always a delight to write for, especially when I get to put them in SITUATIONS >:)c

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[livingformintyoongi]

Poème | Kim Taehyung

Summary: For centuries, Taehyung has roamed the world, trapped in an eternity he never truly desired. Desperation led him to accept an offer of immortality, a gift that quickly turned into his greatest curse. Once a hopeful young man dreaming of a future with the love of his life, he now wanders through time burdened by regret, forever mourning the one he lost. No amount of power, beauty, or wealth can fill the void left by you. If eternity means living without you, then what is the point of living at all? Author’s note: Hi again! I hope everyone is well ^^ I know I had said I was going to focus on GAS? but…. Tae vampire came to my head and demanded to stay until I managed to bring him to this world :) Soooo, I don't know if most of you read this but I seriously, seriously need your help for this, I really don't know how to move it forward :(( so please, if you have any ideas on how to move it forward or any scenes you'd like there to be, send me an ask or a dm, I'd really appreciate it <3 Pairing: Vampire!Taehyung x Human!Reader (female) AUs: Vampire!AU Word count: 4.6k Status: Unedited Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @madussthougths Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop and @strangergraphics

What would you do if you were given the option to live for all eternity? If someone offered you the secret behind immortality and eternal youth, would you accept? Would you be capable of leaving everything behind just to avoid facing death?

Taehyung wished with all his heart that he had asked himself those questions before saying yes to the beautiful woman in the elegant dress who offered him a second chance at life—one without sickness or poverty, a life filled with luxuries and privileges he could never have had as a mere villager in the Victorian era. Something he could have never even dreamed of when he was still human.

When desperation consumes you and you don’t know what else to do to avoid falling into the clutches of death, you… accept the first offer placed in front of you, no matter how risky it may be. That was exactly what led Taehyung to an eternity of regret, suffering, and torment.

He had been blessed with eternal life, but what was the point of living until the end of time if he was alone? What was the use of existing for centuries, watching people be born and die as if they were nothing more than tiny toy soldiers with an expiration date set by a child who had decided it was time to discard them, believing he was too grown up to play with them anymore?

He refused to live an endless life if you weren’t in it.

But you had been gone for so, so long, and he could never forgive himself for it. He could never turn back time and reject the offer from the one who was now his creator. He would never see your smile again, hear your laughter, or smell the soft scent of flowers, of the forest, of you. If only he hadn’t left home that night, if only he had waited a few more minutes… If only you had gone with him, perhaps… Perhaps now, the two of you would be living a long life together, enjoying each other’s company until the end of time.

But that wasn’t how things happened. He left his home that night. He didn’t wait. You didn’t go with him. And now, his fate was sealed. He couldn’t die, he couldn’t be harmed, he would have eternal youth and an ethereal beauty that could make any human give him anything he asked for with just one look. He could have everything—everything except you. And that, without a doubt, was the greatest torture anyone had ever inflicted on him.

That had happened over 170 years ago, and he had spent each one of those years tormenting himself. When he was still human, he had been vibrant and full of life, a social butterfly who, even without the seductive abilities of a vampire, could charm anyone with a single smile. Now, he was nothing but the empty shell of the man he once was.

During that time, he met many like him—those with whom he managed to form something close to what he could call a "family." Jiah was his mentor, the woman who had turned him and helped him through the difficult transition from human to vampire. Chaeyoung was the second oldest, a cheerful and optimistic young woman who had been a vampire for over a thousand years. Sooah and Hoseok came next, both turned in the 15th century. Then there was him, Jiwon, and Jimin—the three of them transformed in the 19th century, all saved from the brink of death by the compassionate leader of their small group.

They had been his family until now, and though he loved them as much as he was still capable of love, his love for them would never amount to even a fraction of what he felt for you. Not even a hundred people could mend the wound in his heart, no matter how hard they tried.

He could still remember his life by your side, when his body was still warm and his heart beat in a rhythmic melody, reminding him that he was alive. The two of you met because of Taehyung’s father’s work—you were a young lady from a wealthy family, and he was the son of a tailor who barely had enough money or resources to live. Yet, you noticed him—his smile, his playful jokes, and his flirtatious charm, reserved only for you.

You weren’t supposed to be together—you both knew that. But neither of you wanted to give up, you didn’t want to lose the only real thing in your lives. So, you ran away. With no money, no place to stay, only the hope of finding a place in the world where you could live without regrets or judgment.

It was his selfishness and foolishness as a teenager that led you both to that situation.

He should have realized it was madness, that there was no way you could survive in the outside world with dreams and hopes coated in sugar and honey. This was the real world—it was cruel and ruthless, showing no mercy to anyone, no matter their age or gender.

The first few months on your own were peaceful. You traveled from town to town on horseback, living freely, loving each other with all your hearts, talking about your dreams for the future, and how exciting it would be to have a family together.

You had managed to stabilize your life—Taehyung making elegant garments for high-society ladies, and you painting beautiful portraits under a pseudonym, which he promoted and sold with his natural charm.

For the first two years, life had been peaceful. Until smallpox arrived. That was when everything fell apart. No matter where you went, how much money you had, or which doctor you saw, once you were infected, there was no escape.

You both caught it at the same time. He did everything he could to keep you both from falling into death’s hands, but it was a fatal disease—there was no cure, especially with their limited resources.

It was on a dark winter night that everything changed. You were starving, and Taehyung was determined to find something—anything—to feed you. Despite his weakened, trembling body, he walked through the dark streets of the coastal city until he reached a shop. But his body was on the verge of collapse, and he fell just a few meters away from home.

He clung to the last bit of strength he had, trying to crawl back to you if necessary—anything to avoid dying far from you. He didn’t want you to think he had abandoned you, didn’t want to make you suffer when you found out he had died in the cold, damp streets, all for the sake of bringing you something to eat. He didn’t want to die without you by his side.

That desperation was what made him accept so quickly the offer placed before him by a complete stranger. “Just one drop, and you will never feel pain again.” And he accepted. He drank whatever she gave him, clinging to the hope of surviving a few more minutes. Then, everything went black for a moment—until he opened his eyes again.

Everything felt new, as if he had been reborn and was rediscovering the world. He felt good, healthy, strong, and maybe a little thirsty—but alive. And that was all that mattered.

When the initial shock passed, he begged the woman to do the same for you, to save you just as she had saved him. She smiled kindly and let him lead her to your small home.

But she stopped before entering, giving him a look of pity and compassion. At that moment, he didn’t know that he could hear a human’s heartbeat from a distance. He didn’t know that, even before stepping inside, she already knew that you were no longer in this world, and nothing could change that—not even her blood.

Taehyung may not have died that night, but his heart… His heart shattered into a thousand pieces the moment he laid eyes on your pale, lifeless body. His body had survived death—but his soul never would.

For a long time, his life had become a series of meaningless events that only served to make his desire to die grow stronger. He knew it was foolish to feel this way when he had what many would kill for; his eternal life was a miracle that tormented him every damn day, and he knew that would never change.

It took him 138 years to get over you—if that was even the right word to use in this context. Perhaps a more accurate way to put it would be, well, trying to forget you through other people. 138 years of solitude, where his only company was six other vampires just as reserved as he was, each keeping the scars of their previous lives a secret, each too afraid to open up to the others and relive memories of a past they all wished to forget.

The first time he tried something with a girl was because of Jimin, who insisted that he should look at someone else besides your portraits—the ones he himself had painted back when he had wanted to immerse himself in your world. He went to a stupid bar, too loud and filled with drunk and high people looking for something casual. But he didn’t want something casual. He wanted something lasting. He wanted you.

Hours passed before a rather beautiful girl approached him. Her shy smile and flushed cheeks seemed endearing, but nothing inside him stirred the way it had when he first met you; her eyes weren’t like yours, her essence wasn’t like yours. He didn’t like her, but still, he forced himself to try.

That night was the first and last time he attempted to move on with someone else. There was only a kiss, a brief brush of lips that the girl gave him as a thank-you for walking her home. That night, he cried like he hadn’t in years, clawed at his lips with his nails until they bled, and his screams were so agonizing that everyone in the house had to check if he was okay, because it sounded as if someone had just run a blade of iron straight through his body.

Taehyung felt that kiss exactly like that—like someone had just plunged an iron sword into his heart and desecrated his body in every possible way.

Sooah called him dramatic. Jiwon even mocked him for making such a fuss over a simple kiss. But it was Jiah who ordered them to be quiet and stayed by his side all night, comforting him as his tears fell ceaselessly down his cheeks.

After that day, he resolutely refused to go out with anyone else for the rest of his life. He didn’t need a replacement—he was much better off living with your memory than trying to forget it.

That was exactly how he managed to slowly overcome his pain—by treasuring your memory through the works of art he created, reliving every one of his feelings for you with each brushstroke on the blank canvas, until there was no trace left of the pain he had once felt. Now, all that remained was peace and a beautiful memory that he would keep deep in his heart for the rest of eternity.

It took him 175 years to achieve that peace—175 years in which he held onto the one thing he had left of you: your last painting, the one of a young wealthy woman standing alone in the middle of a grand ballroom. The soft tones and the contrast between the setting and the woman in her simple pastel dress gave off a strange warmth. It wasn’t one of your best paintings—he knew that better than anyone. You had created true masterpieces, works that your clients back then would have died to own. But this one… this one was simple, more discreet, with much less detail—mostly because you were already unwell when you finished it. But your essence, your touch, the feeling you poured into it… all of it was still there. And that made it the most important piece you had ever created.

That was why, as the last act of love he could offer to you and your memory, he traveled to Paris to present it at the Musée d’Orsay. The meeting with the museum’s curator was far more pleasant than he had expected, and he even considered making a generous donation after they agreed to exhibit the painting.

The inner peace he felt when his eyes saw the painting hanging on those cream-colored walls, among hundreds of other paintings from important figures of his era… was something he could never put into words. For the first time, his heart felt at ease—it did not beat, it did not pump blood, he knew that. And yet, for a second, Taehyung felt as if he had come back to life.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent around him. Despite the years, there was still a faint trace of you in it. And though it hurt to think that he would never again hold you in his arms, never again breathe in your scent, he felt happy.

Happy for you—because finally, one of your works bore your real name, because at last, people could see the incredible talent you had. This had been your dream, and somehow, he had made it come true for you.

He wondered if there was something after death, if there was truly a paradise in the afterlife. He knew that if such a place existed, you would undoubtedly be in heaven—in a paradise unlike any other, shining like the brightest star the world had ever seen. If that place was real, were you watching him from above?

What would you think of him right now? Would you be afraid of the fact that he was no longer human? Or of the fact that, in his first years as a vampire, he had taken the lives of many?

Would you still love him from that place so far away from him?

He prayed every day to a god he wasn’t sure existed, just to hold on to the hope that the answer was yes.

"How are things going over there?" Jiwon asked through the phone.

Taehyung’s feet carried him through the museum for the sixth time that afternoon. He still wasn’t in the mood to leave, and it’s not like anyone needed him at home at the moment. He would probably head to a nearby bar, have a glass of wine, and wander around the city until the sun rose again.

"Fine, I guess," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the paintings displayed in front of him. He had seen many of them online, but seeing them in person… it was definitely something completely different. Noticing the brushstrokes, the old traces of a brush over the oil paint, the colors, the size—everything was a new experience. It was like meeting the same person a second time; the feeling and the first impression could never be the same if you only saw them through a screen.

"So expressive, Kim." Taehyung rolled his eyes at Jiwon’s mocking tone. He wasn’t in the mood to be expressive, and it’s not like he was obligated to be.

"Anyway, Jiah is pretty worried. You know how she is, especially when it comes to you."

Taehyung nodded in silence, even though he was aware she would never see the gesture. Jiah was… she was like a mother to their small family. She was the one who turned them, the one who took care of them and taught them how to maintain their composure, always patient and loving with everyone. Taehyung couldn’t recall a single time when she had ever raised her voice at any of them.

He had always known, just like the others, that she had a certain weakness for him, something he associated too much with the fact that she had witnessed him fall apart upon finding you lifeless that night. She was the one who worried about him, who paid to give you a proper funeral, who helped him get through his sleepless nights, and who showed him a completely new world. She was the mother Taehyung never had, and he was grateful every single day for everything she had done for him, despite all the trouble he had dragged her into.

"I’ll be back soon, I just… I just want to say goodbye properly."

He stopped again in front of the painting he had submitted. That small pang in his chest had returned and, although for a few seconds he regretted it, the weight lifted when he saw someone else stop in front of your artwork to take a photo. He had managed to immortalize your memory—that was all that mattered.

At last, he would no longer be the only one completely in love with your art.

There were a few seconds of silence in which neither of them seemed to know what to say. The stillness was broken by Jiwon's soft and—unusually—understanding voice.

"Are you really okay over there, alone? We’re all a bit worried about you."

Taehyung let out a soft chuckle, lowering his head to glance at his elegant brown oxford shoes. When he was still human, he had longed to wear a pair like these, and now that he could afford them, half of his wardrobe revolved around them. You would probably be just as enamored with them as he was.

"I’ll be fine, Jiwon. It’s just a few days, it’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing."

He made his way toward the museum exit, but not before giving the painting one last look. This would be the last time he saw it—this was the final farewell. He sighed, running his tongue over his dry lips.

"Besides… I need to do this alone."

"Alright, okay, I get it. It’s your healing process and all that cheesy crap you love." Jiwon let out a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. Even miles away, Taehyung could feel the worry in her voice. A part of him was touched by it. It was nice to see that, despite everything, she still cared for him.

"Just… call us if anything happens, okay? Jimin is about to lose his mind."

"Jimin is always about to lose his mind," he chuckled under his breath, politely nodding to the guards watching the entrance.

The first thing he saw upon stepping outside was the sky, painted in pastel hues, with a faint trace of stars beginning to emerge, preparing to turn it into a beautiful nocturnal canvas with the moon as its protagonist.

"I’m going to hang up. I need to go somewhere else before heading back to my hotel."

"Alright, I get it, you’re bored of me." Even without seeing her, Taehyung knew she was smiling on the other end of the line.

"See you."

And with that, the call ended, leaving him alone with his own thoughts once again.

He wished that becoming a vampire had meant his emotions—like his heart—simply stopped functioning. Life would be easier that way. Carrying the weight of his emotions would be… probably a little more bearable.

The soft sound of Taehyung’s footsteps echoed through the dark streets of Paris, faintly illuminated by the streetlights surrounding the small, quiet alley he had chosen to escape the bustling crowd—and, in turn, his own thoughts. He had stopped by the bar he had wanted to visit for so long, but after spending a couple of hours sitting at the counter, sipping a drink he could barely taste… it was dull not being able to savor it the way he once did.

He gazed up at the night sky stretching above him, noticing how the stars seemed much closer, as if they had gathered there just to shield his eyes, rather than simply existing as part of nature’s design.

Tomorrow, he would probably buy a ticket back to Korea, still debating whether to purchase a first-class seat or a regular one. Jiah had given him more than enough money to indulge in any luxury he desired, but he didn’t want to take advantage of her generosity. He had his own savings, and not just a small amount—old trinkets he once considered worthless centuries ago were now worth millions, a fortunate advantage for all of them.

A soft melody from a nearby radio pulled him from his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed the old record store beside him, still open for some reason. It had a distinctly vintage, understated charm—exactly Taehyung’s style. He studied its exterior, noting the yellow sign with red lettering perched atop the roof, reading: Le cœur de la musique.

In the display window, several vinyl records from the ’70s and ’80s were neatly arranged, among them the famous Can’t Help Falling in Love with You by Elvis Presley, the very song now enveloping the alleyway with its gentle notes and romantic lyrics.

Taehyung truly loved that song. He closed his eyes, letting the music seep into more than just his ears—letting it settle into his body as well. With graceful movements, ones that seemed almost ingrained in him, Taehyung began swaying to the melody. He had been a great dancer in his youth. When you were both just children, you had asked him to be your dance partner so you could practice. The two of you had ended up falling completely in love with the warm, intimate feeling of it. Even when your bodies had grown cold, even when death gnawed at your bones and drained your souls, neither of you had ever stopped dancing.

His memories of you returned, vivid as always; he could almost feel the soft scent of your skin against his nose, the sensation of your hair brushing against his rough fingertips, your forehead resting gently on his shoulder, your breath against his chest. It was almost as if you were still there with him, dancing in the empty streets of Paris, in front of an old record store, your hearts swaying in perfect harmony beneath the stars.

His feet continued moving across the pavement until a soft click snapped him out of his trance.

Instantly, all of his senses sharpened. He halted his movements at once, scanning his surroundings for whoever had made that sound. He knew it was a camera. And he knew it hadn’t been close—if it had been, he would have smelled the person’s blood by now, wouldn’t he?

His dark eyes flickered with a brief glint of alertness as he surveyed the alley. That’s when he finally noticed her. At the far end of the alleyway, a young woman stood frozen in place, her face still partially hidden behind the camera lens aimed directly at him.

Before he could even think, his feet carried him forward, ready to demand why she had captured such a personal moment without his permission. But then, the delicate scent of strawberries and roses reached his nose. And right after—her blood.

Sweet. Addictive. More tempting than any other scent he had encountered in his 175 years of existence.

For a fleeting moment, Taehyung swore his heart beat again, just from the sheer intoxication of it. His gums began to itch as his fangs pressed against the inside of his lip, the thirst for blood growing exponentially with every step he took. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the overwhelming urge to feed suffocating him, clouding his mind.

Until she lowered the camera.

Until he saw your eyes.

Large. Bright. Filled with life, staring at him from the end of the alley.

His heart—still lifeless, still incapable of pumping blood—felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. And though he had no need to breathe, he swore the air caught in his lungs.

Did that make sense? Of course not, but you—standing right there, smiling at him as if you hadn’t died in his arms over 170 years ago—didn’t make sense either.

And yet, there you were.

The same eyes. The same lips. Your hair was different, yes, but everything else… everything else was exactly as he remembered. Exactly the same as the day death had stolen you from him.

Was this some kind of punishment? Retribution for the countless lives he had taken in his early years as a vampire?

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” you blurted out the moment you noticed the man standing just a few feet away from you. A soft, warm blush quickly spread across your cheeks—not only from the embarrassment of being caught photographing a complete stranger without permission but also because that very stranger, the one now standing before you, was breathtakingly handsome. And now he was looking directly at you, so intensely that you could feel his gaze burning into your skin.

“I-It’s just that I was on my way back to my hotel, and I saw you dancing alone. You had this melancholic expression that was just so captivating from here and… I’m sorry, that’s no excuse for what I did, I’ll delete the photo right away!”

As you fumbled over your apology, nervously gripping your camera once again, Taehyung took the opportunity to examine you—every detail of your face. You had the same beauty mark beneath your left eye. The same faint scar between your index and middle fingers. Even your voice—one he remembered as if it were his own—was exactly the same.

Your clumsy way of speaking.

The pink flush on your cheeks.

Your long eyelashes.

There was no doubt in his mind. The young woman standing before him was you.

“I…” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “What’s your name?”

He watched as your eyes lifted to meet his. He couldn’t help but notice how your lips parted slightly at the unexpected question.

Ah.

He still remembered the way your lips moved against his—soft yet intoxicating, slow yet sensual, always keeping him on edge. He remembered the way you used to smile whenever he playfully nibbled on your lower lip.

He missed it.

He missed you.

“Oh! S-Sorry, how rude of me,” you chuckled nervously, carefully lowering your camera so that it hung freely around your neck. The strap dug slightly into your exposed skin, but it was the safest way to carry it without accidentally dropping it. “I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Y/N,” he murmured, savoring every letter of your name.

He knew it. He knew it. It was impossible for you to be anyone else.

His eyes began to sting as the reality of what was happening finally settled in.

After 175 miserable years—

You had come back to him.

Looking exactly as you had the last time he saw you.

“The pleasure is mine,” he said softly, reaching out to take your hand in his own, gently, fearful that the moment his fingers brushed against your skin, you would disappear.

But you didn’t.

You were still there when his lips pressed lightly against your knuckles, inhaling your scent as discreetly as possible.

So this is how you smelled when you were full of life.

Without an illness slowly stealing you away. Your blood had the sweetest scent he had ever known, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes at the steady, rhythmic beat of your heart echoing in his ears, proof that you were alive, proof that you were here.

Taehyung had never believed in God, but now, with you standing before him— he could only describe this as a miracle.

Masterlist.

[soliloquy-dawn]

Last Line(s) Tag

Been tagged ages ago by @onyxsboxes @swifty-fox @amiserableseriesofevents @luckydeuce and @middlingmay, bless you lot! I've been chipping away at the next chapter of Love Letters. It's one giant flashback of Bucky slobbering over Buck and reminiscing about the good old times. It's sweet, tender, and filled with yearning. Ah, the joys of youth. Bucky's seventeen, all over the place, and madly in love.

Here's a wee snippet that's still in the works, but it's getting there slowly...

The way Gale had stretched and filled out was an anomaly. From the wisp of a child, he transformed into a gallant beauty. The curve of his face, the slash of his jaw, the bewitching blue of his irises were spun from the fabric of Bucky’s most salacious dreams. His plump bottom lip and his cupid’s bow deserved a composition of a sonnet in their name, which Bucky, had he been a real poet, would gladly arrange. 

All of Buck was unintentionally indecent, and appealing beyond measure—a nonpareil, unrivaled by any woman or girl from his mother’s endless entourage. He occupied every corner of his perpetually prurient and disjointed mind, saddling him with an illusion of having gone raving mad. He was John’s single point of contact with the yet undiscovered realities of lustful possession and carnal desire. Bucky was no stranger to it all, having gleaned the necessary knowledge from his peers in the absence of a father who could have imparted it otherwise. He followed Gale around like a pup, consuming him in all the ways he had allowed himself to: an accidental brush of hands while they walked side by side, a palm placed in the curve of his waist to turn him around. A brush of thumb against a cheek to collect a stray eyelash. An arm slung over Buck’s shoulder. Shared breaths under a shade of an oak tree. Their foreheads knocking together as they saddled a horse, their hands surging for the girth in tandem. 

Everything Buck did or say in response to Bucky’s unsophisticated yearning, was disablingly sensual. All it took was Buck simply looking back. That’s when it hit John tenfold: the overwhelming sweetness of him, the gentle slope of his nose and the shocking length of his tawny eyelashes. The complexity of his scent. The delicacy that were Buck’s clenched fingers and flexing joints, the grace with which he moved his legs and the freedom with which he traced his jaw and the curve of his bottom lip when deep in thought. The way he sucked in a breath, and let out a quiet gasp as their fingers met over the girth’s buckle. 

It would be foolish to mistake the signs of reciprocation for anything but. Gale was going through a turmoil of his own. It made little difference. Bucky did not dare to touch, not with undeniable intent. The unmistakable lack of balance between what could be exchanged or offered between them, weighed on Bucky enough he did not want to be the initiator. Any sort of pressure, or an illusion of pressure that he could have been exerting, caused him many a sleepless night. And yet, he did not distance himself, which he had known to be the right thing to do even at a young age.

The excuse for his weaknesses was a simple truth—Buck was irresistible. Nothing to be done about that. Reconciled with his doomed fate, he lay in waiting, and did not dare to touch.

Tagging. @shipstorms and @pinenutpbj :)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I feel like the Ghost Marriage event shouldn't have happened. I mean, it's a little sus that this dead chick was proposing to a bunch of TEENAGERS in the first place, but not only that, but she was a royal, and as I understand only a few of the students at NIght Raven were of noble/royal decent.

Personally, I don't think there's a huge issue here?? Depiction of something doesn't automatically mean endorsement or condonment of it. Ghost Marriage clearly depicts Eliza wanting to quickly get hitched to one of the NRC students as a patently bad thing; it is in no way promoting what she's trying to do. (Small correction though: she's not proposing to anyone, Eliza is just outright kidnapping the one she deems to be her ideal groom; it is the other NRC students who are proposing to her in an effort to rescue Idia.) The mere existence of Ghost Marriage is NOT Twst saying, "Hey, it's okay for minors to marry adults and this is what we should be doing!" That's like claiming that Sebek being depicted as racist or Epel believing in gender norms is promoting racism or gender norms. If you look at the context surrounding these situations, you'll quickly realize that these depictions are, in fact, NOT promotions. Sebek, Epel, and Eliza are constantly told their viewpoints are wrong or clowned on for expositing their beliefs.

When it comes to age, the devs kept Eliza's pretty ambiguous. Just because she is dead doesn't mean she's like 80+ years old. They never put a number to it, but they allude that she "died young", but she isn't exactly a child since her attendants speak of her childhood like it's a thing of the past (ie "[...] ever since you were a little girl"). Judging by her immaturity and even her looks, you could honestly argue that Eliza is roughly the same age as the NRC students or is at least a fellow teenager herself. (Furthermore, in the original Japanese text, Eliza promises to visit the school again with a baby; this was scrubbed from EN--why? Maybe because they didn't want to imply a young woman close to the boys' age getting pregnant so soon.) Whoever she marries wouldn't be left alive; her kiss will literally kill them, also rendering them a ghost too. As a married couple, both Eliza and her groom would be dead; it would not be a situation where one is dead and the other is left alive. I don't find it problematic that students potentially younger/older than her proposed because the intention was never to go through with the marriage, it's to trick her so she puts on a magical ring that will dispel her from the world of the living. Again, CONTEXT MATTERS. No one here is actually seriously wanting this legally binding marriage except Eliza herself. Idia (the intended groom) is 18, so he could marry if he wanted to. It might be weird if Eliza was younger than him, but I think that even if that's the case, it's fine because she's supposed to be viewed as immature and unrealistic about love. Eliza is MEANT to be seen as a little cuckoo, not an example to live up to (literally ALL the other characters, including Idia, see her as unhinged); the writing in this event isn't trying to tell you that you should aspire to be like Eliza. On the contrary, you shouldn't be like her, and Ace even calls her out for this at the end of the event. I would take issue with Ghost Marriage if it had done the opposite and tried to promote her behavior as "good" or "desirable" when it very obviously is not.

I don't think the typical rules for nobility and their marriages apply in this case. Eliza is dead and technically has no country, wealth, or anything to her name. She is chained to this mortal coil because of her unfulfilled desire to marry the perfect prince--so that's the desire she seeks to fulfill. Her retainers help her because they lament that she was not able to achieve her dream when she was still alive and they feel guilty for not being able to help her flee before their kingdom was brought to ruin. Eliza doesn't have to heavily vet lineages or even necessarily marry another royal. That kind of stuff is only really important if you have countries to rule over, assets that could be impacted, politics that could shift. You know, actual things at stake that are dependent on who she marries. But Eliza currently has nothing but her own desire fueling her, so nothing is riding on who she marries. She's just driven by her own selfish longing to find her perfect prince because... oh yeah, everyone in her country is already dead and this is literally all she has to "live" for left 💀 (though if we really wanted to get technical, Idia may not be nobility but he’s still pretty rich and influential; he’s close to being a noble without the actual title attached to it.)

[callmemonster68]

JUNGWON - Sweet Corruption ( smut )

"Y/N: Do you think you can run away from me?  (his voice was a mix of amusement and authority) You belong to me, Jungwon."

Weekly challenge: Contamination secret-moonstruck & callmemonster68

He was pure, disciplined, untouchable… until he called her.  A whisper in the darkness, an unconfessed desire, and suddenly, Jungwon was no longer alone.  Y/N, a succubus thirsty for pleasure and domination, would drag him into an abyss of lust from which he would never escape – and, deep down, he didn't even want to.  But even the most docile toys can learn to bite...  and when submission gives way to hunger, who is really in control?

Succubus is a female demon that appears in dreams to seduce men, usually with the aim of having sexual relations.

Pairing: Jungwon X FemReader Succubus (Masterlist)

Genre: Obscenity

WARNING: text a little longer than I usually write

Warning: graphic description of gore ( bloond/injuries ) explicit content, unprotected sex, suggestive, penetration, explicit language, climax, sex, swearing, loss of virginity, hickeys, messy make-out sessions, dirty talk, compliments, rough sex, touching bruises, handcuffs, chains, sadomasochism , masochism, brands, group sex,double penetration, oral sex, anal sex, masturbation, yandere, obsession

The night was silent, the room dark, illuminated only by the cold light of the monitor.  Jungwon adjusted his glasses on his face, his heart racing as he finished yet another study marathon.  He was methodical, disciplined, and avoided distractions.  It has always been like this.  But, that night, something was different.

The air grew heavier, a sweet and forbidden perfume lingered in the atmosphere, and Jungwon felt a shiver run down his spine.  He blinked, confused, as the computer screen flickered as if it had been corrupted.  A dragged whisper filled the air.

Y/N: You called me...

He turned around, and then he saw her.

Lying on his bed as if she had always belonged there, a woman with pale skin and dangerous curves watched him with eyes shining a deep pink.  The curved horns framed her hair as black as night, and a long tail, ending in a sharp tip, lazily swayed in the air.

Jungwon: W-who are you?  (he stammered, swallowing hard)

Y/N: Ah... so sweet.  (she slowly rose, her ample breasts barely covered by a black corset that seemed designed to provoke) — I am Y/N.  And you called me, little boy.

Jungwon recoiled, almost knocking over the chair.  His face was on fire, the words stuck in his throat.

Jungwon: I didn't call anyone!  I was just studying!

She laughed, and the sound was sinful.

Y/N: Yes, I was.  But your mind... ah, your mind was crying out for me. You are too pure to realize, but your desire was so strong that it crossed the barrier between worlds.  And here I am.  (the succubus approached, a sadistic gleam in her eyes) To teach you a few things...

Jungwon tried to speak, but she was already on top of him.  The soft claws slid over his chest, feeling the heart pounding beneath the thin shirt.  He shuddered.

Jungwon: T-take your hands off me...

Y/N: Oh?  You say that...  but your body says otherwise.  (Her smile widened, her sharp teeth visible for a moment) Come on, sweetheart.  I promise to be gentle... at first.

He didn't know if it was fear or excitement, but when her lips brushed against his neck, his mind exploded with sensations he had never imagined feeling.

Jungwon: If I give in, what happens to me?

Y/N: You will know a pleasure beyond your dreams... and perhaps never wake up again.

Jungwon felt his own body tremble under her touch.  The heat emanating from her was almost suffocating, a stark contrast to the cold air of the room.  Her eyes were fixed on hers, which seemed to glow like embers about to consume everything around.

Jungwon: Never wake up again?  (he whispered, his voice trembling, but without stepping back)

Y/N smiled, a mischievous glint crossing her ruby lips.

Y/N: Ah, sweetie…  (she slid her claws down his chest, tearing the shirt he was wearing, feeling his breath falter) Don't be afraid. Just enjoy it.

The shiver that ran down Jungwon's spine was not just fear, it was something more.  Something he couldn't name, but that was growing inside him, burning like embers beneath his skin.  The succubus brought her face closer to his, her breath warm and intoxicating, laden with a sweet and addictive aroma.

He held his breath as her lips brushed against his jaw, slow, teasing, as if savoring every little reaction she drew from him.  Y/N's hands moved up to his neck, fingers playing with the soft strands of hair as her tongue slid across the sensitive skin below his ear.

Y/N: So innocent... (she murmured, her sharp teeth brushing against his skin) 

Jungwon shivered.

His mind screamed for him to retreat, to resist.  But his body... his body had already decided for him.  The heat spreading through his veins was a silent promise, an impossible temptation to ignore.  He felt his own fingers close around her waist, hesitant, as if testing the limits of his own surrender.

Y/N let out a satisfied sigh.

Y/N: See? (she whispered against his lips) You are already mine, little boy.

Jungwon closed his eyes for a moment, his thoughts jumbled.  When he opened them again, Y/N was on him, straddling his lap, her firm thighs pinning him against the chair.  The black corset she wore accentuated every dangerous curve of her body, and the horns gleamed in the pale light of the monitor.

Jungwon: What do you want from me?  (he asked, his voice laden with something he didn't want to admit)

Y/N tilted their head, a predatory smile on their lips.

Y/N: I want to devour you.  But don't worry, sweetie.  (she slid her claws down his neck, slowly descending to his chest) I promise to make this unforgettable.

Jungwon's heart hammered against her ribs.  When her lips finally captured his, he knew there was no turning back.  His last resistance crumbled the moment she deepened the kiss, pulling him into an abyss of lust from which he might never want to escape.

Y/N slid her hands over her own body before pulling the bodysuit to the side, revealing herself completely to him.  With a hungry look, she positioned herself over him, guiding herself until she fit perfectly.  Jungwon let out a muffled moan upon feeling her, his senses overwhelmed by a pleasure he had never experienced before.

Y/N: So hot... (she moaned, moving slowly at first, savoring every tremor that passed through his body.  He held her waist, trying to keep up with the rhythm, but she laughed, asserting her dominance) Not so fast, sweetie…  I am in control.

She slid the corset down, exposing her ample breasts, the nipples hardened.  She held Jungwon's neck and brought her face closer to her own breasts, her eyes shining with a silent command.

Y/N: Suck it.  (she murmured)

Jungwon hesitated for just a moment before wrapping his lips around her nipple, sucking fervently.  Y/N moaned in approval, burying her fingers in his hair, guiding him to lose himself completely in her.

Her movements intensified, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the room along with the interrupted sighs and moans. Jungwon was at her mercy, every nerve in his body being explored and dominated.

At the peak of pleasure, Y/N threw her head back, a satisfied smile on her lips as she felt Jungwon shudder beneath her. When the last tremor of pleasure coursed through her body, she slid her fingers over his sweaty chest and smiled.

Y/N: Virgins are always the best. (she murmured, satisfied, before gently biting his lower lip)

Jungwon was exhausted, his body still recovering from the intense experience.  His chest rose and fell in a rapid rhythm as he tried to organize his thoughts. Y/N slowly stood up, watching him with an amused look.

Y/N: Rest, sweetheart... (she whispered, leaning in to place one last kiss on his lips) But don't get used to the peace. I will return for more...

He barely had the strength to respond before she disappeared into the darkness of the room, leaving only her sweet and forbidden perfume in the air. The monitor flickered for a moment before stabilizing, as if nothing had happened.

And so, Jungwon's nights were never the same again. Whenever the darkness took over the room, she returned. Always hungry, always demanding. He became her toy, her nighttime entertainment. There was no escape, and deep down, he no longer wanted to escape.

During the day, Y/N watched him.  Invisible to human eyes, she followed him closely, her eyes burning with possession and desire.  She saw Jungwon interacting with other people – his classmates who laughed sweetly at him, the boys who gave friendly pats on his shoulder.  That irritated her.  He was hers.  Even if he still didn't accept it.

As night fell, Jungwon felt the room grow cold, a portent that she was there.  Y/N appeared suddenly, straddling his chest, her predatory smile revealing a cruel amusement.

Y/N: You spent a lot of time with those girls today...  (whispered, lightly tugging her hair) It bothered me.

Jungwon: Y/N…  I was just studying!  (protested, but a low moan escaped when she pressed her sharp nails against his sensitive skin)

Y/N: I don't want excuses.  I want you to learn a lesson...  (murmured against his ear, as his hands roamed his body with a mix of pleasure and torture) You are mine, Jungwon.  Just mine.  And I will make sure you never forget it.

He gasped, feeling each of her touches like a burning flame, a mixture of desire and fear taking over his being.  That night would be more intense than the previous one...  and he knew he was lost.

Y/N pulled Jungwon by the wrists, forcing him against the bed with a strength that didn't match their delicate appearance.  Her eyes sparkled with something between desire and cruel amusement.  With a subtle gesture, black chains appeared out of nowhere, binding her arms above her head.

Y/N: Let's test your endurance, sweetheart...  (she purred, sliding her sharp nails across his exposed abdomen, tracing red lines that burned slightly)  

Jungwon shuddered, his body tense and his breath erratic.

She pulled his hair firmly, tilting his head back and exposing his vulnerable neck.  A low laugh escaped her lips as he tried to resist, only to receive a fiery bite in response.

Y/N: You like this, don't you?  (she teased, running her tongue over the spot where she had bitten, feeling the warm and pulsing skin under her lips) Your body never lies to me.

Jungwon tried to protest, but any word was cut off when Y/N slowly scratched his thighs, their cold fingers contrasting with the heat burning inside him.

Y/N: Every mark on you, every moan you let out tonight... will be a reminder of who you belong to.  (his voice was low, dangerous, laden with sadistic pleasure)

He writhed beneath her, a mix of shame, fear, and excitement dominating his mind.  But Y/N wouldn't let him escape.  Not tonight.  With a predatory smile, she continued her sensual torture, determined to show Jungwon that he could never belong to anyone but her.

Without mercy, she tore the clothes he was wearing and pulled the bodysuit to the side, fitting herself against him in a precise and demanding movement.  Her wildness left no room for hesitation – she set the pace, sinking onto him and making his entire body tremble.

Y/N: Come on, sweetie... (she murmured, gripping his chin tightly and forcing him to look at her) I want to hear you moan my name.

She moved against him with strength and precision, alternating between a torturous rhythm and fierce thrusts that elicited every reaction she desired from him.  When he tried to pull away, Y/N laughed, her eyes shining with mischief as she dug her nails into his thighs, keeping him exactly where she wanted.

Y/N: Do you think you can run away from me?  (his voice was a mix of amusement and authority) You belong to me, Jungwon.

He hesitated for a moment, pride battling against the absolute surrender she demanded.  But when Y/N pressed her body even closer to his, a hoarse moan escaped his lips.

Jungwon: I... I belong to you...  (he gasped, the words coming out trembling and laden with submission)

Y/N smiled, satisfied.  She leaned in, biting her lower lip before whispering against his mouth:

Y/N: Good answer. Now be a good boy and obey me.

She punished him for what she considered his mistake, alternating between bites, scratches, and fierce thrusts, until he was completely surrendered to her.  The sheets were soaked with sweat, the bodies glued together in a frenzy of pleasure and domination.

When they finally reached the peak, Jungwon felt her body weaken beneath her, her mind completely overwhelmed by intense pleasure and exhaustion.  Her chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to catch her breath.

Y/N slid to the side, still watching him with that possessive gleam in their eyes.

Y/N: It was a productive night, wasn't it?  (she whispered, sliding her fingers across his sweaty chest) But this isn't over yet.  I'll be back for more...

He tried to respond, but his voice failed.  All he could do was watch her disappear into the darkness, leaving only the promise that this would not be the last time.

And so, the nocturnal meetings continued.  In the silence of the dawn, she always returned, hungry and merciless.  And no matter how much he tried to deny it, every night he longed for the moment when Y/N would appear again to claim him.

Jungwon was different that night.  Sitting on the bed, his eyes moist, his face flushed, he looked at Y/N with a glimmer of need and despair.

Jungwon: Y/N…  (he murmured, his voice trembling) Corrupt me...  make me yours forever.

Y/N's eyes widened, a wild smile forming, something dark and primitive dancing in their eyes.

Y/N: Oh, sweetie…  you finally understood.  (her voice was hoarse with pleasure) You have no idea what you're asking for.

Jungwon: I know...  and I want this. I want to be yours. I don't want to be weak anymore.  Please...

She laughed, a low and vibrant sound.  Then, slowly, her skin began to change.  Her eyes turned deep red, her horns grew, her tail elongated and wrapped around his body.  Her flesh pulsed, something black and viscous dripped down her skin.

Jungwon gasped as the shadows enveloped her completely and, in seconds, she appeared before him in her true form: bat wings spread, sharp fangs gleaming under the dim light of the room, pointed claws gliding over her skin.  The black energy flowed from her like a river, dripping and spreading across the floor.

Y/N: You will never be the same again. (her voice was now a demonic whisper)

Y/N threw herself at him, their lips merging in a kiss that burned and consumed.  The black substance infiltrated Jungwon's skin, penetrating every fiber of his being.  He arched his body, feeling something inside him break and be reborn.

Their eyes, once so innocent, now shone with a dark hue.  Their nails had grown, their breathing was heavy, and the slime dripped down both their bodies, sticking them together in a viscous and forbidden embrace.

Y/N: Now...  (Y/N whispered, licking their lips) You are mine forever.

Jungwon smiled, his eyes shining in intense red.

Jungwon: Yes... my master.

Months later, he was no longer the same.  Submission had given way to something wilder, fiercer.  That night, when Jungwon thought he still had it under control, it was his turn to dominate her.

He held her by the wrists, pinning her against the bed, his eyes shining with dark lust.

Y/N gasped at the feeling of his strength.  Her laughter was interrupted by a moan when Jungwon pulled her hair and imposed himself over her.  Now, he returned every touch, every torment she had taught him, and Y/N, for the first time, tasted the flavor of her own submission.

He turned her face down, gripping her waist tightly and pulling her against him.  The palm of his hand came down firmly against her exposed skin, a crack echoing through the room.  He penetrated her with a supernatural force, without mercy.  Y/N gasped, their eyes shining with a mix of surprise and pleasure.

Jungwon: You always teased me, always tested me...  (he leaned over her, biting her earlobe) Now it's my turn to teach you.

His fingers traced a path over her body before pulling her up, forcing her to look at him.

Jungwon: Tell me who your owner is, Y/N. (his voice was hoarse, laden with authority)

She hesitated, a defiant glint in her eyes, but when he pulled her by the hips and moved firmly against her, a moan escaped her parted lips.

Y/N: You... you are my master...  (she gasped, her eyes briefly closing, feeling each intense thrust he gave her)

He smiled contentedly, leaning in to bite her collarbone, marking it.  His hands ran over her body, alternating between gentle touches and dominating squeezes.

Jungwon: Good girl...  now surrender completely to me.

The night progressed, marked by the sound of bodies colliding, interrupted moans, and obscene whispers.  He explored every part of her, took her in every position he desired, until she was completely exhausted and submissive to him.

When they finally stopped, Y/N was lying against his chest, her body trembling and satisfied.  Jungwon stroked her hair, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Jungwon: Now you know... I am your master.  And you will never be able to dominate me again.

Y/N smiled softly, eyes half-closed.

Y/N: We'll see...

But both knew that, from that night on, the roles had changed forever.

Next week's challenge: Mermaid

✿ If you don't reblog and comment, you can be sure I'll be showing up in your dreams tonight... and I won’t be as sweet as in the story ✿

[hanayori89]

⚔️Knight Shift: BOTW Link x Reader One shot ⚔️

(DISCLAIMER: STRONG SEXUAL CONTENT. MINORS SHOULD NOT INTERACT! NOW GO- SHOO!)

One Knock.

That's all it would take to tell the woman of his dreams how he felt.

Now Link attended this recital every night. He would stride down the steely castle corridors, an expression of duty plastered onto his face, more impenetrable than the very brick that constructed the castle.

But there was one threat that seemed to make his facade of dedication crumble to the ground.

One single, detrimental threat who could unsheathe his smile faster than he could his own sword.

And that was the princess's maid.

Every night shift, he would patrol the castle's halls, always managing to stop in front of her door.

And every night, like clockwork, he would raise his shaking balled fist and let it hover a few centimeters away from the door.

It had become sort of a game. If he listened close enough, he could hear her breaths heavy from exhaustion as she slumbered. He would count each breath, and on the third, he would knock.

Except the third would come and pass.

Then the tenth.

Then the twentieth.

All he needed to do was retract his wrist and let his knuckles gently fall forward against the warped mahogany door.

And yet he never did.

He would lower his hand, and with the swiftest turn of his heel, continue his due diligence of protecting the castle and working his assigned shift. With no other sound besides the tinkling of his armored footsteps and the soft waves of blood lapping into his heart.

                   🗡️              ❤️               🗡️

Now there was one other issue that prevented Link from telling the fair maiden of his darkest desires and feelings.

And that was that he was considered mute.

Well, not actually. He could be very vocal. The princess, of course, knew this. The fact that Link spoke to no one but her created a false sense of intimacy between the two.

But the fact of the matter was, Link took an oath of silence as a knight.

But the princess's maid, never had he met someone who could communicate with his silence. He noticed this the first day he caught sight of her, in the castle's kitchen.

There was a splash of sunlight that came in through the window, causing her h/c tresses to soak up the sun's warmth. The sound of her melodious humming drowned out by her busy wrists and the whisk she held that were scraping against a bowl.

He shouldn't have stood there and watched her like that.

But he was mesmerized.

Entranced.

From the way she bit her bottom lip while she concentrated to the few wisps of hair that fell into her eyes as she sifted flour into a dense batter. And her apron, which flowed around her like a sundress, leaving her frame shrouded in mystery. 

 It was a sight he would never forget, not even if he were to be submerged in the Shrine of Resurrection once again.

But the funny thing was, she knew he was watching. And yet she never inquired as to why nor did she ask that he leave. She would glance upward at him, giving him a bashful curve of her lips. Then turn away and resume working, leaving him there.

Visiting her every day in the kitchen became as routine as standing outside of her door each night. And just like every night shift, he failed to communicate the way she made him feel.

On one particular day, Link walked into the kitchen to see her eating from a plate of nothing more than scraps of starch and meager vegetables.

All the protein piled high on plates for the frontline soldiers and the princess herself.

She quickly put her plate down, choking down the nibble she was working on. She brushed her hands against her apron, quickly retrieving a platter and passing it to Link. "This is what I've made for the princess today. Please, eat. Keep your stamina up so you may protect her."

And she said it with a gracious smile. While she stood in this kitchen alone, feasting on cold, leftover dregs.

It was then that Link saw his opening.

They both shared a sole purpose.

To serve the royal hierarchy.

But tonight, Link vowed to serve something greater.

And that was his carnal desires.

🗡️          ❤️             🗡️

Link left the Hateno bake shop, cradling his cake like a precious satchel of rupees. He carefully flipped open the box's lid, content with the cake's heart shape and soft rose petal pink piping. He shut the lid, satisfied with his purchase, and made his way back to the castle.

It was almost time for another night shift.

But tonight, would be different.

Once the big hand of the clock pointed to midnight, he made haste for the castle's east wing.

One knock.

And this time, he had to do it. Link glanced down at the box he held in his hands, taking a deep breath. He didn't allow himself to ruminate, letting his hand fall forward and his knuckles tap on the outside of her door.

Link knew it was rude to stare, but when she opened the door, her silk night robe tied tightly around her waist, parading sharp curves that her apron usually hid, he felt a giant ball of nerves tangle in his throat.

No wonder she hid, a castaway in the kitchen behind an oversized apron.

A woman like this.

A woman who looked like she had been kissed by a great fairy and emanated such a gilded glow.

A woman who looked more scrumptious than all of the royal confectionaries she baked day in and day out.

She tilted her head, her eyes conveying a mix of timidity and intrigue. "Link?"

She backed away from her door, allowing him to enter. Link glanced around her room; the faint scent of almond oil and musk lingered in the air, and it was clearly from whatever she put on her shimmering skin.

He couldn't recall if he had spoken that day. He cleared his throat, trying to summon his voice.

"For you." He said, reticent as if he were responding to an order from the princess.

She looked taken aback, perhaps more from discovering he could in fact speak. She opened the box, her eyes wide as she marveled at the sugary perfection housed within it.

"A cake? But why?" She sauntered toward her nightstand, setting it down. She turned toward Link, "May I?"

He nodded.

Her hand dipped beneath the lid of the box, her finger swiping across the frosting. Once it was layered with a generous dollop, she let her finger rest against her outstretched tongue. The white cream dissolving against its soft pink coat.

Link shifted uncomfortably where he stood, an erection threatening to make him evacuate.

She closed her eyes, and after a moment of silence, opened them. "Vanilla buttercream. Exquisite."

She sat down on her bed, her hand caressing the empty space beside her in a motion Link knew meant she wanted him to join her.

He also knew he wanted to taste the remnants of that buttercream that glazed her tongue.

"I understand now why you are the appointed knight. You are quite observant. But I wonder, what other things do you observe?

Link walked toward her, gently taking his place next to her on the bed. She spoke again, muffling out the primal energy beginning to communicate in their stead.

"I'll tell you what I observe. I observe... that you're always watching me. Even when you don't think I notice, like when you stand outside my door every night."

His eyes shot open, alarm rising within him. The last thing he wanted was to come off as a creep.

"Why?" He whispered in shock.

She stood, allowing her robe to slide off her body and fall to the floor in a crumpled pile. The chill of the air in the room made her nipples engorge, and goosebumps decorate her flesh.

"You and I are the same. We both are vying to be free. To exist for more than just servitude. But that freedom, I think we can find it in each other."

She hovered above him, letting her breasts tantalize him as they hung tauntingly in his face. And it worked; his hands flew up, grabbing them and capturing one of them in his mouth.

She let out a soft gasp; he released her breast, lifting his head toward hers, claiming her lips and tasting the traces of dissolved sugar on her tongue. His hands continuing to work, kneading her breasts in his palms that way he had studied her kneading dough.

She pulled away, gently falling on her knees, looking up at him with that look of knowing she always possessed when it came to him. Link clumsily stood, pulling his pants down and letting them fall to his ankles.

She took her finger and traced a giant gash on his thigh. Her lips kissing it in adoration. She found then another scar.

And another.

Each scar was dotted with wet kisses, his hard cock pressed against her cheek as she did this.

And this is what drove Link wild. There was no communication beyond shameless probing into each other's eyes and the accelerated pacing of their hearts beating.

She could see his face was tight with need. But Link understood; she had to rush in all areas of her life, with him, in that intimate moment, she wanted to savor.

So, she took her time, her tongue following the outline of every battle scar that laced his legs. Until finally, her hands dug into his thighs as she began to flick the tip of her tongue against his aching hard-on.

He let out a growl, his hand nabbing one of her breasts and squeezing her nipple gently while she continued to let her tongue dance up and down each vein on his member.

The familiar wisps of her hair fell into her eyes as she concentrated on pleasing him. Every single movement her tongue made was artful and calculated.

Until finally she inhaled, suctioning his cock into her mouth. Link jutted his hips forward, beginning to piston them in and out of her warm mouth.

He whimpered.

Then he groaned.

And then, he roared.

His body having been a hostage to the battlefield, a display case of wounds and scars, he had never felt such freedom. And his voice, carefully stowed away unless spoken to, was now free to be known.

A mess of saliva and pre-cum streamed down her chin, pooling between Link's legs and dampening the bed. He couldn't withstand much more; he grabbed her hair and pulled her up, only this time he tasted the sweetness of his own essence, not buttercream, drenched in her mouth.

"Sit down." He ordered. His nails digging into her buttocks as he positioned her to sit on his lap. His cock slid from her wet entrance to her clit, causing her to let out a cry.

When he noticed the way the friction of his cock grinding against her clit made her howl, he continued to guide her up and down against it. She anchored herself, her nails gripping his shoulders as she pleasured herself against him.

He sighed, sliding his fingers into her pussy and pulling out some of her nectar for him to taste.

Much like time behind the castle walls themselves, time seemed to come to a complete stop. Sweat blanketed them both. Hushed moans once again turned into guttural cries. She began to beg for him, and Link would never deprive her of her needs. He guided her, sliding her down onto his thick girth. Shivers danced down his body as he felt her muscles clench around him.

His brain couldn't seem to comprehend any thoughts but wanting to go deeper. A voice that he recognized as his own bellowed expletives of pleasure.

Her name, he said it over and over again, as if he were praying to her. The meaning of servitude was quite lovely when it was you on the receiving end.

But this wasn't about Link; it was about this maiden who awoke so many things within him and his obsession to oblige her the way she obliged others.

"Come. I need you to." His hand cradled her cheek as he searched her eyes.

He gripped her hips, aiding her in her hedonistic indulgence of pleasure. His bicep muscles bulging as he lifted her up and down, then back and forth.

Her orgasm, the feeling of her gushing, she was right. How could something that gripped him and imprisoned him make him feel so free?

As they both finished, a tornado of leg shaking and gut clenching orgasms whipping through them, they both collapsed on the bed. Link looked over; the breaths he once listened to from outside her door now came out in satisfied huffs beside him.

One knock. That's all it took.

And yet he still couldn't resist the urge to count them.

Edited: 1/26/25

[skadee17]

The Wrath of Rome

PART1, PART 2,PART3,PART4

PART5

pairing: Emperor Geta x F!OC x Lucius

summary: Adona, was once promised to Lucius, son of Lucilla. But when Lucius disappeared, presumed dead, Adona’s future was sealed. Forced into a marriage with Emperor Geta to secure her survival, she struggles to find meaning in a world where her own desires and dreams are crushed by Rome’s brutal power. With no family left but Lucilla and Acacius, Adona must navigate the ruthless politics of the empire while facing her uncertain future.

word count: around 4200

warnings/notes: 18+, unprotected sex, domination, first-time, kind of forced sex but not really (at the beginning but turns into concensual) love hate relationship trope, slow burn, angst,mention of child abandonment, mention of death, loss, forced marriage,

The days stretched on, marking the passage of time without ever really dispelling the tension that hung between Adona and Geta. Their initial hostility had transformed into something more complex, more intimate. They continued to clash, through intense glances, words laden with subtext, but now there were silences that spoke louder than their disputes.Their marriage was not one of obvious love, but it had become something else: a fragile balance between distrust and tenderness.The first time Geta stayed until dawn, Adona woke in the warmth of his arms, surprised by the peace she found there. It wasn’t premeditated, nor was it weakness, still less a political manoeuvre. Just a shared weariness, a silent need for comfort in a world where each person had to always be ready to strike first.They never said it aloud. They would never admit it. But some nights, it wasn’t only loneliness they were fighting.Adona, whether she liked it or not, had started to see something else in Geta’s eyes. It was no longer just the gaze of an Emperor watching her with demands or anger. No. There was a tender gleam in his eyes now, a mixture of irritation and concern that didn’t easily fade. Despite everything, Geta seemed more attentive, more human. Adona, for her part, felt herself increasingly entangled in an invisible web she couldn’t untangle.She had never tried to get close to him. She didn’t need to. She knew that the Empire, power, and intrigue were at the heart of his concerns. But with each meeting, each silent conversation where their eyes met, she felt something stronger settling in. A small throb in her chest she didn’t immediately understand. An impulse, an attraction, even though she refused to admit it. She had never thought she could feel that for the man who had given her a crown but also a gilded cage.

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

The Nights When Everything Changes

One evening, after a tense night in the great hall of the palace, a strange silence fell between them. It didn’t have the coldness of other nights, where words were weapons. No, this one was different. It was charged with implicit tension, a kind of unspoken expectation.It was Geta, as always, who broke the silence, his voice low, almost hesitant.— Why are you silent, Adona?She slowly turned her head towards him. Her heart tightened, but she didn’t immediately reply. Her gaze wandered to the shadows dancing on the ceiling, and for the first time in a long time, she surprised herself by wanting to share her thoughts with him. To offer him something more than barbs or defiant gestures. But she also knew it was dangerous to expose her weaknesses.— And you, Geta? she replied softly.He stood up slowly, crossing the room without really knowing where he was going. Then he stopped right in front of her. There was a certain tension in the air, a kind of unease, as if they both were aware of what was happening between them without wanting to admit it. Geta stared at her intensely, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate before asking a question he had never dared to ask.

" Do you hate me, Adona?It wasn’t the question of an Emperor, but of a lost man, seeking an answer to a feeling he dared not understand. She raised her head, her eyes shining with a soft glow, and a barely perceptible smile appeared on her lips.— "No, I don’t hate you, Geta. Not as I would hate an enemy. But sometimes… you are everything I can’t understand.He moved closer to her, one step, two, until he was right beside her. This closeness wasn’t accidental. It was like a kind of silent rapprochement. He stayed there for a moment, observing her face, noting every detail as if trying to unravel a mystery, to understand what lay behind the unspoken words. And Adona, too, found herself staring at him, this time without the hostility she had always felt, but with a deeper curiosity.And then, there was Caracalla.He didn’t interfere between them with hidden intentions. He sought her out for other reasons, finding in her a rare presence, an ear that was neither submissive nor falsely admiring. Adona had never imagined becoming this for him: a confidante, an outlet. And yet, there she was, listening to what few dared to hear.

“You know, Adona, you’ve become much more amusing since your marriage,” he said one evening, lounging casually on the cushions in his chambers, a cup of wine in hand.Geta was there too, sitting beside her, idly playing with a strand of her hair, though his gaze betrayed a certain watchfulness.

“Or perhaps it’s the two of you who’ve become more bearable,” she replied, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Caracalla burst out laughing, a rare, unforced laugh.These moments of lightness were precious. A fragile illusion where the tensions of the Empire seemed distant, where betrayals and intrigues no longer carried weight. Yet, they always came back, like a shadow that relentlessly followed them.On nights when Geta didn’t come, Caracalla sometimes appeared, silently, his gaze lost in the dancing flames of the brazier. He didn’t always speak. Sometimes, he simply sat there, cross-legged on the floor, arms folded across his knees, as though Adona’s mere presence was enough to calm an invisible turmoil.One night, she had watched him longer than usual before breaking the silence

“You’re very quiet tonight.”He shrugged, a fleeting smile brushing his lips.

“You know, there’s something… different about you, these past few months,” he murmured, breaking the silence.

Adona looked up at him, but he didn’t seem to be looking for a response. He seemed more serious, less inclined to play his role as the teasing brother.“Is that bad?” she asked with a lightness that betrayed the underlying intensity of the question.Caracalla shrugged, still caught in his contradictions.“No. But you seem less tired. Less… trapped.”She smiled gently. He had never been wrong.In this world, where everything was power, suspicion, and pretense, she had understood one thing: it wasn’t her status as Empress that made her important in their eyes. It wasn’t even her beauty, although neither Geta nor Caracalla were indifferent to it.It was something else.She had become an anchor in their respective storms. And perhaps she too found something in them that she couldn’t name.But Rome was not a city that allowed for softness.

_____________________________________

Reunions and Memories

The sun was still low on the horizon when Adona quietly entered Lucilla’s chambers. The scent of lavender and wax lingered in the air, filling the room with a familiar warmth. Lucilla, sitting by a small table, looked up as she heard Adona’s soft footsteps. For a moment, her face relaxed, but the worried gleam she had carried since Adona became Empress didn’t completely fade.

“You’ve come early,” Lucilla murmured, gesturing for Adona to sit.Adona closed the door behind her and sat down across from her friend. A silence stretched between them, peaceful but heavy with unspoken thoughts.Then Adona exhaled gently, her fingers brushing the rim of a cup of herbal tea that Lucilla had just handed her.

“It’s today.”Lucilla didn’t ask any questions. She didn’t need to. She knew exactly what Adona was referring to.Lucius.Today would have been his birthday.Lucilla looked away, her hands tightening on the fabric of her dress. She had never forgotten, and she knew Adona hadn’t either.Lucilla turned her gaze to the city awakening outside the window. She hadn’t forgotten. She would never forget. A faint, almost imperceptible laugh escaped her, trembling under the weight of nostalgia.

“I remember…” she said softly, her eyes lost in a long-gone past.Adona looked up at her.

“Of what?”Lucilla smiled tenderly, as though, for a moment, she was reliving those carefree days.

“Of the way he followed you everywhere.”Adona lowered her head slightly, a sad smile forming on her lips.

“He never wanted to leave me alone…”Lucilla nodded.

“I remember the two of you in the gardens. He always wanted to play with you, challenge you in races or imaginary duels. He said no one could catch him, and yet, you always did.”Adona let out a soft laugh.“I pretended to chase him slowly, so he’d think he could outrun me. But in the end, I always caught him. He laughed so much…”Lucilla placed a hand on her arm.“He adored you, Adona.”A silence settled between them, heavier this time.Then Lucilla spoke again, a tender smile at the corner of her lips:

“Do you remember what he used to say?”Adona looked up, intrigued.Lucilla let out a small laugh.

“He used to say he’d marry you one day.”Adona blinked, surprised by this buried memory

.“Oh…”Lucilla nodded.“He was convinced you would be husband and wife. He said you were the most beautiful, the strongest. He often came to ask me if you would accept.”Adona felt her heart tighten.

“And what did you tell him?”Lucilla smiled gently.“That you were far too stubborn to accept a proposal so soon. And that made him laugh, because he said he would convince you one day.”A silence fell. But this time, it was filled with a soft, poignant warmth.Adona took a deep breath.“We were so young… so innocent.”Lucilla nodded.

“Yes. And he loved you.”Adona fixed her gaze on an invisible point on the table.

“I loved him too.”

She had never known how much she would miss these memories. But today, in this moment, she allowed Lucius’s memory to fill her, unrestrained.Lucilla placed her hand over hers, a silent gesture of comfort.

“He would have wanted you to be happy.”Adona closed her eyes. Happy. She didn’t know if she could be truly happy. But she knew Lucius still lived, somewhere inside her.And today, she wanted to honour his memory.Lucilla squeezed her hand a little tighter.

“Will you stay long?” she asked softly.Adona looked up, and this time, a different light shone in her eyes.

“Not long enough.”But today, for the first time, she wasn’t running from her past.She was embracing it.She rested her head against Lucilla’s lap, and the two women gazed at the sky.

_____________________________________

The Return of Acacius

The air burned with excitement and golden dust under the blazing Roman sun. The streets were packed with people, the rooftops covered in citizens eager to catch a glimpse of the returning victorious general. Flower petals swirled in the wind, spreading a sweet fragrance that mixed with the summer heat."Acacius! Acacius! Acacius!"But soon, another name joined his, shouted with equal fervor, vibrating the air between the marble columns of the palace."Adona! Adona! Our Empress!"On the steps of the imperial palace, Geta and Caracalla observed the scene in silence, standing stiffly, their only expression a subtle appreciation of the spectacle. But between them, Adona felt her heart beat differently.She was no longer just an imperial wife, a silent woman trapped in a gilded cage. Since her marriage, she had conquered Rome in a completely different way. She had listened to the people when others had paid only distracted attention. She had descended from the steps of power to hear the complaints of the citizens, to visit the poorest districts, to ensure that the Empire would not forget those who were its foundation.And today, Rome was not forgetting her.Draped in a white toga embroidered with golden threads, her diadem gleaming like a star under the sun, she watched the procession slowly advance. But her gaze sought only one figure.And then, finally, she saw him.

Acacius.

Tall and imposing, his armor marked with the victories of Namibia, the dust of his journey still clinging to his boots. His face bore the marks of exhaustion, but also of quiet satisfaction. He had returned.And as soon as he met her gaze, he knew.Without hesitation, Adona left her place between Geta and Caracalla.The movement did not go unnoticed. Whispers immediately spread among the senators and nobles assembled. It was rare—unthinkable, even—that an Empress would be the first to greet a general returning from a campaign.But she didn’t care.She descended the steps slowly, letting her toga flow over the marble like a stream of light. The crowd held its breath when she stopped in front of Acacius.He didn’t move, scrutinizing her with his piercing gaze, as if ensuring she was real, that she wasn’t just an illusion born from fatigue.—

You’ve finally returned, she whispered.A tired, sincere smile spread across Acacius’ lips.—

And you’ve become the ruler Rome was waiting for.The words struck her more than she had expected. They carried the weight of years, of trials, of absence.

_______________________________________

The smell of dust and sweat hung in the heavy air, mixed with the roar of the impatient crowd. The people had gathered within the Colosseum, shouting cheers that reverberated against the marble walls. Adona, silent, watched the scene with apparent calm. Beside her, the two emperors sat, their imposing presence, their gazes piercing the crowd with authority. Geta on one side, his gaze as cold as stone, and Caracalla, ever effervescent, seemed to devour the entire spectacle with his eyes.Adona stood between them, the gladiators waiting in the wings, ready to enter the arena. The tension in the air was palpable, but Adona paid no attention to the sounds around her. She knew it was all just entertainment for the people. What troubled her was the fact that her thoughts wandered back to the past, to the memories of games long gone, to the time when she was a child and Lucius’ laughter still illuminated her life.On the other side of the arena, Hanno stood, ready to enter, the gladiators lined up behind him. He looked through the large door that separated the wings from the arena, observing the spectacle before the fight began. His gaze first fell upon Lucilla, his mother, whom he recognised instantly, but before he could turn away, something caught his attention.A figure stood out among the imperial box.

Adona.

Her gaze, precise and deep, seemed to pierce the space between them, catching him in its breath. Hanno stood frozen, as if hypnotised. He looked at her, dazzled by her beauty, as if he knew her, as if a part of him had always been waiting for her. Her eyes, a captivating blue, locked with his, filled with emotions he couldn’t understand, a reflection of something lost, something past, yet deeply present. When the gladiators emerged, Adona’s heart raced. A gladiator named Hanno was staring at her. Those eyes... They reminded her of a distant memory, almost erased. A memory of Lucius. The deep blue, almost identical to the colour of her lost love. Her breath caught for a moment, a feeling of dizziness swept through her. It was as if fate were confronting her with something unresolved, with a page of the past she had never been able to close.Time seemed to stop, but the noise of the crowds around them suddenly snapped her back to reality. The arena gates slammed shut with a deafening noise, marking the beginning of the games. The gladiators, one by one, rushed into the arena under the crowd’s cheers. Hanno turned on his heel and moved away, preparing to enter the circle of violence.A deep roar was heard as the scene took a more dramatic turn. One of the gladiators, armed with sword and shield, had to face a soldier in armour, riding a huge rhinoceros. The animal, massive and powerful, bellowed frighteningly. Its thick hide and imposing stature made the fight even more perilous.

The noise of the combat, the hooves striking the ground and the clash of weapons, now resounded through the arena. The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering for the gladiators, while Adona and Hanno’s eyes met once again, just before the chaos unfolded.Adona felt a strange disturbance inside her, as if the sight of Hanno, and this resemblance to Lucius, had awakened something ancient, a pain she thought she had forgotten, but which resurfaced in a new form.The battle raged on in the arena. The gladiators fought with impressive brutality, but the eyes of the spectators, including Adona’s, were fixed on Hanno. He fought with a cold ease, his movements precise, calculated, almost as though he knew every part of the human body, every vulnerable point. But it wasn’t this that caught the crowd’s attention. It was a gesture of his, a gesture that evoked the memory of another, a legendary gladiator—Maximus.As the rhinoceros leapt, its broken horns charging towards him, Hanno didn’t attempt to defend in the usual way. He drove his sword into the sand of the arena, a swift movement but one filled with an indescribable determination. With a sharp motion, he let his gaze fall to the ground, and in one fluid movement, he grabbed a handful of burning sand, cold beneath his fingers but symbolic of the moment. The crowd fell silent, curious, a palpable tension in the air. Adona turned slightly towards Lucilla, she knew of only one person who had made that gesture—Maximus. Her stomach twisted at the thought that this “Hanno” might actually be someone she had known well.

He raised his hand, and in a theatrical yet controlled movement, he threw the sand into the air, as if using it to veil his figure. The grains lifted in a mist that seemed almost magical, forming a cloud of dust that filled the arena in an instant. In this sudden smoke, Hanno blended in, almost disappearing from the view of the crowd and the soldier on the rhinoceros. The rhinoceros charged at Hanno, but he stepped aside at the last moment, and the animal collided with the Colosseum wall, leaving all the spectators stunned and shocked.Adona, a shiver running through her body, let out an involuntary gasp of fear, her gaze fixed on the scene. The tension was palpable, and the situation was taking a turn no one could have anticipated. Caracalla and Geta, their eyes scanning intently, both hurried to the front of the box to observe the fight up close. The gladiators continued to move with speed and precision, but the majesty of the rhinoceros, now disoriented and enraged, added an air of uncertainty.Meanwhile, Adona’s eyes never left Hanno, and her heart raced faster than ever. There was an intensity in his movements, a determination in the way he defended himself that felt familiar. A chill of recognition washed over her as memories of Lucius resurfaced, but she shook her head, trying to push those thoughts away. Hanno was not Lucius, and yet, a strange connection seemed to form between them in this moment of action.

“Could it be the poet from the other night, my brother?” Geta asked suddenly, his eyes focused on Hanno’s agility.Caracalla, arms crossed, turned to him with a cryptic smile, though his gaze was still filled with curiosity.

“I don’t remember, that night is very vague,” Caracalla replied, sitting back down, a faint laugh in his voice despite the palpable tension in the arena.Adona turned her gaze towards him, not immediately understanding what they were talking about. She had heard this conversation before, but it seemed so distant from the present moment, so unclear.

“The poet?” she asked, intrigued.Geta, still focused on the action, slowly recited the words he seemed to have memorised.

“The gates of hell are open, night and day, smooth is the descent...” He paused for a moment, as if trying to recall the rest of the phrase, before continuing in a more solemn tone. “I’ve forgotten... swift is the descent...”Lucilla, silent up until then, spoke in a low, almost melancholic voice, repeating her husband’s words.

“Smooth is the descent, easy is the way...”

The words echoed in the air, like an incantation from another time, a murmur of the past that seemed as elusive as mist. But in the arena, the fight continued to rage. Hanno, having dodged the rhinoceros, now faced the soldier with formidable vigour. His movements were of surgical precision, each one more assured than the last. The spectators were hanging on the outcome of this battle.Adona, growing discomfort in her chest, briefly turned her eyes away. The repetition of the poem she had heard the night before, between dreams and reality, resonated within her with strange force. This link between Hanno and the poem troubled her deeply, as did the intensity of the fight.When Hanno was knocked to the ground by the soldier, a heavy silence fell over the arena. The crowd, hanging on every movement, awaited the decision, the crucial moment that would determine the gladiator’s life or death. The cheers began, but they were tinged with hesitation, as if the people themselves could feel the tension in the air.Adona, sitting between the two emperors, couldn’t take her eyes off the young gladiator. A cold shiver ran through her as she watched Hanno, lying on the ground, covered in blood, yet still ready to rise. Her heart pounded in her chest, but it wasn’t just the violence of the fight that affected her. No, it was something else, a strange feeling twisting her insides.

She found herself searching for signs, for clues, for fragments of a bygone era. Hanno’s eyes, deep and piercing, seemed familiar, almost frightening in their intensity. Something about his gaze unsettled her, a pain she thought she recognised, a memory she couldn’t quite grasp. She didn’t dare believe it, but a twisted thought slowly made its way into her mind. What if this man... this man was the same as Lucius?Her hands gripped the armrests of her seat, and a growing discomfort took hold of her. She turned her eyes away, but the sensation persisted, more insistent, like an unspoken truth. It wasn’t the first time she’d encountered such eyes, but this gaze... This gaze was no longer Lucius’ gaze. It was impossible. Lucius was dead, buried beneath the dust of Rome. And yet...Geta, watching the scene closely, noticed the change in Adona’s behaviour. He had seen that glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes, that fragility she tried to hide. He didn’t understand what troubled her, but he sensed something was wrong. An unease that had been present since the fight began.

“Adona... life or death?” Geta asked, his voice sharp, yet tinged with an almost imperceptible curiosity.She hesitated for only a moment. Her thoughts were in turmoil, but the decision was clear. Even amidst the horror of these blood games, she wasn’t ready to turn her back on this gladiator’s humanity, on what he represented. Perhaps he had made a choice in coming here, perhaps he had accepted his fate, but she couldn’t condone death without thought.“Life,” she answered, her voice lower than she would have liked, a shiver of anxiety accompanying her words.

Geta, with a swift gesture, gave a thumbs-up, his sly smile stretching his lips. The crowd erupted in joy, cheering the decision. But Hanno, teeth clenched, fury in his eyes, did not accept the mercy.“No mercy!” he shouted, his voice broken by pain and pride.Geta looked at him, amused by the gladiator’s resistance, but he didn’t lose his composure. “Your life has been spared by the gods,” he replied with a mocking tone.“Rather face the blade of your sword than accept that a Roman spares me!” Hanno spat, a challenge thrown, a glimmer of heroism igniting in his eyes.The silence fell for a moment, suspended by these words. Then, in a movement as swift as it was fatal, Hanno rose and, in a final act of bravery, drove his sword into his opponent’s body. The head rolled in the sand, splattering the arena with warm blood that shimmered under the scorching sun.The crowd, after a brief moment of stunned silence, erupted in cries of admiration. “Alive, alive!” they chanted, as if Hanno had become their hero, a champion in this macabre dance of survival. Adona, however, still couldn’t tear her eyes away from the young gladiator, a feeling of unease overwhelming her.But that wasn’t all. It wasn’t just Hanno’s heroism that disturbed her, but the way he looked at her, an intensity in his gaze that suggested things she wasn’t ready to hear. It was a gaze that Geta immediately noticed. He turned his eyes towards Adona, observing the silent exchange, and the agitation that had taken hold of her.

Without a word, Geta made a subtle gesture, his gaze sliding towards Caracalla. The latter, indifferent to the scene, seemed more interested in the spectacle than in the dynamic between the two protagonists. But Geta, more observant, felt that something was happening that he couldn’t quite grasp. Why did this gladiator seem to look at Adona with such intensity? Why had such unease settled between them, as though a secret was buried beneath the sands of the arena?The crowd, however, knew nothing of this. They saw only the heroic gladiator, the struggle of the gladiator against death, and the cheers of a people ready to venerate their new champion.

[12th-shavie]

[100 hours in]

Up next, the long-awaited follow-up to Osvald and Partitio's crossed path ! I was really looking forward to this one

Coffee, huh... of course that would be their stances on coffee, I can't imagine Partitio drinking it too bitter, that sweetie

Aww they're using the coffee bit when threatening thugs ! They're such good buddies

And now they're keeping it going as they threaten the loan shark before mugging him, how adorable~

Partitio, my boy, do you not know of the Moon ???

And here comes the ominous night-time that shouldn't possibly be... and the end of the quest. Obviously. I can't get to the juicy bits just yet I guess

Oh well, that's just more of a reason to move on the chapter I kept as the last one : Temenos' fourth (I hope he kicks the evil god's ass or gets closer to doing so)

Oh we doing genocide flashbacks now ? Okay...

Ort I mean to put this in the nicest way possible but maybe you should've doubted your boss before she reached the spooky cave and started being nefarious about it

Kaldena has the same kind of shadow energy as Harvey... evil.

But her boss sprite ? Oh her boss sprite is looking fine~

And it even gets better... Kaldena of the Night is a banger design (the sprite work in this game gets me every time)

That fight was over quickly... but that's just the Osvald nuke setup for ya, he's allowed all the spotlight he wants <3

The end artwork is in front of Crick's grave... T^T (Temenos looks incredibly baby on it tho)

I found and did Ort's next chapter pretty quickly after that and the bit about the lost hair ornament bugs me so much, wasn't Mindt just shown to have lost hers ?? How involved is she actually ? And why do I not get any extra info about anything extra suspicious lately...

Oh well, fine, game, Laila's next chapter it is then

Hermes sure loves her fishies, but I wish she would've just kicked this guy's ass then and there... a girl can dream

As for Veronica's next chapter, I found the right npc at last after trying my luck with every Dolcinaea-related location (it didn't really take all that long)

I can still see the scene after that and picture the metaphorical game looking me in the eye telling me Veronica and Dolcinaea should kiss (screenshots were taken)

Anyway, time for the Throné and Temenos follow-up !

That's looking like a new murder myster- oh Alpates is the victim, so much for asking her about last time

I love how Temenos won't knock the guard out himself but completely endorse Throné doing it (and stealing from dead bodies but that's the gameplay integration for ya)

Onward to the mysterious cave of time shenanigans !

Oh shit is getting real detective mode is back ON !!

I love how Throné casually welcomes Temenos back from detective mode, she's so chill about it

So the treasure is the full mirror... and something about those who hope for the dawn... what were you hiding Alpates...

And that's the ominous cutoff point, obviously

Guess I'll try and finish every last side story before seeing what that "Extra story" is all about, it sounds like a grand finale to me

I found a next chapter for Shirlutto, who I definitely hadn't completely forgot the name of, and he wanted a bunch of stuff I had from my inventory (because I am a nosy player who can and will investigate everything !)

Oh that was the story for the guard in Lostseed !

And that's baby's first desire for revenge, I guess ?

Not gonna lie, that wasn't my favourite quest, the beastling speech patterns got to me pretty quick and they're not my jam

Alpione's next chapter had a fun twist on the hunter premise, she got to do something good for the creature this time around

For Mikka's next chapter, let me see... we have more Benkei being here and a good bean, and Mikka and Pala flirting. A lot. I can almost hear the metaphorical game breathing down my neck and whispering "gay gay homosexual gay" and yuri-ing away or something

Since I was around, I also got to finishing the tower (I had found and started it previously, up to the third floor) thanks to the wondrous Osvald nuke team

And lo and behold ! A final support class ! I first gave it to Partitio since I had him on hand and he had the JP for those juicy support skills (in this household we love a Partitio with plenty of SP and skills that half its consumption are good) but then decided to give it to Castti to consolidate her supporting capabilities (and she looks cute in it) (and I really like cleric Partitio as a versatile support that can heal a solid amount)

While going about my sidequest log I got back to the one for stage actors in Tropu'hopu and coerced the guy to see if I got more info on what he wanted, and let's just say that "Temenos the Diviner" entertained me a fair bit

But since I had a save right before it and Osvald to try and mug the guy, I reloaded the save and let's just say that I didn't know I needed "Osvald the Thieving Gentlemage" until it was right before me

I'm curious as to what skits happen for Hikari and Ochette, but I think I'll look that up eventually, as a treat

And with that, my quest backlog was done... except for a teeny tiny insignificant one in the spooky island with the gates to a cryptic name and the (dying ? or just in really bad shape ?) guy who wanted to translate the book "From the Far Reaches of Hell", so definitely nothing important that I should devote lots of attention to...

Instead I scavenged for more cleric, scholar and apothecary licenses and I'm not afraid to say that the manor ruins being completely silent started stressing me out at some point while hunting for the big deers

And with the 100-hours mark approaching, I knew what I wanted to do : prepare my endgame teams for the true final stretch !

After lots of thinking on synergies and break coverage, I decided on splitting up the party with thief Agnea, cleric Partitio, conjurer Castti and arcanist Osvald for the magical nuke setup with good physical damage from Agnea on top, and inventor Ochette, merchant Throné, scholar Temenos and armsmaster Hikari for a more physically-oriented team with disguised Throné to double up on scholars if need be and extra versatility out of the learned skills/monsters

I got through a lot of equipment management to come up with builds I liked but I am pretty proud of myself for coming up with these

Of course, this has nothing to do with the sidequest boss from hell that requires to split the travelers in two teams and certainly not the fact that it wiped the floor with me when I showed up unprepared

Anyway, up next should be the final chapter, although I don't know what to expect !

Octopath Traveler II delayed playthrough blogging

[10 hours in]

Contains light spoilers of some early chapters I guess

I started the journey with Agnea because she looked like a sweetie (and she is) and she really has the most jrpg "leave of this small village to see the big wide world to make your dream come true" beginning

I got her to allure a villager that replenishes SP with every dancer skill she uses and she's been the cornerstone to most battles ever since

The second traveler I got was Partitio and he's a funny lad, I love his vibe, hat, jacket, and speech ! Also, the atmosphere of his storyline was a nice dramatic change of pace after the cozy first one I got

I headcanon that Roque's betrayal was in fact very much a divorce with Partitio's dad and I cannot wait to see how that applies to future chapters (I do hope it ages like fine wine rather than milk)

Partitio's combat performance was pretty solid despite a lack of AoE but the weapon variety for breaking was the early highlight

I ignored the fork in the road that lead to Hikari in favor of recruiting Castti because I wanted a healer and I feel slightly guilty (but also not at all)

Castti is literally so nice to people I can't wait to see if she really has an extremely shady past that will torment her for at least 1 chapter before she decides that she's going to be a good noddle in spite of all

Her concocting is pretty fun but I wish I had more diffusing serum (I can make do with latent power for now but it'd more fun to let her do some fun nuking)

Castti is also extremely tanky (she's the only one I have with over 1k HP so far) so she was a very welcome addition to the party

The next step in the journey was recruiting Osvald (I wanted to start with him but the 2 forced chapters made me decide to instead make him the reward for reaching the eastern continent) after I ignored the boat that lead to Ochette and wandered around until I stumbled upon a boat that lead really close to Osvald on the map and eventually found him face-down in the snow (which makes my decision to no start with him even better)

His first two chapters cemented him as one of my favorites beyond the visual vibes I got from the first selecting menu, and his skillset was a cherry on top

AoE magic nuking when I already have some buffing and BP donating in my party ? I'm sold. Free weakpoint reveals every battle ? Even better ! Osvaldo battle voicelines ? Yes please !

After that I found the scholar license and decided that Agnea should also learn to buff spell intensity to make my Osvaldo nuking engine even stronger (she's been doing great and I'm very proud of her)

Since it was on the way to Agnea's second chapter for which she was at the recommended level, I went on to recruit Temenos and he did not disappoint ! He really gave me an impression of being a seemingly upstanding fellow who is in fact not only shady but just the right blend of ambiguous tease with genuine words thrown in (props to his voice acting that really sells it)

His detective moment was also pretty cool, especially after seeing the duality of his abilities to get people to follow him without risk of failure and his (very shady) coercing to get more intel

I considered replacing Castti with him as my party healer but he is very squishy compared to her, and she also has weapon diversity and more consistent debuffing over him so for the time being he's just chilling at the tavern waiting for a party composition that makes him shine

On my way to the big city I found the inventor license and could simply not resist giving it to Partitio it simply fit him too well (and more weapons to break with is very nice), although I'm thinking of changing it later to try a Temenos build that would allow him to break even more and coerce better

Now onto the big city to recruit Throné and let Agnea's story unfold further !

[wildsaltair]

goodnight everyone I am traveling to the secret gardens in my mind where Maximus is alive and in love with me

[teethbomb]

mob psycho(logical horror) 100

[asleepinawell]

oh boy! just what I always wanted!