#''in my darkest hour i found my way back to God''

[etruatcaelum]

send GRIEVED for a scene from my muse's past in which they had recently lost someone / something [ polendina ]

Pietro can't remember the last time he made penance. The regular attendance prescribed by his parents had dwindled when he took up residence at Ginnungagap to just the four appointed days throughout the year; some time after his graduation, he had stopped going at all, while his faith withered.

He'd forgotten… many things.

Shuffling now like an old man into the nave, Pietro unearths a newfound reverence for the simple grandeur of it all. The arcade pillars dripping with alabaster statuary and gold inlay, each depicting a face of the Radiant One: the wild Dawn-Dragon roaring with the sun in His claws, the Golden Monarch seated upon His fiery throne, the lambent antlers of the Midsummer Stag piercing the flank of the Night-Wolf; small marble figures of man and faunus alike kneel in prayer about the base of every tableaux, framed by trellises of painted marble scrolls.

Beneath his feet, the starry, midnight-blue parquet of the narthex flushes the colors of sunrise—red, pink, gold—and brightens toward cerulean where it meets the gilded arches of the solar tree.

Father Areg has grown older, his face deeply lined, the thick salt-and-pepper of Pietro's memory faded to soft white wisps of candy-floss; but he putters back and forth beneath the golden boughs just as he did when Pietro was a young boy, and his smile still puts starlight in his watery blue eyes.

"Pietro?" he says in his startling bass, roughened by the passage of years but otherwise unchanged. "Why, hello—I did not expect–" He catches himself, and his tone gentles. "How can I help you, my boy?"

"Father." The word crackles in his throat; Pietro swallows thickly, and the priest's warm smile becomes a look of piercing concern. "I–"

Long neglect binds his tongue and makes his fingers clumsy. The cane he clutches with his left hand, slick with sweat, obliges him to draw the coronal sign before himself half-circle, and shame burns in him like bile. Head bowed, voice hoarse, Pietro whispers, "I have come to make a penance, Father."

Father Areg murmurs something he doesn't catch through the ringing in his ears, but Pietro feels the weight of a gnarled hand upon his arm and follows, guided by the priest and old habit alike to the low, cushioned bench at the fore of the nave-aisle.

Kneeling causes a terrible pain to rise from the middle of his thigh in bright, fiery arcs to the small of his back. Pietro grits his teeth, and grips his cane, and though he trembles, he does not cry out, nor collapse.

"When you're ready," Father Areg says kindly, laying a hand on his shoulder, and then, "Lament of your sin, for it assails the spirit; it has taken you from the living waters of the Light our God. Therefore weep, my child; let flow the tears of sorrow to make ready your parched soul for His renewal."

Pietro closes his eyes, exhaling. These are old words, comfortingly familiar, and greater than the pain clawing through his body.

He had retrieved his old prayer book from its shoebox at the top of his closet yesterday morning, to study and prepare, and yet he thinks now that even had he not done so, the proper beginning would have come to him, as natural as his own breath: "I regret," Pietro says, "my sins, voluntary and involuntary, knowing and ignorant, great and small, committed by word and deed, in thought or intention, whether in light or in shadow, every hour and minute of my life. I weep over my lack of faith, my doubting, my cynicism, my pride, my indifference…"

It has been many years. His recitation needs must be long, though no one human could give a truly thorough accounting of every sin committed in so long a span. The pain turns like a screw, ever tighter and deeper while Pietro offers the story of his failings: the impatient arrogance which had first led him astray, the commitment to his studies that eclipsed faith and became idolatrous; the accumulated shames of a thousand thoughtless things he's said, of callous moments when he might have been kind, of greed, of ungenerous deeds, of taking for granted the riches he has.

Pietro is not a bad man. He hopes that in the course of his life, he has helped more than he has harmed; always, he has strived to make this world a better one than he found it.

"…but for this, too, I weep, for I have so often committed the sin of self-judgment, placing myself in arrogance before the Light, my Judge, and in deeming myself good I turned away from His wisdom and became blind to my faults and my failures…"

Tears drip down his face; from pain, and from the relief of this unburdening. Once or twice he's obliged to pause in his recitation to wipe his face with his sleeve, and about halfway through he can take the agony of kneeling no longer and admits, voice breaking: "I—Father, I am sorry, I think I must—sit, instead."

"Our bodies break and fail us," Father Areg murmurs with a sad, gentle humor. "It is the nature of mankind to be touched by destruction, and no sin to act in accordance with the limitations of our flesh." He pauses, and while he helps Pietro assume a less painful position on the bench, he adds quietly, "Though it can be a sin of falsehood if we deny such limits, to ourselves or to others."

"Right," Pietro says, and gives a bleak sort of chuckle. "I fear that is a sin I have committed every day for quite… quite some time."

Father Areg squeezes his shoulder, silent, and Pietro takes another moment to compose himself before he resumes speaking.

How long it is, he cannot guess, but he is aware of others coming in and out of the church: of a youthful acolyte sweeping the opposite nave-aisle, of a woman who enters from the narthex on tip-toe to whisper a midday intercession before the icon of Saint Osgyth, of the deacon singing a hymn while he goes about lighting the candle-leaves of the solar tree. In his youth, Pietro remembers feeling embarrassed to make penance within hearings of others, but it comforts him now; he is not alone.

When at last the well of his preparation runs dry and he lapses into troubled silence, Father Areg murmurs, "Is that the end of it?"

"No, Father," Pietro says quietly. "There is—one thing more, which burdens my heart most of all. I am… ashamed." He takes a deep breath. "My colleague, Arthur Watts– he—sometimes, he is difficult, but he is my friend, and he– when the rebels took Fort Shiro, he saved my life. I have been… most ungrateful to him; no doctor in the world could have done better, under such circumstances, and yet I begrudged him—held it against him that I will suffer the rest of my life in an imperfectly healed body. It is because of him that I can still walk at all, but it hurts, and I have held hatred in my heart for him as if he were my tormentor."

Swallowing thickly, Pietro stops again to cover his eyes. Arthur is a prouder man than even he, and a man of high, barbed walls who might almost rather die than reveal a shred of vulnerability to anyone: difficult is a generous word. But three days ago, the hurt that wrenched across his face when Pietro snapped that Arthur would have done better for him by leaving him to die had been impossible to mistake, no matter how swiftly the man buried it behind caustic outrage; and far more than his own misery, it is that which woke Pietro to what he has become, is becoming.

"…I do not," Pietro croaks, "wish to be—this, this… bitter, angry man. Thus I have sinned. Have mercy upon me, O God, forgive me and calm my heart; accept, O Maker of All, my repentance, that I might approach thy sacred teachings in the spirit of your mercy. I pray now for the remission of my sins and correction of my soul. I pray thee, bring down the barriers of my heart and humble me, that I might make amends with those whom I have hurt, and the ones I have made to stumble. To thy everlasting Light I commend my mortal life. Amen."

He feels lighter at once, as if flushed of all the grime and cobwebs of these long years, and it is a relief to bow his head in solemn silence while Father Areg prays over him to complete his penance. In a few moments, when the rite has ended, they may speak more of his ugly quarrel with Arthur, of his brokenness, of his pain; Pietro trusts the priest will offer him sound advice, though he suspects some will be a little singeing to hear.

For now, though, he breathes, and the tears on his face are tears of simple relief.

[coryosbaby]

Mascara || T. Riddle

Fandom: ‘Harry Potter’

Pairing: Young! Tom Riddle x fem! Ravenclaw! Reader

｡.｡ ♡ Content warning . Public sex, praise & degradation, cum play, sub! Reader, dom! Tom

Notes: set in modern day Hogwarts. I never thought i’d want to fuck Voldemort but here we are.

Your feet patter softly against the tile floors of Hogwarts, a book clutched tightly in your arms as you make your way towards the school’s library. It’s a rainy night, incredibly quiet and empty. The other students are at dinner, and you’ve decided to skip out to study for your OWLs. When you open the big wooden doors to the library, the smell of printed ink and old pages invites you further in.

The first thing you notice, when you close the doors behind you and take sight of the room, is that the librarian, Madam Pince, is no where to be found. She must be on her break.

The second thing you notice is the boy sitting in the darkest corner of the room.

You know of the familiar brunette— of course you do. Who wouldn’t? Tom Riddle is a popular slytherin well known for his cunningness, his intelligence, his ability to speak native tongues— and sometimes, his temper. A ravenclaw yourself, you try to steer clear of him. Slytherins usually don’t take politely to anyone outside of their house. Not to mention the fact that you scored the top of your class, with him coming in close second. You suspect that he hates you for that.

He catches your gaze, brown eyes with the resemblance of a serpent. He looks back down at his book, seeming bored.

You let out a breath of air.

You slide your book into the return bin, timidly moving to the shelf about Potions. Snape has been really hassling you lately on your grades, and you really need to turn your B+ into a perfect A. Your fingertips skim over the leathered binds, reading title after title. A voice behind you makes you jump.

“If you’re studying for Snape’s final, I’d recommend ��Advanced Potion Making’. It will tell you all you need to know.”

His voice is an angelic lilt, though you know that is not in any way what he resembles. The fact that he’s helping you stumps you into utter confusion, and heat creeps up your neck. You nod to him as you begin searching for the book.

To no avail. Your eyes search every bind, every word, but your focus has been diluted because of Tom speaking to you. He sighs, almost annoyed.

He appears beside you, much to your surprise. You nervously bite your lip as he finds the exact book he recommended and pushes it into your hands.

“Chapter nine. I would’ve thought a girl of your ranking in our class would know this already.”

Your brows furrow, embarrassment coursing through you as he sits back down and resumes his tasks. You nervously fumble with the book.

“Thank you.” You reply, because you had been taught proper manners. He scoffs, flicking through the pages of his book. You can’t read the title, though the cover is quite off put ish and dark. Perhaps he had snuck into the restricted section.

“Don’t.”

You frown, though your mind is peaking with curiosity. He seems rude, but he was trying to help you. Maybe there’s something nice under there, after all. Your body is stiff as you sit across from him at the table, silently pleading to God that the boy across from you won’t put a nasty hex on you.

“You don’t have to be rude, you know.”

It slips out of your lips, quiet and unsure. Tom’s eyes narrow at you.

“And as well as that, you don’t have to sit across from me.”

“Perhaps I want to. Perhaps you need a friend.”

“A friend?” He chuckles dryly, his gaze travelling down to your robes. You try to ignore the heat creeping between your legs. “We aren’t going to be friends.”

His insinuation is thick, dangerous. Your heart pounds out of your chest at this unexpected turn of your study hour. You gulp, looking down at the pages.

“Very well then. But since I’ve already sat down, I might as well continue my book here.”

“Or we could continue this conversation in my dorm room.”

He says it smoothly, with no fear or utmost insecurity.

“What?” You blanch, stuttering on your syllables. Tom smirks.

“A smart girl like you, and you can’t even comprehend a single sentence,” he says, his body beginning to move out of his chair. “‘S pathetic, really…”

You breath hitches as his tall form towers over you. Your fingertips grasp the sides of your chair as he leans in close.

“Tom,” you start, warningly. He quirks a brow.

“No?” He questions, and then after a moment, staring into your doe eyes, it dawns on him. His mouth forms into a grin. “Oh, you want it here, don’t you? You want it right here.”

His lips brush just inches over your pouty lips, and you wonder how in the hell you got into this situation and why this slytherin boy is making such a sudden move on you. But knowing Tom, it’s probably out of boredom. Out of the desire for a hook up.

You don’t mind it. Not really, not anymore, because all your protests are ripped away from you when he presses his lips to yours. It’s not tender or sweet, it’s full of sharp teeth and unfiltered lust. His hands rest on your chin, gripping your head so you can’t escape his kiss— can’t escape him.

Your tongue is about to graze his lips when he pulls away. His fingers grasp your shoulder and pull you up to your feet. You stumble, your legs shaky from just a couple of kisses. You gasp when he spins you around and presses your face against one of the nearest bookshelves. His big hands wrap around your wrists and hold them behind your back.

“I don’t want to hear any complaints from you. Do you understand me?” He whispers, his hands reaching down to lift up your robes. “If I do, I’ll leave you here drenched, your clothes gone, with your holes freshly fucked and on display for the entire school to see. Do you understand me?”

You nod instantly. You know that these aren’t empty threats; when Tom says he’s going to do something, he’ll do it.

When he pulls up your robes, taking in the sight of your pretty pink thong, he lets out a sharp breath.

“Prepared, weren’t you?”

You let out a whine, knowing that no, this wasn’t intentional. Tom just caught you on a specific type of day. But looking on it now, maybe the universe was being in your favor when you decided to pick out the flimsy undergarment.

Tom slips the hem of your robes into your hands.

“Hold it.” He commands, and you’re quick to comply.

His hardness presses against you, clothed still but his robes are lifted so he can rut against you in his briefs. It isn’t long before he’s pulling them down past his thighs, his cock sprinting up into the air as he places himself against you once again. You can’t help but drip with need, canting your hips back against him. His cock presses in between the seam of your ass, and you rub against him like a bitch in heat.

And just like a bitch in heat, you purr.

“Tommy..” you let out, and his grip on your hips tighten. “Please?”

He scoffs at the nickname, though his bottom lip is caught roughly between his teeth and he’s trying to contain himself. He wraps his hand around his awaiting length, parts your thighs with the other, and slides his dick up against your throughly aroused pussy.

He’s warm, sticky. You wish you could’ve seen him before this, seen that thing that feels oh so heavy between your legs, but it’ll have to wait. Hopefully, there will be a next time.

When he slides in, it stretches you obscenely. This isn’t your first time, but there’s a burning sensation as he enters you. He’s got the perfect amount of thickness and length to pull a moan deep from your throat.

He doesn’t start slow. His hips smack against yours at a rapid pace, small grunts leaving his silky lips as he uses you like a common whore. Your hands grip your robes and the bookshelf at the same time, trying to keep steady as Tom fills you to the brim. He noses along your jaw and leaves wet, open kisses there. You mewl when he bites down harshly and sucks a mark into your skin.

“Such a tight little cunt you have,” Tom breathes, his fingertips bruising your hips. “Look at you, such a slut for my cock. Does it feel good? Tell me, tell me how it feels.”

Your thighs squeeze him, your mouth gaping open in utter ecstasy. Your words are caught in your throat, but Tom is quick to force them out of you with a spank to your ass. You moan, your forehead pressing against the bookshelf’s wooden edge.

“Yes! Yes, it feels so good…” you slur, entranced by the spice of his cologne and the feeling of his girthy length splitting you open. He grunts, bucking his hips into you with vigor.

“And I bet it’s the best you’ve had, isn’t it? All those other boys can’t do it for you. I’m the only one that fucks you this good.”

It’s true, and when his cockhead hits a spot deep inside you that has you keening, your legs quiver and your brain turns to jelly. Tom’s fingers place themselves around your neck and squeeze so hard that your vision blurs at the edges, and you’re enthralled by the fear that courses through your veins. He’s playing your life in his hands like it’s a shiny new toy.

He fucks you like a madman as you gasp and beg for air. Tears spill out of your eyes, salty and wet and Tom takes notice.

“Crying?” He sneers, pounding you so hard that you’re sure the bookshelf will leave bruises as it presses against you. “You’re pathetic. A pathetic, filthy little girl.”

“Mmmhhh..” you cry out. Your eyes roll back as you utter incoherent sounds. He growls.

“Do you want me to cum inside you?” And then, with a harsh grip on your hair, “I want to hear you say it. Beg me. Beg me to fill you, whore.”

Your eyes shut tight, and your hands clasp around his wrists as he loosens his grip on your throat.

“Please,” your voice is a gasp as you finally get oxygen unto your system. “Please, Tom, f-fill me up. Cum inside me.”

A small, throaty groan escapes his lips, and with one last desperate thrust he’s spilling balls deep inside your drooling cunt. His cum spills over the cusp of your used entrance, and when he’s done fucking it into you he pulls out with a sharp exhale.

You can feel his cum spill out of your raw fucked hole, the creamy fluid dribbling down your thigh and dripping onto the carpet below. Your clit throbs mercilessly, still devoid of any attention, but Tom is quick to put a stop to that. He drops to his knees, then, and it’s a surprising gesture that you didn’t expect. He doesn’t seem like the type to get on his knees for anyone, let alone you. But his tongue lolls out of his mouth as he spreads your knees and catches his cum into his awaiting mouth. He licks up your hole, circling your clit with practiced precision. You let out a guttural sound when you hear the obscene noises of the cum spilling out of you, along with Tom’s mouth slurping at your cunt vigorously. He works at you over and over, and you clench when you feel yourself nearing your high. It’s almost embarrassingly quick, but you’ve been denied so long that you need to do it and you need to do it now.

“I’m going to…” you gasp out, as he rubs circles into your clit. He lets out a loud grunt against you, his mouth working harder. “I’m cumming—god, I’m cumming!”

Your orgasm washes over you, hits you like a tidal wave in the middle of an incredibly large ocean. Tom works his tongue and lets you ride out your high, and he sighs and pulls away from your pussy when you come down.

He’s gathered enough arousal to fill his mouth generously, and he kisses you flat on the lips. His tongue slides against yours and you can taste your shared arousal on him. You whimper, licking desperately at his salty spend, and it’s messy and sloppy and absolutely depraved. His teeth nip at you as you swallow it all down.

You’re dizzy, on shaky legs. You turn around, finally getting to see Tom’s face coated in your slick and his cum. He grins at you, and something twists in your gut so primal you feel you might burst.

“Better get to studying, Miss Y/L/N,” he says. “It’d be a shame if this missed study session made you fail your OWLs.”

[bluessmutifyplaylist]

Separate Yandere Malleus (Hubby), Rook (Hubby), Leona (Lazy), Jamil (Babygirl), Azul (Babygirl), Jade (Menace), Floyd (Menace) and Sebek x Female!Tanjiro Reader SFW and NSFW please?

She’s kind, helpful and supportive, always willing to help others and she doesn’t expect anything in return? How cute (Naive), and after getting a taste of her kindness and care, he’s not going to let her go (And is now very territorial/protective of his soon-to-be wife/wifey)

Why can I see Floyd saying ‘Wifey’? (Rook would just make poems upon poems about how much he loves calling her his ‘Darling’ or ‘Wife’ and would violently tremble in joy if she just looks at him Top Tier Romantic/Stalker)

Sorry if that’s a lot, I’m a little knew to asking about Smut Requests (But I love my Twst Men so much, especially Malleus, Idia, Rook, Jamil and Azul, they just need hugs)

This is SMUT, and consensual, despite being Yandere.

Warnings: Yandere, Stockholm Syndrome(?), naive reader, creampie, breeding(?), unprotected sex, all characters are adults, sex with the intention of having children, slight dumbification, Malleus has 1 dick (sorry monsterfuckers), somnophilia in Malleus’s

Leona Kingscholar

You supported him even in his darkest moments, no matter if he was rude to you back. You were there, and the way you would take Cheka when he wasn’t feeling super great really had him appreciating you in a way that he never thought he could before. So, once you had graduated, he asked you if you would marry him.

Of course, this comes from a much darker place in him. He was never going to let you go, even if you refused him. Luckily for him, though, you were in tears as you accepted his proposal, happy to be marrying the love of your life. You were wed rather quickly, with it being a small ceremony, and it was the first time you had seen Leona cry because you just looked so beautiful walking down the aisle. That moment was one you would cherish forever. 

Now, your wedding night was a different story. With how hard he was thrusting up into you, making you see stars. You could feel his cock pounding your insides, and you were thanking every god in existence that you married this man. You were two orgasms in already, and you were approaching a third, while he still had his first to go.

“Look at you, my naive herbivore being fucked dumb.” Just hearing those words made you falter and stutter your movements, but it didn’t stop Leona. He was making you ride him through your orgasm, and you were so sensitive. He let out a groan as he came inside you, saying, “I’m not stopping until you are filled with my cubs, baby, so you better keep going.”

Azul Ashengrotto

He knew you were the one when he showed you his cecaelia form for the first time. Instead of being disgusted or even afraid, you used a gentle hand as you played with the tentacles that were pulling you closer and closer. Eventually, you found yourself face-to-face with the Housewarden, and you threw your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a kiss. He immediately reciprocated, and he laid claim to you that night.

Years later, you both were married, and he was a successful business owner. You were in the upper-middle class of the ocean, and you both were talking about starting a family. You were already his housewife, keeping the house clean because you both agreed on it (and because he didn’t want you going anywhere that he didn’t have control over). 

You weren’t about to complain, though, because he had you in the missionary position. It’s a bit basic, but fuck did it feel good. He was desperate; desperate to fill you up, desperate for you to feel pleasure, desperate to push himself to another climax despite the overstimulation. Your legs locked around him as he started releasing ropes of cum inside you, and you had the orgasm of your life.

“I love you, honey~” Your voice was strained after about two hours of moaning. He laid down next to you, and you laid your head on his chest. He started drawing patterns on your back, and he said I love you in return. You leaned up and gave him a kiss on the lips, and then trailed it down his chest… lower and lower, until round 2 was started.

Jade Leech

You were his the day you burst into Azul’s office and demanded that your friends be let go of their contracts. Hardly anybody would have that amount of confidence, and he found himself obsessed. He’s stalking you, he’s making sure his brother knows that you are his territory and his alone. You could always smell that he was there, as he didn’t know about your keen sense of smell. But, you didn’t mind it.

Years later, you both were married, and it was an interesting marriage. Your in-laws absolutely adored you, Floyd tolerated you, and Jade was still as obsessed with you as he was back in your NRC days. In fact, he wanted to give you a reason to stay forever, so he brought up the idea of having kids. You had many siblings back in your home world, which you never found a way back to, so it was understandable that you would want a big family yourself.

So, that’s how you got here, you being folded in half, your legs being pressed to your shoulders as he pounded you into oblivion. For the past 4 hours, you have been in every conceivable position you can think of, and this was going to be your final one. If you wanted a big family, that is exactly what you were going to get.

“Darling, how many kids do you want? Do you have an exact number? Or am I going to fuck you and keep you full of children until you say that you don’t want anymore?” Just the thought of having so many kids made you orgasm. You realized that you wanted to be with this man for the rest of your life, and you wanted to be surrounded by a family that the both of you created, and you were definitely going to enjoy the process to achieve your newfound dream.

Floyd Leech

He claimed you as his also the day you walked into Azul’s office, as no one ever had the courage, bravery, or stupidity to do it. When he went to squeeze you, you wound back enough to headbutt him, making him drop you. From that point on, you had become his new obsession. You were the only one who could beat him in a fight, so it was kind of obvious that this would happen.

As much as you Floyd simps would probably want to be married to him, he’s just not that big on marriage. He’s not that big on commitment in general. However, he knows that he’s committed to you because he wants you to be committed to him. Plus, any thoughts against marriage flew out the window when he saw you stretching and yawning.

Hours later, your neck was covered in bite marks, some a bit bloody, but he just licked it all away as his cock was buried inside your cunt. He had cum inside you about 2 times by now, and your muscles were sore from being contorted into a multitude of different positions. He had a newfound need to make you his little wifey who was stuffed with his kids 24/7.

It wasn’t until there was a bit of a bulge in your stomach from all the cum he had released when he pulled out of you. You were on the verge of unconsciousness, but you felt his arms wrap around you and pull you close. His body was warm, the final lull to sleep that you needed. It was a rare but sentimental Floyd, where he watched you, in such a vulnerable state… marriage is the best option to make sure you are his.

Jamil Viper

You were the first thing he could actually call ‘his’. He did not have to give you to Kalim, and he was never going to let that happen. In fact, during his overblot, he made his feelings known to you by keeping you at his side. However, you wanted your Jamil, not the one controlled and bound by the ink. After, in the infirmary, he asked if what you said still rang true, and that was where you had your first kiss.

Skip to years later, and you both were married. He still works for the Al-Asim family, but you couldn’t ask for a better husband. He has told you about his hesitancy towards having children of his own, as they would most likely serve the Al-Asim family as well. You understood, but you still wanted to have children with him. He told you that you could have one child for now, and see where it went from there.

Round 1 started right then and there, in your kitchen. He bent you over the counter, railing you from behind. Before, whenever you both would have sex, he would use protection. This time, though, he went in raw, and it was the first time ever that you both truly felt each other, and damn did it feel euphoric. You couldn’t even think anymore.

Of course, this was not exactly a fitting place if you were going to conceive your first child. So, he picked you up into his arms and carried you to your shared bedroom once you had your first orgasm of the night. There were many more to come (get it?) and you were barely getting started. You will not be able to walk for two days, and you will be walking out with hickies… mostly in between your thighs.

Rook Hunt

When he first discovered you, he immediately started stalking you. However, he wrote you sonnets, limericks, and poetry of other sorts for your eyes and ears. He sang your praises, and to lastly win over your heart, he serenaded you properly, under your window. You told him to wait there, and you ran downstairs and glomped him, making out with him on the ground. If it weren’t for his desire to make your first time special, you would have probably conceived a child right then and there.

However, he did wait until marriage… which was less than a year after you graduated. He had a steady income, and he already had a cottage in the forest in the Shaftlands. He always had a fantasy of a big family in a cottage, being a hunter and having his beloved wife by his side as an equal in the home. He cherished you, making sure that he provided for you in every way you needed. You became a housewife, as you would like to be there to take care of your children.

Speaking of, not a single night has passed since your wedding night where you haven’t fucked like rabbits. Sure, you both were still young, but you had been talking about this since you both were in NRC. You felt like you were ready to take on the challenge of rabbits. So, every night, you were filled with his cum. You were claimed as his, with all the hickies all over your body, with the sinful stretch his cock always seemed to give you… it was heaven in Twisted Wonderland.

It did not come as a surprise that you fell pregnant merely a few weeks after your wedding. The news made your beloved hunter so excited. Now, you could never leave him for your world. You had children that tied you to him. During your pregnancy, he is a devoted lover. He makes sure all your needs are met, and that includes the needs that are in the bedroom.

Malleus Draconia

You were his first friend outside of his retainers. You showed him kindness, and you were not scared of him at all. That alone made his draconic instincts want to kidnap you and keep you all to himself. However, he was able to hold off just a little, and you came to him on your own. The rose you had presented him with remains preserved, even years later, as it is a token of your love for him. He was a bit delulu, but aren’t we all?

It was a big request to ask you to marry him, as you would become the queen of a great nation of mostly fae folk. However, you were up to the challenge, and the people loved you. However, there was great pressure for an heir. Again, you were up to the challenge, but you discussed it with your husband first. You both concluded on a large family, so that the children wouldn’t grow up isolated (and totally not because Malleus wanted to see you round over and over again).

That night, all the staff had been advised to vacate the corridor in which your shared chambers resided, as you were not able to quiet yourself. You went a total of 8 rounds, one of which you were passed out for, but gave him the ‘okay’ to fuck you through that brief nap. Any chance of walking was out of the question. You could barely lift your head, and you had to be tended to by maidservants for a week. Unfortunately, Malleus couldn’t tend to you himself, as being the King meant that he was busy.

The entire realm rejoiced at the news of your pregnancy, and you had the world’s best doctors at your disposal. Everyone was concerned about making sure that the heir survived to take the throne, but they were also a tad worried about them being half-fae and half-human, as it meant that their lifespan would be shorter than a typical fae’s. Neither you nor your husband cared, however, as you were just happy to start a new chapter of your lives together.

Sebek Zigvolt

His pride denied him the pleasure of accepting his feelings for you in the first place, and he instead wrote anonymous poems for you that he would leave at your desk. You had no idea who it could be, so when someone claimed it was them, Sebek shouted that it was he who wrote the poems and not the plagiarist. He looked like he was about to fight the poor unfortunate soul, but you placed a kiss on his cheek, telling him that you accepted his feelings and not the other person’s.

About the topic of marriage… he would prioritize being a knight first. However, when he sees a time in his career, he will definitely get married to you. He enjoyed that he was in Briar Valley often and he just needed to train new recruits, and he would return home to you cooking dinner. As for children, the topic would blurt out of his mouth as you voiced your sadness about being lonely. You loved the idea, and as irresponsible as it was, the way you looked at him with newfound dreams in your eyes, he carried you to the bedroom and started right away.

You had discovered that Sebek had a hidden breeding kink, and he loved seeing your face as he came inside you over and over. The husband you thought you knew was giving into the primal instincts deep within him, and you were loving it. His fangs had made their mark all over your neck and shoulders, claiming you despite the ring on your finger showing you were taken.

The Zigvolt family, as well as Lilia, Silver, and King Malleus, were all excited when you announced your pregnancy. However, only the two of you would know what sinful things took place for this to happen. Know that this is not your only child, even if you don’t actually have another one. He wants at least two, and he is willing to adopt.

[monzamash]

ruin the friendship — charles leclerc

summary – maybe you were a little more than friends but that was between you, charles and god. nobody else. and you refused to be the one to break the pact. pairing – charles leclerc x you (female reader) rating – 18+ (smut, language, sexual references, probably bad french/italian) word count – 2.5k a/n – “we passed being friends like 20 fucks ago” requested by anon. thank you! masterlist

“Everybody get changed for dinner and we will meet downstairs at the restaurant in an hour. Le Bein?”

The group of nearly a dozen of Charles’ co-workers, employees and friends all nodded in agreement and went their separate ways in the foyer, buzzing about how beautiful the resort was. And it was truly magnificent. Extravagance fortified every wall, even the ceilings. Chandeliers dangling from the rafters above, sparkling and flaunting the huge amount of wealth that was stashed away in the Italian Alps. Eye-watering amounts of wealth.

You weren’t enamoured like the rest because simplicity was more your taste, minimalist living was the way of the future and you weren’t afraid to voice that to Charles as he walked up beside you, eyes trained on your rolling ones. His hand was dangerously hovering above your lower back, the large puffy jacket the only thing keeping his hot touch barricaded from your cool skin – he couldn’t help himself.

“It’s over the top but Ferrari is paying for all of it,” He whispered into your ear, too close for your comfort, especially around his brothers who were no doubt watching your every move – adamantly sceptical that you and Charles were just friends.

“I should report you for misuse of company funds, sir. And if anyone from work asks why I was here when we get back next week – it was a coincidence. Purely happenstance.”

“Si,” Charles drawlled, toggling between his native tongue and Italian, which always threw you off, “You coming up to my room after dinner will just be some luck too, yes?”

You could hear the smirk on his face before you let your eyes glance his way, breath tickling the hairs on the back of your neck and again, standing way too close for a pair of colleagues who, by chance, had accidentally found themselves in the same place, at the same time. That was the story and you were sticking with it. Unfortunately Charles was a horrible actor – that much was obvious since the moment he sparked up this unlikely romance with you but in his defence, his impulses were intensified after weeks of being away from you. And you felt the same.

The relationship wasn't exclusive by any stretch of the imagination in the beginning, but as time went on, you became loyal to each other. The friends with benefits label was a facade for the public and for your employment but deep down, you both knew there was more to your relationship than just sex. You knew each other so intimately and spent hours staying up ‘til dawn, sharing your deepest, darkest secrets. He made you feel safe, like you were more than just a girl who happened to work for the same company he worked for. It was easy to get swept up in the lavish lifestyle and reap the benefits that came with it but Charles saw you differently – saw life differently. And to him, you were the missing piece to his puzzle.

You were friends’ first – great friends but he was charming and by far the most attractive man you’d ever laid your two eyes on. And by some miracle, he felt the same way about you. But all of that meant your friendship had been compromised, your working relationship was hanging in the balance because if either of you caught feelings and made them public, then you’d have to report it to HR and you didn’t want to lose what you had.

Because sneaking around was kind of hot. Or really hot if you asked Charles and you didn’t want to burst his bubble. You weren’t that selfish and truth be told, you enjoyed the thrill of it. The secret glances from across a table when you were supposed to be taking notes, subtle touches whenever he complimented your suggestions in a meeting and riskiest of all, the quick fucks in his drivers’ room between qualifying blocks. That had unabashedly become a perk of your job and a scandal waiting to be blown wide open but you loved it.

“I think it might just be your lucky day, Leclerc,” You replied and looked away from the man who was seconds away from exposing your secret, calling off dinner and dragging you up to his room for dessert. But he was better than that and obviously he could control himself for a couple more hours. Surely. 

“See you soon then.”

He looked like a man tortured when you walked into the restaurant, all of your glorious curves swaying side to side, eyes on everyone but him. Since simplicity was your style, you’d gone classic – long, black satin skirt hiding the stilettos you wished you didn’t have to wear, paired with a black blazer and a white, lacy bustier top underneath. It was a fancy establishment, which meant everyone was done up to the nines, their best attire on display and you were pleasantly surprised that Charles hadn't caved to the pressure of appearances, marching to the beat of his own drum in a basic black tee. He still looked as delicious as the aperitini he’d already ordered for you, eagerly awaiting your arrival.

“For me?” You asked him politely, feigning surprise even though these were the little things he would do for you in place of physical touch.

“Of course.” He smiled, delighted that you took the seat directly across from him and not the one being offered to you by his annoying younger brother.

You are beautiful, he mouthed once everyone returned to their 'round the table small talk. You are. Charles had you blushing and fidgeting with your thin gold chain, as if it was first time he'd ever said that to you. It wasn't but it still had you squirming in your seat, grinning like a lunatic.

The 3-course dinner was sensational, and more than satisfied the hunger you’d conjured up during your long day on the slopes and Charles agreed wholeheartedly. He had also worked up quite the appetite retrieving you from the snow every time you stacked it, brushing the ice from your suit and cheeks, lingering longer than he should have. It was great fun but famishing once you all made it back to the resort.

“All my training has gone down the drain after that meal – my god.” Charles groaned and patted Andrea on the back with a mischievous smile, taunting his trainer and closest confidante. Andrea simply shook his head and muttered something to the effect of vaffanculo before disappearing into the bar with the others, sick of Charles' shit after being stuck with him in the Dolomites for the last 3 weeks.

You and Charles hung back from the group, both waiting for the other to send up the bat signal, or in your case, holding up the three-finger salute. Your first solo hang out – not a date – with Charles was watching the Hunger Games together, snuggled up with a glass of wine. Ever since, your signal to abort mission had been the sign used in that film and more recently it’d become your gesture for sex. Would you have liked it to be a little more sexy? Sure but it did the job.

“People are going to miss you, ma belle,” Charles whispered between the soft kisses he was sloppily pressing to your trembling lips, backing you against the only blank wall in the room.

“Don’t care.” You rasped, moans caught in your dry throat as you felt a pair of cold hands unzipping the long silk skirt you’d worn to dinner and gliding it down your shaky legs like it was as light as a feather.

A small gasp slipped from your lips as you caught Charles’ dark eyes again, his soft laugh fanning warmth across your face, "All I've been able to think about tonight is this..." He stammered off with a smirk before running his hands down your sides, pushing the thin blazer off your shoulders and gaining full access to the length of your neck.

You moaned quietly and brushed your dainty fingers through his soft, dark brown locks, "It's all I've wanted since we got here," You whispered and rested your head back against the wall, enjoying the feeling of his hands smoothing down your to your ass.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Charles growled against the tops of your breasts that were being pushed up by the tight bustier top, leaving you breathless and shaky under his touch. He got off on having complete control over your body, especially like this – desperate and panting for him in the darkness.

Charles dropped down to his knees and pushed his hands up under the hem of your top so he could access the waistband of your panties. You were spellbound now with your eyes closed and heart thumping in your chest, head dizzy and skin sizzling as he trailed his hands down your thighs, gliding your flimsy underwear down far enough that you could step out of them without needing to look.

"So sexy." Charles groaned at the sight of the dark red lace that had been hidden by your skirt, his hot breath now fanning over your shaky legs that were now completely bare and exposed to the cool air, even though your were burning up, "Le rouge n'a jamais été aussi beau." Red never looked so good.

His large hands gripped you thighs and roughly separated them in front of his mouth, every single little movement riling you up even more. Charles was ravenous, hungry to devour your after hours of deprivation – starved of your taste, of his name falling from your lips. He needed it, needed you to sing his praises, beg him for more and you never disappointed.

Your fingers brushed back up the side of his head as he hooked your leg over his shoulder and buried his tongue between your thighs, sending you into overdrive and taking your breath away. Your hands instantaneously gripped the tuft of brown waves on top of his head, trying to control the moans that were threatening to escape your chapped lips, his fingers doing the work of a maestro, orchestrating your body like a symphony.

"Feels so good," You whined as Charles grunted, mouth still attached to your cunt as he readjusted your leg on his strong, muscular shoulder, deepening the achingly perfect angle even further and making your already shaky legs start to tremble with pleasure.

Charles took your sensitive clit between his teeth, gently and pressed his free hand that wasn't clutching your thigh to your stomach, balancing you as best he could as you uncontrollably bucked your hips, riding his perfectly flat tongue. You placed your smaller hand over his and arched into his face, trying to alleviate the knot building in the pit of your stomach. He felt so fucking good and looked even better when you did dare open your eyes, peering down into his sinful ones.

The small smirk that appeared on Charles’ dimpled cheeks when your gaze met his was enough to send you spiralling into a whimpering mess, unable to stop the loud moan that ripped from your constricted throat – you were getting closer with every single teasing stoke he gave you, his thick fingers fucking you into a blackout and you were losing it. He muffled a laugh and didn't relent one bit as you white knuckled his wrist, attempting to hold in the noises that were so close to escaping, jaw clenched.

"I wanna hear you, bella – let me hear you," Charles panted as he glanced up and continued to taunt you, “I want to hear you moaning for me like this for the rest of my fucking life.”

Even in your orgasmic haze, you furrowed your already rutted brows at his comment, head throw back, still whimpering, “Friends don’t say that to each other, Charles.” You breathed, gliding on his unrelenting fingers, his pace slowing as he processed your words.

Charles scoffed and pulled back from your pulsing core, eyes trained on yours as he pressed a sweet kiss to your thigh, voice hoarse. “I think we passed “just friends” about 20 fucks ago, baby. You don’t have to pretend when it’s just you and me.”

It took you a second until you nodded silently, agreeing that you didn’t need to keep the act up with him. You brushed your fingers that had been knotted in his thick, beautiful hair, down the sides of his glistening face, lips raw and looking like a mirage.

“I like it when it’s just you and me.”

If you blinked, you thought he may disappear from your vision but he made sure you knew he was real, kitten licking your sensitive bud and reassuring you that he wasn’t just a figment of your imagination.

“Me too.” He whispered.

It didn’t take long for Charles to resume his toe-curling assault, sending every nerve in your system into lockdown as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He’d put both of your feet on the ground, thighs spread as far as they go so you could ride his face, insisting that you came like that for him. The feeling of having every breath suppressed from his lungs while you let yourself go on his tongue, fingernails clawing at the skin on your thighs was worth the rush of blood to his brain. His face was beet-red, pupils blown out and he was achingly hard, scared he was going to blow in his pants like a prepubescent teen.

"Oh my fucking god, Charles," You moaned loudly as he reached up and pressed his palm firmly on your flushed chest, needing to feel your heart thumping under your skin, making him feel alive.

"I've got you."

"I'm – baby, I’m right there!" You cried out, head thrown back against the wall again as Charles eased you through your earth shattering high, panting and sweltering under his touch.

Loud moans echoed through the hotel room as he lapped up everything you had to give, holding you in place and making sure you were completely satisfied before removing his shaky fingers and pressing a couple of pecks to your reddening thighs – no doubt leaving bruises from his tight grip. You couldn’t wait to feel those small reminders of his touch in the morning. It took a good couple of seconds for your mind and body to float back down from the clouds above and god, it was a gorgeous sight when you did come to.

"You are so good at that," You breathed as Charles used your hips to drag himself up off the carpeted floor, hands still clutching your waist to also keep your knees from buckling. He knew you too well.

The sensation of his swollen lips kissing yours brought you back and without hesitation, you hooked your arms over his shoulders and deepened the kiss. His hands snaked around your lower back, bodies flush and you could finally feel how hard he was underneath his trousers.

Knowing Charles was that turned on from making you feel ethereal triggered a proud smirk to sweep across your flushed face, “Would you like some help with this, friend?” You teased, reaching down for the button on his pants, flicking it open with ease.

“It’s what friends are for, no?” He cockily replied before you clutched his stiff cock in your palm, causing him to gasp at the sensation.

“Absolutely would love your help – thank you very much,” Charles quickly added, desperate for your attention as he captured your lips in a rough kiss and nudged your body towards his messy bed.

“That’s what I thought,” You chuckled into the kiss, letting him cash in every single benefit he could imagine. All night long.

let me know what you think!

[bananababblegigglemuffin]

Night Time

Note: fluffy smut not really smut. bTW LOGANS PERSPECTIVE

The room was hushed, save for the faint whispers of the television playing Moulin Rouge. It was three in the morning, yet here we were, wide awake. I could feel the warmth of your body against mine, each breath bringing me closer to peace — or as close as I’d ever get. Insomnia was second nature to us both, though for different reasons. My mind often drifted to battles and old memories, while you, love, seemed to be up for an entirely different reason. A reason that, right now, was wrapped around my waist.

"So, sweetheart, what’s got you so giddy tonight?" I teased, nudging you slightly, hoping for one of those infectious smiles that lit up even my darkest hours.

“Well, Lo,” you began, a mischievous glint in your eyes, “I went shopping today with Jean and Storm. You should’ve seen the dress I found. It’s this amazing burnt orange tulle dress — the perfect shade for fall! But I don't have anywhere to wear it…”

Ah, your voice had that lilting disappointment, the kind that made me want to punch a hole through anything keeping you from your happiness. But this was a problem I could fix. “Well, Bub, how about I take you out this Saturday?” I offered, hoping to see that look of surprise in your eyes.

“THIS SATURDAY? YES PLEASE!” you almost squealed, practically bouncing in place. It reminded me of a kid in a candy store, and I couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face. Watching you light up like that was damn near one of my favorite sights.

“God, that means I've got two days!” you gasped, pulling yourself off my chest, looking as though you were about to pull off some high-stakes operation. I propped myself up, watching you dart across the room with all the energy of a firecracker. You opened the closet and then cast a glance back at me, that sly little smirk of yours.

“I know that look, babe,” I chuckled. “Of course I want a show! I’d be a real hoser to decline, sweet cheeks.”

You slipped on the dress and twirled around to show it off. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. The dress was perfect — understated up top with full sleeves, its burnt orange color dotted with delicate purple flowers that practically screamed autumn. But it was the bottom that took my breath away. You looked like some kind of goddess, moving like a whisper across the room.

“Give me a 360, babe,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. You turned, and that’s when I saw it — the low, daring U-cut in the back, held together by barely-there crisscross laces. My breath hitched. You were a vision, and the cool room air only enhanced the way your skin glowed.

“Oh, goddess, you've got me weak in the knees here," I murmured, my voice a little rougher. "Come back here. I need to worship you.”

You giggled but obliged, slipping out of the dress and crawling back into bed, pressing yourself into the white comforter like an angel. My hands found your bare back, fingers trailing patterns along your skin. I was lost, drawn to your scent, breathing it in as I nestled into the curve of your neck. I brushed over you, feeling every little reaction beneath my fingertips. “Lo, you’re so nice,” you murmured, and I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped.

“I’m nice to you, love,” I whispered, more truth than any promise I’d ever made.

"Okay, enough of that. Let me help you this time," you said, pulling yourself up and straddling my back before I could argue. You settled yourself just right, leaning down and pressing your hands against my shoulders, kneading with a surprising strength. I could feel every curve of you, and it was enough to make me bite back a groan.

“Turn over, wolfie,” you giggled, a sparkle in your eye as you leaned in. I gave a little grumble. "Baby, you don't have to do this," I insisted, knowing full well how stubborn you could be. But you'd made up your mind, and I knew resistance was futile.

I turned, letting you position yourself above me, and couldn’t help but feel the warmth of you as you applied lotion, massaging my shoulders, working your way down to my chest. Your touch was slow, deliberate, and I was practically melting into the bed beneath you. I could feel every bit of you pressing against me, warming me, leaving me in a state I could barely describe.

You moved slowly, massaging my biceps, and even my hands, taking your time as you knew well how to do. My hands slid up to your waist, resting there, simply feeling the rhythm of your movements. The closeness, the heat, it was everything I’d ever wanted and never thought I’d deserve.

Then, just when I thought I’d have a moment to breathe, you shifted, sliding down a bit lower, your hands exploring down my abs. “Sweetheart, this is supposed to help me sleep,” I muttered, feeling the low rumble of laughter in my chest. But you just smiled that mischievous smile, your fingers never slowing as they traced the lines of my chest, inch by inch.

Your fingers teased at my skin, each stroke soft but intentional, a reminder that you knew exactly how to drive me wild. Every touch felt like a jolt of electricity, something I could feel down to my core. And when you met my eyes with that sly grin, that sparkle of confidence, it nearly undid me.

My breath hitched as you leaned forward, lips grazing my neck, barely a whisper against my skin. The world outside was silent, but inside this room, it felt like we were galaxies away, locked in some kind of cosmic, timeless dance. I wrapped my arms around your waist, pulling you closer, feeling every part of you pressed against me.

“You’re really trying to get me into trouble, aren’t you, sweetheart?” I muttered, grinning as I tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You just giggled, your cheeks flushed with that look of mischief that was so perfectly you. “You’re the trouble, Logan,” you whispered back, running your fingers over the scar on my shoulder, tracing its path, knowing it like a map you’d memorized.

There was something about these late hours, these shared, stolen moments. The way you looked at me, the way you didn’t shy away from any part of me—the rough edges, the scars, the parts of me that even I couldn’t stand. With you, it all seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a warmth that ran deeper than anything I’d ever known. I tilted your chin up, meeting your gaze, and in that instant, I felt completely bare—no defenses, no walls. Just us.

“Do you even know how dangerous you are, darlin’?” I asked, running my thumb across your cheek, brushing against that soft, flawless skin. “You’ve got me wrapped around that little finger of yours, and you don’t even know it.”

You just smiled, your hands slipping into mine, fingers intertwining. “You’re my dangerous one,” you whispered back. And then, in that calm, quiet moment, you leaned down, pressing your lips to mine. The kiss was soft, unhurried, the kind of kiss that felt like it could last forever. I could feel every ounce of your love, your care, in that single touch.

Our breaths mingled as the kiss deepened, the world outside fading even further. I ran my fingers along your back, trailing down your spine, feeling every shiver, every response. The connection between us was undeniable, electric, like a fire that refused to be put out.

“Sweetheart,” I whispered, voice rough with emotion. “You’ve got no idea what you mean to me, do you?”

You pulled back slightly, eyes meeting mine with that gentle, unwavering look that somehow held the entire universe. “I think I do,” you replied softly, your voice a gentle hum against my skin. “I know, Logan. And I’m not going anywhere.”

We lay there, entwined in each other, wrapped up in the warmth of our shared space, of the peace that somehow seemed to exist only in these quiet, stolen moments. You tucked your head beneath my chin, your arms draped around me, and I held you close, feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against mine.

Eventually, I felt your breathing slow, your eyelids fluttering closed as sleep finally began to take hold. And for once, the nightmares seemed far away, held at bay by the warmth and comfort of having you by my side. I let myself drift off, holding you close, knowing that whatever battles lay ahead, I’d face them with you.

As sleep took its sweet time arriving, I held you close, feeling your breathing slow against me. The quiet warmth of the night wrapped around us, and I ran my hand along your back, tracing gentle patterns like I was memorizing every detail. You looked up at me, a sleepy smile dancing on your lips, and it was like seeing sunlight after a long winter.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” you murmured, eyes half-closed, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Darlin’,” I replied softly, brushing a kiss against your forehead, “I’m not going anywhere.” The way you nestled into me, resting your head in the crook of my neck, made me wish I could somehow hold on to this moment, freeze it in time. The world felt perfectly right with you beside me, like every broken part in my past had finally found its place.

You were playing with the edge of my shirt, a small, absentminded gesture that felt so intimate. “I think you’re my safe place, Lo,” you said softly, your fingers tracing small circles on my chest. “No one’s ever made me feel like this.”

It was a confession that hit deeper than anything, a truth spoken in the small hours of the morning. I didn’t have the words to answer, so I wrapped my arms around you a little tighter, letting the silence fill with everything I couldn’t say. With you, it was more than love; it was peace, something I hadn’t thought I’d ever have.

We lay there together, breathing in sync, the stillness of the room pressing in like a comforting blanket. The flicker of the television cast a soft glow over you, and I reached over to brush a strand of hair from your face, just so I could see you more clearly. The gentle light played on your features, illuminating that spark in your eyes, and for a moment, I forgot about everything else.

I brought your hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to each of your fingertips, feeling the soft warmth of your skin. You let out a small laugh, that soft, delicate laugh that had the power to make the hardest parts of my heart melt. "Logan," you whispered, voice light and full of affection, "what did I do to deserve you?"

It was a question that I often felt myself asking. "Sweetheart, I think I’m the one who's undeserving here," I replied, pulling you even closer, savoring the feeling of you against me. "Every time I look at you, I know I’m the luckiest damn man alive."

You tilted your head up, eyes meeting mine with a look so full of love it almost hurt. Slowly, you brought a hand up to my face, your thumb brushing over the rough line of my jaw. There was something in your gaze, something that made me feel like you saw right through me — the scars, the history, the hard edges — and somehow still loved every part of it.

We stayed like that, wrapped up in the quiet comfort of each other. And even as the hours stretched on, I didn’t feel tired. I could’ve held you there forever, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing, the gentle beat of your heart.

After a while, I leaned down and kissed the top of your head, breathing you in like you were the last bit of oxygen I needed. “You know,” I murmured, resting my cheek against your hair, “I used to think I’d be alone forever. But you—well, you changed that.”

You looked up at me, eyes bright despite the soft haze of sleep. “Logan,” you said, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips, “you and me, we’re not alone anymore. We’re a team, remember?”

“Yeah, darlin’,” I replied, feeling something warm and steady settle deep within me. “We’re a team.”

And in that small, quiet moment, with the early morning light just beginning to creep in, I knew that whatever the future held, as long as I had you by my side, I could face it. This was what I’d been searching for all along — not just love, but a home. A place to rest, to finally be at peace.

Holding you close, I let myself drift, your warmth anchoring me to something real, something good. This, right here, was everything I ever wanted, wrapped up in the arms of the only person I’d ever let myself truly love.

end.

author: i hope some of you liked reading it! please do comment and reblog, it means the world to me

[maxwellatoms]

What kind of video games do you like to play Mr. Atoms?

So many! Assuming there's time. These days there's generally not, so I've been bingeing Vampire Survivors in half-hour doses.

Above is a gif from Noita, my top game of the pandemic. It's an old-school "Metroidvania", but every pixel is simulated and you're a witch who can manipulate her spells (and thereby the world) in a seemingly infinite number of ways. Here, I've built magical "buzzsaws" around myself, which blinded me to the shadow amoeba. In Noita, almost every death is due to hubris, and I think I love that pendulum swing. If you're lucky and skilled, you can become a walking whirlwind of destruction, but you're always your own worst enemy. Bonus: You can turn your vomit into rats.

I'm currently on a break in the midst of my Baldur's Gate 3 run, with a party consisting of my BG2 character's daughter, Karlatch, Lazelle, and Shadowheart. Ladies' Night!

I'm also playing a bit of Shadows of Doubt. I'm not sure it'll hold up long-term, but it's got a lot of potential.

I don't really limit myself by genre or platform, but I'd say that I primarily play indie PC games. The games in my Steam library that I keep going back to again and again?

Cities: Skylines: A chill City Building Simulator. Lots of fun mods.

Darkest Dungeon: This thing is a classic strategy game IMO.

Death Road to Canada: A light, fast Project Zomboid. Dogs with guns!

Dwarf Fortress: For me, it's the ultimate fantasy sim. I love it so much. Looking forward to Adventure Mode finally appearing on Steam.

Project Zomboid: The ultimate lonely 2D zombie apocalypse survival game. Or non-survival game, I suppose.

Total War: Warhammer: For when I'm in a strategy-y mood. Like a lot of people, I'm a bit soured on the modern DLC scene, so I'm still waiting on #3 even though I'm a Chaos stan.

Not on Steam? I do play some Star Citizen from time to time. I backed it a decade ago. I used to joke that it was the game I was going to retire into, but more and more that's looking less and less like a joke. Still, it's made some good progress in the last couple of years and I'm hopeful that repair and engineering turn out to be fun.

The game I'm looking forward to most would be the next Elder Scrolls. I know it's still a ways off. Ever since my Nereverine landed in Morrowind with the intention of becoming a just and righteous cleric and instead found herself an unwitting villain and colonizer, I fell in love with the Elder Scrolls and it's deep, gray lore. It is (for me) a great way to really get into a character's head. Roleplaying... go figure.

Since Morrowind (and a backtrack into Daggerfall), I only allow myself one canon playthrough. My rule is to "let it ride", so that aside from death, if I screw up or if something unexpected happens I don't save-scum. All of my characters are related, either by quest or bloodline. I already know that my next character will be Aventus Aretino (the kid you catch summoning the Dark Brotherhood). My Skyrim character (above) had adopted him and then left him in the hands of a vampire, so I should be covered even if there's a big time jump. Now I just have to wait six more years for the game. And then maybe two for mods. God I'm so old.

I need to spend more time with Dave the Diver.

Anything current I'm missing out on?

[babyleostuff]

Omg your Minghao soft hours absolutely have my HEART. If you’re up for it, could I request a PT.2? Maybe reader wakes up in the morning feeling a bit better and gives Hao kisses as a thank you?!

the thought of kissing or making out w hao and having puffy pink lips after will forever drive me i n s a n e

kisses for hao | xu minghao

a little extension of this soft hour thought

genre | fluff [is a bit suggestive]

author's note | blonde hao is so fucking pretty, i just want to run my finger through his hear and kiss his pretty lips, god help me

Your eyes fluttered open, as the rays of the morning sun seeped through the curtains, warmth grazing your exposed shoulder, which Hao’s shirt failed to cover. You couldn’t  remember the last time you woke up so content, but you were sure that the body pressed to your back had something to do with it. 

Slowly, as not to wake the sleeping man next to you, you rolled over to your back, so you could fully take in the figure of your boyfriend, who looked as happy as you - even in his sleep. It wasn’t often that you got to wake up next to each other, your crazy schedules, his tours and endless flights made it almost impossible. 

His newly dyed blond hair made him look like an angel in the morning light, contrary to his toned upper body and perfect arms that the bedsheet failed to cover that made you think of anything else but angelic things. 

You carefully swept back the hair that fell onto his face, gently threading your finger through the soft strands. Almost as he could sense your featherlight touch, Minhgao stirred in his sleep, his perfect lips letting out a content sigh. 

“Good morning, bǎobèi,” he murmured, his eyes still closet, but with an evident smile on his face. 

“Mmm, it’s definitely a very good morning seeing you like this,” you giggled at how fast he opened his eyes, immediately noticing how most of his body was uncovered. 

“Isn’t it too early to think about how perfect I am?” You couldn’t believe you actually had this man in your bed, the annoying smirk on his face with a body out of your dreams. 

“It’s never too early, Hao,” you laughed, and put your hand on his chest, scratching lightly the expanse of his naked skin with your nails. He giggled as if you said the funniest joke ever, something you could listen to 24/7. 

“Thank you for last night. Thank you for taking care of me,” you said in a more serious tone, looking him deeply into his golden brown eyes. “You have no idea how much I needed that.” 

“I’ll always be there for you, darling. No matter where I am, you can always count on me,” Minghao said, his tone mirroring yours. As he raised his arm, his fingerstips grazed your arm, sending shivers down your back, only to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I know, but-,” before you could finish your sentence, Minghao suddenly lunged at you, crushing you with his entire weight, making you let out a genuine laugh of joy. 

“W-what are you doing?” you asked, feeling his wet kisses all over your collarbone and neck, as his hands found their way under your (his) shirt. 

No matter how many times stuff like these led to sex, there was nothing sexual about it now - you were like two idiots in love, grateful that you could finally spend a perfect morning together, exchanging not so innocent touches and kisses in the comfort of your shared bedroom. 

“I should be the one kissing you,” you kept on laughing, as his kisses neared your lips. 

“Why?” he smiled at you, placing another one on your cheek, this time more gently. “Because of what you did for me yesterday,” you said, placing your hand at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren't there.” 

The way he smiled could light up even the darkest days, you would never find the right words to express how grateful you were for him, so you hoped that at least your kisses could convey a small part of it. 

You lifted yourself on your elbow, and pulled him closer to you with the hand that held his neck, as he placed his own on your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. You took a second to admire his face now that you could be near him, noticing all of his imperfections that made him so perfect. 

“I love you,” you whispered against his mouth, placing a sweet kiss on his perfectly plump, pink lips, that you’d never be tired of kissing. “I love you even more,” he whispered back. 

For a second, as your eyes met, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, tangled in your bedsheets, in your own little universe. With a gentle, almost hesitant approach, you leaned in closer, sealing your lips in another heartfelt kiss. 

Your mouths moved together in perfect harmony, and the taste of morning lingered on your lips - a mixture of crisp air and the promise of a new day.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin

[cybernecromancer365]

The three alumni gathered and meandered down Aretuza’s sunlit halls.

“I haven’t seen Yennefer all morning.” Triss said.

“I told you, she’s with Tissaia.” Sabrina answered with a matter-of-fact tone.

“I don’t know. Yennefer seemed like she needed a break when I last spoke to her.”

“Well, a lot can happen in a night.” Sabrina didn’t hide the smirk in her voice.

“It wouldn’t hurt to check on Tissaia since we're nearly there.” Margarita said and they followed a familiar path to Tissaia’s room.

At Tissaia’s door Triss readied a knock—

“Just peek in.” Sabrina said and crossed her arms over her chest. “Or we’ll be standing here forever.”

Triss pursed her lips and glanced to the pair waiting for her to make a decision. Sabrina always had to be so nosy. But this time she was right. Triss tested the latch after a sigh, not surprised to find it locked.

“Use a little magic. If Tissaia asks we’ll say we were worried about her well-being.”

Triss whispered a spell and the door opened with a soft *click*. She peeked around the opening slow, hating the feeling of intruding on someone’s privacy. “Tiss—”

She froze at the sight on the bed.

“Triss?” Margarita started. “What is it? Is it Tissaia?” She went to push the door open but Triss backed out of the doorway and shut the door promptly.

“What?” Sabrina asked as Triss blocked the door with her body, a shell-shocked look in her eyes.

Triss exhaled the breath caught in her chest, feeling her cheeks tingling with warmth, hoping their redness wasn’t too apparent.

“Found her.” Triss cleared her throat.

A moment of silence passed and Sabrina’s eyes widened.

“No.” Sabrina’s mouth hung open. “What did you see? Spill.”

“No, no, no, no.” Triss hurried away from the door, cutting between them as she headed to the stairs briskly. “I am not a part of this. I didn’t even want to come here.”

Sabrina chased the fleeing mage, grabbing her arm before Triss could escape. “Triss…”

“I saw nothing. There, that’s my answer.”

“I swear I will throw you down these stairs…”

“How would that help you?”

“Triss…” Rita started. “Tissaia is my oldest friend—"

“Nope.” Triss started down the stairs, footsteps clamoring to catch up to her brisk pace. “I will not be guilt-tripped.”

“I need to know if she’s okay.”

“She was fine.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Sabrina grabbed Triss again. “…did they fuck?” Sabrina asked with an emerging smile. “Well…”

Triss bit her lip. “You said it, not me.”

As if on cue, Sabrina and Margarita slapped their hands over their mouths. Their surprise alive in wide eyes.

“What do we do?” Sabrina glanced between the other two.

“Nothing.” Triss said. “We scurry away and act like we never saw a thing. We don’t talk about it. We don’t tell anyone anything, especially not Yennefer.”

Tongue in cheek, Sabrina smiled. “Well Yen, that’s one way to rid the rectoress of her demons.”

“God…” Margarita rolled her eyes.

Sabrina faced Margarita. “So Oldest Friend, how long have you known about Tissaia’s affinity for women—”

“I can’t believe we’re talking about this.” Triss put a hand over her eyes as Margarita’s brow raised, her face home to an incredulous look.

“You’re questioning me? How would I know—”

“What are you guys doing here?”

They all froze at Yennefer’s voice and turned, looking up to the mage standing at the top of the stairs. Each averted their gaze.

“There’s no need to check on Tissaia…” Yennefer made her way down the stairs. “She’s fine.”

“I bet.” Sabrina smirked as Yennefer moved between them, and they followed her out if the stairwell. “You sure do know how to comfort someone in their darkest hour.”

In the atrium Yennefer froze.

“I’m not a part of this.” Triss started away but Yennefer grabbed her arm and turned to the group.

“What do you know?” Yennefer said with pursed lips and let go of Triss, eyeing each one of them with an interrogating gaze.

“Don’t look at us, she saw.” Sabrina pointed to Triss.

“I saw nothing.” Triss kept her gaze down. “I was just trying to check on you.”

Realization flashed through Yennefer’s eyes.

“You always were a teacher’s pet.”

Yennefer’s gaze darted to Sabrina, growing more ominous by the second. Shoulders rolled back, her posture strong and tall, she closed the distance between her and Sabrina, grabbing the collar of Sabrina’s dress. Their gazes challenged one another’s.

“You bother Tissaia about this and I won’t hesitate to light your ass on fire.” Yennefer spoke low and menacingly.

A smile stretched across Sabrina's face as she lifted her hands in mock defense, and Yennefer backed away. “Your secret's safe.”

“It better be.” Yennefer left them, cutting through the atrium on her way to her destination.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Hello)) Blame this on my grandma, I watched too many soap operas with her growing and we still do it 😂

So basically 2022 James x younger reader maybe she was his sponsor after he got out of rehab after 2019 relapse and she stayed him him during the pandemic (let’s pretend he divorced earlier than 2022, im not a home wrecker) and obviously it evolved into romance. Since he got vasectomy, they kinda weren’t very careful with protection, but it’s actually proven that these can fail, so she finds out she’s pregnant. Of course he doesn’t believe her and thinks she cheated and demands a DNA test. Having no options and feeling betrayed by his behavior, she moves out and they do a tests a few months later. Of course it comes back confirming he’s the father, but she also sends him something like NDA saying that she will never file for child support and will not disclose him as the father + the note that she doesn’t want to do anything with him as he betrayed her by accusing her of cheating. So the moment they have a break in tour he comes to beg for forgiveness? It takes her a while but she finds the strength to forgive him? And then she even joins them on tour and even goes to labour at the end of one of their shows (that’s actually happened with one of the fans)

Damn those TV shows did make sure my fantasies run wild 🫢

Don’t worry, how many times watching a series I made a lot of mental films (and it’s better not to know them🤭) I hope you will like it!❤

A New Beginning

I could still hear the echo of the accusations in my head, ringing louder than the sound of the tour buses or the distant crowds that gathered for Metallica’s show tonight. “You cheated, didn’t you? You couldn’t have gotten pregnant by me… it’s impossible!”

I closed my eyes, trying to suppress the flood of hurt that still rose in my chest every time I thought about it. I’d never cheated, never given him a reason to doubt me. I had stood by him through his darkest moments, through rehab, through the pandemic lockdowns when the world felt like it was falling apart. I gave him my heart, my love, my everything. And in return, he gave me distrust.

The memory of how we met flickered in my mind like an old film reel—those early days, before the weight of fame and fear crushed us under its heel.

I had been his sponsor after his 2019 relapse. A fresh face among the older, battle-worn members of the program, I hadn’t expected to be assigned to someone like James. I still remember that first meeting—how he slouched into the room, the weight of the world on his shoulders, his eyes distant, almost lifeless. His tattoos were visible beneath the sleeve of his worn-out leather jacket, and his hands trembled slightly as he held a paper cup of coffee, more like a shield than a drink.

He was a legend, a rock god, someone I had grown up listening to, but none of that mattered in that room. There, he was just another man struggling to find his way back from the brink.

I had introduced myself, unsure of how someone like me could even begin to help someone like him. But as the days passed, we found an unexpected rhythm. He was raw, real, and unfiltered, and I wasn’t afraid to call him out on his bullshit when he tried to downplay his struggles.

“You’re not invincible, you know,” I had told him once during one of our private sessions, my arms crossed as I stared at him down. He had tried to laugh it off, but I didn’t let him. “You might be James Hetfield to the world, but in here? You’re just another person trying to get better. And if you want this to work, you’re going to have to face the hard stuff.”

To my surprise, instead of pushing back, he had listened. Really listened. And slowly, over time, the walls he had built around himself started to crumble. We spent hours talking, not just about his addiction, but about life, music, and everything in between. I saw glimpses of the man beneath the rock star, the man who had been buried under years of fame and pressure.

The pandemic hit not long after, and somehow, through all the uncertainty and isolation, we grew closer. What started as a professional relationship morphed into something else—something deeper, more intimate. The nights were long, filled with shared stories and quiet moments where it felt like we were the only two people left in the world. And somewhere in the midst of it all, I fell in love with him.

He was still broken in so many ways, but I loved him for it. I thought I could help him heal. I thought I could be the one to put him back together.

But I hadn’t expected him to break me in the process.

Now, months later, here I was, sitting alone in the apartment I had moved into after his betrayal. The DNA test had proved him wrong, of course. The baby was his. But that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

I absentmindedly placed a hand on my growing belly, feeling the flutter of movement beneath my fingertips. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. He knew now, without a doubt, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about what he thought. I had sent him the NDA weeks ago, making it clear I didn’t want anything from him. No child support. No public acknowledgment. Nothing. It was his choice to betray me, to accuse me of something so vile, and I would never forget that.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I hesitated for a moment, not expecting anyone. Slowly, I stood, heart racing for reasons I couldn’t quite place, and opened the door.

It was him.

James stood there, looking more worn out than I had ever seen him. His eyes were puffy, as if he hadn’t slept well for days, and his shoulders were hunched, weighed down by regret. His gaze met mine, and for the first time in months, I saw something I hadn’t expected—tears. He blinked them away quickly, but not before one slid down his cheek.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my voice steady even though my emotions were anything but.

He shifted nervously, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. “Can I come in?”

I wanted to slam the door in his face. I wanted to tell him to leave and never come back, but a part of me—a small, treacherous part—still longed for the man I had once loved, the man I had thought he was before everything went to hell. So, against my better judgment, I stepped aside and let him in.

The silence that settled between us was heavy, oppressive. I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for him to speak, to explain why he was here after everything he had done.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice rough and low. “I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say? Sorry wasn’t going to erase the hurt or make up for the months of pain I’d gone through because of his accusations.

“I was scared,” he continued, taking a hesitant step toward me. “I didn’t want to believe it because… I didn’t think I deserved it. You, the baby… any of it. I thought it was too good to be true, and I freaked out. I messed up. I know I did.”

“Damn right, you did,” I snapped, my emotions finally bubbling over. “I gave you everything, James. I stood by you when no one else did, and the second I needed you, you turned your back on me. You accused me of cheating—like I was some random groupie. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

His eyes dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know. I know, and I hate myself for it. I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

He looked up at me, his eyes brimming with emotion. “I want to make things right. I can’t take back what I said, but I want to be there for you—for the baby. Please… I can’t lose you.”

For a long moment, I just stared at him, the weight of his words hanging in the air. His lips trembled, his hands shaking as they reached out for me, and that’s when I saw it—more tears. They fell silently, streaking down his face, and it shook me to my core. James Hetfield, the man who never showed vulnerability, was standing in front of me, broken and pleading.

“You already lost me,” I whispered, feeling my heart crack all over again. “The moment you accused me, you lost me.”

He took another step closer, his hands reaching for mine but stopping short when I didn’t move. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I’m sorry, that I love you.”

I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over, torn between the love I still felt for him and the pain he had caused. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “But I’m not giving up. I’m going to fight for you, for us. I love you. I always have.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion, broke something in me. For the first time in months, I saw the man I had fallen in love with, the man who had been buried beneath his fears and insecurities.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

James nodded, his eyes glistening. “I’ll earn it back. I promise.”

We stood there, both of us broken and scarred, but maybe—just maybe—there was a chance to heal. I wasn’t ready to forgive him, not yet. But as I looked into his eyes, I realized I wasn’t ready to walk away either.

___________________________________________________________

Months had passed since that heart-wrenching conversation, and though the pain hadn’t entirely vanished, we had started to rebuild—piece by fragile piece. James and I had taken things slow. He had apologized countless times, not only with words but with his actions, showing up for every doctor’s appointment, staying by my side during the hardest days of pregnancy, and fighting to earn back the trust he had shattered.

By the time the band’s tour kicked off, I had grown more comfortable with the idea of us—tentatively agreeing to join him for a few weeks. There was something cathartic about seeing him on stage, in his element, pouring his heart into the music. It was the same passion I had fallen for, the raw energy that made him who he was.

That night, the crowd roared as the band played their set. I stood backstage, watching James from behind the curtain. The energy of the performance was electrifying, but as the night wore on, I felt an unusual pressure in my belly. It started out mild, but soon a sharp pain gripped me. I pressed a hand to my stomach, my breathing becoming shallow.

I knew what it was. The baby was coming.

Another wave of pain surged, and I leaned against the wall, trying to steady myself, but it was no use. My knees buckled slightly, and panic flared in my chest. No, not now, not during the concert!

I winced, unable to call out over the blaring music and the chaos of the backstage area. The crew was bustling around, completely unaware of my situation. My vision blurred, but I managed to catch the eye of a stagehand nearby, my voice barely a whisper as I gasped, “Get… James…”

Her eyes widened in alarm when she saw the state I was in. Without hesitation, she rushed off, navigating through the flurry of activity until she reached the side of the stage. She tapped on the shoulder of the band’s tour manager, urgently pointing toward me, and within moments, a message was relayed to James over the in-ear monitors.

It didn’t take long. Within seconds, James glanced toward the side of the stage, his expression shifting from focused to alarmed. The guitar in his hands stilled mid-song, and the rest of the band kept playing as he tore off his in-ear monitors, rushing offstage toward me.

By the time he reached me, another contraction hit. I was clutching my stomach, struggling to breathe.

“The baby’s coming,” I managed to say between breaths, my voice weak. “Now.”

James’ face went pale. “Oh God, okay, okay… we need to get you to the hospital.”

He quickly helped me up, supporting me as I leaned on him, and together we moved through the maze of equipment and crew members. The sirens wailed in the distance as we made our way to the ambulance parked outside.

Once inside, James squeezed my hand tightly, his brow furrowed in worry. “You’re going to be okay. I’m right here,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but I could hear the tremor beneath it.

The drive to the hospital felt like an eternity, each contraction more intense than the last. James stayed focused on me, whispering encouraging words, but I could see the tears welling up in his eyes.

Finally, we arrived at the hospital, and I was rushed into the delivery room. The world outside faded as I focused on the task at hand, the pain consuming me but accompanied by James' steady presence.

 

After what felt like hours, the moment finally arrived. The cries of our baby filled the room, and I looked at James, who stood by my side, tears streaming down his face.

 James leaned down to press a soft kiss to my forehead, the weight of the past finally began to lift. The room was filled with the soft coos of our newborn daughter, and in that moment, I felt a warmth spreading through me—a mixture of hope and love that I had thought lost forever.

“Can you believe we made her?” James asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he glanced down at our daughter, who was peacefully nestled in my arms.

I smiled, my heart swelling with emotion. “She’s perfect.”

“Just like her mom,” he said, looking back at me with eyes full of adoration. There was a sincerity in his gaze that sent shivers down my spine, a reminder of everything we had been through together.

He gently reached for our daughter, and I carefully transferred her into his arms. The moment our baby was in his embrace, his expression softened, transforming into one of sheer wonder. He gazed down at her as if he had just been handed the greatest treasure in the world.

“Look at her,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “She has your smile.”

I watched as James became utterly enchanted, rocking her softly as if to soothe a restless heart. “But those eyes,” he continued, his breath catching in his throat, “she has my eyes.”

I leaned closer, gazing at our daughter, and my heart swelled with love as I saw the truth in his words. “You’re right. She has your eyes,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And your spirit, I can tell already.”

James grinned, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I can’t believe I get to be her dad,” he said, emotion pouring from him. “I promise to always be here for you, for both of you. I want to build a future—a real future—with you.”

A thrill of excitement raced through me. “Really? You mean that?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, looking up at me, his gaze steady and sincere. “I’ve learned so much about myself, about us. I won’t let fear or mistakes dictate our lives anymore. I want to be a family, to share every moment with you.”

As he continued to cradle our daughter, a soft smile spread across his face. “I can’t wait to teach her about music, to show her the world,” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “I want to be the dad who’s always there, who shows up to every recital, every birthday. I want her to know she’s loved.”

My heart raced at his words, overwhelmed by the love radiating from him. “I want that too,” I said, feeling tears of joy prick at my eyes. “I want to share everything—the good and the bad.”

James took my hands in his, his grip warm and reassuring. “Then let’s do it together. One step at a time.”

As he leaned in, our foreheads touched, and the world around us faded into a soft blur. In that moment, everything felt right. We were two people, imperfect yet wholly devoted to each other, standing on the brink of a new chapter.

“I love you, James,” I breathed, feeling a sense of peace enveloping me.

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “Always.”

With a renewed sense of hope for our future, we shared a tender kiss, the promise of a beautiful life ahead lingering in the air.

As he continued to cradle our daughter, he looked down at her with a mixture of awe and determination. “You’re going to be so loved,” he said, his voice a gentle whisper. “And we’re going to take care of each other, always.”

Together, we would face whatever came next—hand in hand, heart to heart, as a family.

[hongthoven]

Okay, hi my love <3

I can´t stop thinking about Yuyu and Mingi and my brain is like, CRAVING for fluff. Just cuddling or going on a walk and all that stinking cute, tooth rottingly cute fluff. imagine the reader beind shorter and them just being her protectors and best friends or boyfriends and them just showing her how important she is for them!

I´m alreay tearing up at the thought of them (or any of ateez for that matter) proposing to them in the cutest ways and i´m just... yeah, i´m sobbing. it´s a neeed <3

LOVE YOUUUUUU <3

i hope you´ll have an amazing day, my cutie patootie <3

Hi Kittykat ♥

I didn't think this through and fluff isn't my typical comfort zone so I'm sorry if that's terrible, but here's my attempt at fulfiling your needs for some cute comforting moment with Mingi.

Slight angst at the beginning, if that calls for a tw.

Love you ♥ @bethelighthalazia

I doesn’t take more than this for Mingi to immediately call you, cutting the texting short so he can hear your voice, looking for any sign of a breakdown. He knows every crack, every change in your tone and years of friendship have given him the luxury of anticipating that kind of conversations.

« Is it about that jerk again ? » Mingi’s voice is a little hoarse but soft as ever and you can’t help but sigh as soon as it wraps you up into an invisible blanket. While he has been trying his best to keep your mind off of your ex boyfriend, Mingi knows just how much you can get into your own thoughts sometimes, digging your own grave.

You’ve been laying in bed for hours now, spiraling into your darkest thoughts, hating yourself for the most and reminiscing the last time you have felt truly loved and desired, failing to pinpoint the exact moment. It is definitely « one of those days » you typically brush off, unwilling to make a big deal out of it but sadly settling into a pathetic routine.

A pity party you never asked for but still seem to secretely crave.

« No, it’s not » only half a lie. You have been thinking about him, but not quite as much lately.

« I was just wondering why no one ever loves me enough to stay, that’s all » while you’re aware of just how sad you must sound right now, there’s a sense of comfort and safety in your friendship with Mingi that makes i tokay for you to just blurt out anything coming to your mind, including your deepest secrets.

« What about me ? What about Yunho ? »

« I love you both dearly but… you’re my best-friends »

« And ? You don’t feel loved around us ? »

« God, Mingi… You just don’t get it… Nevermind » you sigh, a little hurt not to hear precisely what you need from him at that exact moment. Of course, your childhood best-friend being the stubborn man he is now, isn’t keen on giving up that easily.

« Why don’t you explain it to me then ? »

There’s a knock on the door and you’re suddenly aware of your current state. Hair messily wrapped into a bun, rotting in your pjs and you’re pretty sure your face looks like it hasn’t seen a ray of sunshine in days but still, nothing compares to the absolute shock of seeing Mingi standing in front of your door as soon as you reluctantly fling it open.

« I was in the neighborhood » he shrugs with a smile, ending the call as you stare at him in disbelief with your phone still tapped to your ear. You had noticed the traffic sound in the background earlier and while you could perfectly picture your best-friend walking around the city, heading to god-knows-where as he tried his best to cheer you up, you were nowhere near prepared to have him showing up at your door within ten minutes.

« So what is this all about ? » he adds as you remain with your back against the door for a while, nervous to put some actual words on your insecurities. But as Mingi walks closer to you with his typical gummy smile, his dimple digging into the flesh of his cheek as a reminder of the safe place you have found in this man, nothing seems too unbearable anymore.

« I just… don’t feel desirable lately… »

« That’s bullshit »

« Excuse me ? »

« You are desirable »

« Oh yeah, says who ? »

« I just said so, didn’t I »

« That’s not… »

« The same ? Yeah I know » he adds, his arms pulling you into a hug as you almost face plant into his chest. Sometimes, you tend to forget just how much taller he actually is, and though it’s not that obvious when you two are heading out while you perch yourself on some nice heels, today is quite the opposite. Standing on your tippy toes, you fail to even reach his shoulder and settle for the warmth of his chest against your cheek.

« You know you’re beautiful, right ? »

You nod, not entirely convinced but still appreciative of Mingi’s efforts to boost your confidence through his typical praises. You’ve been here before, seeking shelter into his arms while he tries his absolute best to cheer you up and though you would never admit it, there’s something about the way he looks at you, the intensity of his gaze almost burning through your skin, like there’s nothing left around for him to see but you, that makes you feel a little too special. More than you intend to be.

The sun has been replaced by a pitch black sky outside and the late hours of the night only occurs to you when you wake up, dizzy still, into the heated comfort of Mingi’s embrace. With his arm around you, your leg snaked around his hip as he rests lazily on the couch, the arm that isn’t keeping you safe simply settled behind his head as an extra pillow, Mingi only seems half-absorbed with the movie playing on tv, his attention caught with the very first flinch of your body against his.

« Well hello there, sleeping beauty » he smirks, immediately pressing his lips to your hair and you hate the way your skin reacts to a simple touch, shivers running down your spine as the warmth of his breath hits the back of your neck.

« How do you feel ? Any better ? » Mingi’s eyes are filled with a mix of worry and adoration, his palm reaching for your cheek to stroke it softly.

« Much better » you pause, reminiscing your prior breakdown « sorry ‘bout that ».

« Don’t you dare apologizing » his thumb hooks under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head upwards to meet his gaze, the intimacy of a simple gesture sending mixed signals to your brain though you decide to ignore those.

« I love you, don’t you ever doubt it » his lips find yours through a quick peck, nothing you haven’t done before but today, you feel him linger for a bit longer than usual, his fingers almost pushing into the plush flesh of your cheeks as you close your eyes to bask in the moment.

[ferigrieving]

endless rebirth.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ all time ever does is pass / and all i ever do is remember.

a.n. this one goes out to all my best friend situationship survivors

⤷ masterlist ; requests open ; 3.4k

last seen online two minutes ago.

god was not a forgiving man. your grandfather often sat you down when you were little to give you advice. how to spend your money, what books you should read. the best way to cross multiply, and how to find if a watermelon is ripe. he spoke of god, how he put humans through misery so that they may turn to him in their darkest hour. but, you wondered, why would he go out of his way simply to bring suffering?

you’ve known it in every form, thoroughly, intimately, a constant companion that crept closer in the quiet hours of the night. you wore is as if it were a second skin, as natural as the ringing in your ears and the ache in your bones. but it was never the kind of suffering that led you to god. you held no reverence for heaven or forgiveness; you’d never prayed, not in any way that would make a difference. it felt pointless to call out for mercy that only ever seemed to find the pure-hearted, the faithful, the ones who deserved salvation. and if there was a god out there, watching from some celestial height, he must have looked upon you with indifference, untouched by the wreckage of a boy with everything he could want, except the one thing he’d ever asked for.

because even the blessed know loneliness; even those born with everything can feel like they have nothing at all.

you were one of them. you’d had it all—a family who could provide, a home you could call safe, a life laid out like a gilded path in front of you. even as a child, you were the one others looked at with envy, the boy whose future shone bright and certain. even if the family didnt see you as a child, and home was the creak in the night and the chair under the door. even if the life laid out for you didnt have your fingerprints on it, it was still a life, and it was still yours.

but as if that wasn’t enough, as if the gods themselves wanted to ensure your life would be untouched by misfortune, they’d placed him in your life: a boy with hair as white as the first snow, eyes a shade of blue that felt like eternity, so piercing they could reach into you and pull out every hidden truth you thought you’d buried deep.

touya todoroki had been your best friend, your everything. he was the kind of friend that came into your life like a promise, a constant that felt more real than the ground beneath your feet. you’d known him since you were small, back when the world felt endless, and the future was nothing more than an idea far out on the horizon. you’d played together in empty streets, found secret hideouts in crumbling parks, shared late-night secrets that felt too sacred to be spoken aloud. you told him things you’d never told anyone, and he listened with that quiet intensity of his, a fierce kind of loyalty that made you feel invincible. even in the silence between you, you felt understood, held in a way that words couldn’t touch.

and maybe that was your mistake—thinking that kind of bond was unbreakable, thinking he could feel the same way you did.

as you got older, your feelings shifted, grew deeper and darker, a quiet ache that settled in your bones. you couldn’t say when admiration turned to something more, when you started noticing the way his hair caught the sunlight, or the way his eyes seemed to hold a sadness he wouldn’t let anyone else see. you felt drawn to him in a way that defied reason, a kind of yearning that made you feel unworthy, a love so consuming it threatened to swallow you whole. he became the center of your world, the gravity that kept you steady, and for a while, you thought maybe that was enough. maybe you didn’t need anything else but this—just the two of you, a silent understanding, a love you could carry like a secret.

until you realized it wasn’t enough. you couldn’t settle for half-measures, for the pain of living so intimately with a person without ever telling them how you feel. you wanted to shout your love from the rooftops, to grab him and shake him and tell him everything, every little thing you knew he deserved to hear. to kiss him until he couldn't think of anything but the feeling of his lips on yours. to have the planes and dips of his skin memorized like the back of your hand. you wanted him so desperately it hurt.

and it was only when you left that you felt it, that quiet ache like an old wound torn open, raw and bleeding, a feeling that had been waiting patiently beneath the surface. distance brought clarity, peeled back the layers of friendship to reveal something darker, something heavier. you hadn’t wanted to admit it, hadn’t wanted to face the truth of it, but the miles stretched out between you like an open wound, and suddenly, you couldn’t keep it inside. you spent every night replaying his laugh, the way his eyes softened in the moments he let his guard down, the feeling of his hand gripping your shoulder like it was a promise. your first sleepover together, and how he stayed up to watch over you even in a house you both considered safe. and it struck you then, with a force that left you breathless—you loved him, in a way that made your heart feel both full and hollow, like it could shatter at any moment under the weight of it.

you couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud. maybe you knew, somewhere deep down, that words would only turn him to stone, would only push him further away. so you confessed through the dim light of a screen, fingers trembling as you typed out the words that had been tearing at your chest: touya, i think i love you. i think i’ve always loved you, ever since third grade. im sorry for not telling me sooner. you dont have to answer. it was a hope and a surrender, a feeling you were willing to give up just for a moment of honesty, just to say the words you’d been choking on for years.

but he didn’t respond. silence—heavy, suffocating silence filled the space between you, creeping in like a fog until it was all you could feel. and then, slowly, as the days stretched on, he began to disappear. his messages grew shorter, colder, each one a reminder that you’d crossed an invisible line you could never uncross. you tried to pretend it was nothing, told yourself he just needed time, that he would come back when he was ready. but weeks turned to months, and with each passing day, the emptiness left by his absence settled deeper into your bones.

it was when you came home, after a year of thinking of his face, imagining the teary reunion that would surely happen, that you realized there was no more room in touya todoroki’s heart for you or your love. you begged, pleaded to see him. you went as far as asking his friends, his new friends that he, in the short times you two have ever spoke, would rave on and on about. they don't know who you are, but you know everything about them and then a little bit more.

longing feels like dying, you think, when the one you long for has already buried you.

before you left, you had had a going away party. a memorial for someone who was still alive. everyone and their mother came, but you had never once heard a ‘goodbye.’ it was as if it was simply just another day to everybody else, another tick on the to do list that made up their lives. you held your friends closer than anything in the world, even closer than yourself, but it seemed that you were simply an extra, unnamed background character number fourty two.

it was at your coming home party, that you realized that maybe, just maybe, no one truly ever did miss you. you had given, and given, and given, expecting nothing in return. yet, you still found yourself disappointed, a standard set by no one other than yourself.

coming home was supposed to be a celebration, or at least that’s what everyone had told you. they'd said it a thousand times over text, in passing messages with all the warmth of idle conversation: we miss you, you should come home, it won’t be the same until you’re back. their words had painted pictures in your mind, scenes where your old friends would smile when they saw you, arms open and waiting, voices ready to fill the quiet spaces with laughter and stories. so you’d returned, carrying the weight of those promises like fragile glass, hoping they’d finally feel real when you were back.

but the day of the party, the pavilion was empty, a hollow space filled only with the faint echo of all the words you’d once believed in. the decorations, scattered around like abandoned ideas, only served to highlight the absence—the banner you’d hung with such care, the chairs set out in neat rows, the quiet music playing to no one. you had spent hours upon hours making enough food for everyone, and then a little bit more, but you knew now that it would all go to waste.

you stood there, alone, in a park shelter meant to hold laughter, a celebration that would never happen. each empty table was a testament to how little you truly mattered, to how every promise had been nothing more than a passing thought, the kind of thing people say without a second of real intent.

and maybe you could have excused it, maybe you could have forgiven the empty seats, the quiet that lingered in place of familiar voices, if only he had shown up. you’d asked him, in a text you’d rewritten a dozen times, fingers hovering over each word as if they were spells that could either save or shatter you. you’d asked him to come to your birthday party, your homecoming, and for one wild, fleeting moment, you’d let yourself believe he’d say yes. because this was touya, your best friend, the one person you thought might still care, the one connection that had held you together even when he’d slipped away.

but his response had been cold, a few clipped words that cut deeper than you wanted to admit. he’d said he’d think about it, that he’d ‘try to make it if he could’, and you’d told yourself it was enough. you’d clung to the hope that he’d show up at the last minute, that you’d turn around and see him standing there, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes averted in that familiar way that always said more than his words ever did. but the hours dragged on, the shadows grew longer, and still, he didn’t come. each passing moment twisted something inside you, the raw realization settling deeper with every empty second.

you stared at your phone, watching as the screen stayed blank, no new messages, no sign that anyone had even thought to send a quick, sorry i can’t make it. you scrolled through old conversations, messages from a time when his words had been full of something you could almost call warmth, small memories that once meant everything. he wasnt even the one to send the last message. in a momentof weakness, of pure unadulterated desperation, you had fucking apologized. you had apologized to the boy who had ruined your life without even so lifting a finger. you had apologized to the boy who had thrown away a decade of friendship with no explanation. 

it was strange, really, the way people had been so quick to say they missed you, how they’d filled the distance with hollow words that felt warm at the time, only to leave you standing here, alone. and maybe you were foolish for believing them, for thinking that coming home would mean anything to anyone but you. but it was the kind of foolishness you couldn’t shake, the kind that clung to you like a second skin.

and as the night dragged on, you thought of him, of the nights you’d spent side by side as kids, when silence had been a comfortable thing, something you shared rather than endured. you thought of the promises you’d made to each other, the secrets you’d shared in whispered words and half-smiles. he was your best friend, you reminded yourself, though the words felt empty now, a title that meant nothing to the boy he’d become, to the stranger who had taken you place.

nothing feels quite so empty as the box of friendship bracelets under your bed, and the polaroids littered around your room.

you sat down in one of the empty benches, a strange kind of calm settling over you as you took in the world, as if you were watching someone else’s life unravel before your eyes. the decorations, the banner, the scattered plates and untouched cake—each one a relic of something you’d once held onto, a dream that had been stripped bare by the harsh light of reality. you realized, with a hollow sort of ache, that you were mourning something that had never been real, an idea you’d built up in your mind to fill the spaces touya had left behind.

and maybe this was the last piece, the final understanding that would set you free. you’d come home expecting something that had died long ago, hoping for a welcome that had never truly existed. you’d held onto him, onto the memory of what he’d once been to you, because it was easier than facing the truth—that he’d left you, that he’d moved on, that he no longer cared in the way you’d so desperately wanted him to.

and now, as the silence wrapped around you, you knew there was nothing left to hold onto, nothing but the empty echoes of a friendship that had long since turned to dust.

you sat there as the sun began to sink lower, casting long shadows that swallowed the room, filling it with a quiet, creeping darkness. the decorations hung limply in the dim light, colors fading into gray, and the quiet settled in heavy, pressing against you like a weight you couldn’t shake. time passed, though you couldn’t tell how much; the world outside had started to move on, but you were frozen, caught in a moment that refused to let you go. each second bled into the next, and the silence was deafening, louder than any noise you’d ever known.

then, a vibration—soft, unassuming, but it broke through the stillness like a crack in a wall you’d built too carefully. your phone screen lit up, casting a faint glow in the dim room, and you felt a pang of something close to dread as you looked down. it was a notification, one of those reminders from social media that knew nothing of timing or tact. one year ago today, it read, a cheerful, oblivious message meant to bring back memories you’d rather forget. you stared at the words, heart twisting, but your fingers moved on their own, opening the message, unlocking the flood of images you’d buried.

grief has a strange way of making you revisit the very things that caused it.

you scrolled, slowly at first, as if each image was a jagged shard of glass you were forcing yourself to touch. there he was, smiling in ways he never did anymore, a version of him you’d once thought would last forever. picture after picture of moments that had felt eternal at the time—a laugh caught mid-sentence, his eyes bright and unguarded, his arm slung casually over your shoulders like he belonged there, like he would never let go.

you’d saved them all—every photo, every fragment of time, a relic of a life you could no longer touch. they were tucked away, hidden in a separate folder on your phone, backed up to an old hard drive you kept locked in a drawer, like a secret you couldn’t let go of. you’d even printed some of them out, tucked them into an album you’d once thought you’d look back on with fondness, with the kind of nostalgia that softened the edges of the past. but now, they felt like a mockery, a taunt from a version of you who had been naive enough to believe in forever.

it’s a strange kind of grief, to mourn something that still exists, to miss a person who is still alive. 

photo after photo, and the ache in your chest grew sharper with each one. you saw yourself too, standing beside him, a younger version of you with eyes bright and full of a hope you couldn’t recognize anymore. you were looking at him in most of the photos, a soft smile playing on your lips, an expression that had meant everything, even though you hadn’t known it then. it was the look of someone who’d thought love was enough, who’d believed that the strength of feeling could somehow hold two people together, even as time and distance and life tried to tear them apart.

you swiped, faster now, letting the images blur together, a rush of memories that felt like quicksand, pulling you deeper the more you fought it. there were pictures from the park, the dimly lit streets where you’d spent endless nights talking about nothing and everything. the tree you’d both carved your initials into, as if that would somehow immortalize what you felt. you’d been so young, so certain, holding onto a faith in him that had become the foundation of your world.

but now, it felt like those memories belonged to someone else—a ghost of you who hadn’t known that love could be so easily discarded, so readily forgotten. the boy who’d taken those photos, who’d saved them with such reverence, was gone, replaced by someone who knew better, who understood that sometimes, love wasn’t enough. and the boy beside you, with white hair and that rare, brilliant smile, was gone too, replaced by someone who barely remembered the promises you’d made to each other.

you put your phone down, the screen darkening as the last image faded, leaving you alone again in the empty room, surrounded by the remnants of a life that no longer felt real. everything you’d held onto, every piece of him you’d preserved, felt hollow now, nothing more than echoes in a room that had once been filled with laughter and warmth. you could feel the weight of it all settling into your bones, the kind of ache that would stay with you long after the party was over, long after the decorations were taken down and the memories had faded.

the truth of it all was simple, brutal—no amount of memories could bring him back, no picture could capture what was already lost.

you stayed there, watching the last light of the sun disappear beyond the horizon, leaving you in the dark. you’d come home hoping to find something, some sense of closure, some sign that what you’d shared with him had meant something. but all you’d found was an empty park, a collection of memories that felt more like ashes than embers, and the hollow realization that he was never coming back, that you’d been clinging to a dream that had died long ago.

the world grew colder as night settled in, and you let yourself sink into the silence, letting go of the last remnants of hope you’d carried with you. the phone lay silent beside you, and you knew, with a certainty that felt like peace and despair all at once, that you’d never pick it up to look at those photos again.

you stood up, feeling the weight of it all settle into your bones, a heaviness that was both familiar and strangely liberating. the room was empty, yes, and so was your heart, but maybe that was what you needed—an ending, a final, brutal truth to cut through the illusions you’d been clinging to. and as you turned off the lights, as you left the room and stepped out into the cold night, you felt something inside you finally let go.

all you’d wanted, all you’d needed, was to see him one more time—to feel that connection that had once been your lifeline, to believe that maybe, somehow, he still felt the same.

but touya didnt love you. 

and, if you were honest, you werent sure if you loved yourself, either.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

The reader (Replacement Fighter) and the gods/humans got invited to a wedding. The guys begged them to wear something that was not black, but the reader was not having it as they've always been obsessed with the color black. They tried to run out of the changing room, telling the guys they'd rather not attend, but the guys insisted. Some even tried pulling on the reader's arms or clothes. They finally settled with something that wasn't black for once in their life.

However as the wedding carried on, there was some drama (you can decide what it was about) stirring up amongst the other guests. But the reader being reader, they just indulged in the cupcakes nearby as everyone else was either arguing or fighting.

Gods: Odin, Thor, Poseidon, Hades, Aphrodite, Loki, Buddha & Apollo

Humans: Lubu, Sasaki, Qin & Tesla

-You scowled softly, arms folded across your chest as (Love) was holding up a different colored suit to you, something that wasn’t black.

-You had a very particular taste in your wardrobe, mainly anything black, as it was the color you liked and you knew you looked good in, “It’s a wedding, why can’t I wear my black suit?”

-(Love) was rather amused by your unwillingness to wear a different color, “Because the invitation said that nobody is to wear black, except for shoes.”

-You groaned, falling back on your bed like a toddler which made (Love) laugh, finding it rather amusing, seeing you acting like a child as you threw an arm over your face.

-After a moment you sat up, your pout still on your face as you looked at the different suits (Love) had prepared and you pointed at the dark purple one, as it was the darkest colors that had been presented to you, “Just for the wedding.”

-Several hours later, you walked into the wedding reception with (Love), stunning all who saw you in something that wasn’t black! You looked good in color- you should wear color more often, or at least that’s what everyone told you when they came over to you.

-(Love) was pleased that you were wearing something appropriate for the wedding, as everyone was in various colors, leaving only the happy couple in black, standing out against the sea of various colors, which you did have to admit looked good.

-(Love) was looking for you about ten minutes later, and after stalking the dance floor, thinking someone might have dragged you out there, they went to the one place that they knew you would be, the buffet table!

-And there you were, a plate in hand, trying the various sweets available at the massive dessert bar. (Love) couldn’t help but laugh, thinking it was amusing as they walked over.

-You offered them your plate, offering them a treat as your attention was on something else now.

-(Love’s) gaze followed your own and you saw two of the bridesmaids squaring up with one of the groomsmen, who was cheating on them both with each other, and they just found out.

-The drama was way more interesting than catching the bouquet or playing games, as you watched these bridesmaids tearing this boy down, both leaving him, reducing him to tears, which you mentioned to (Love), “Why do the cheaters always try to act like the victims? Is it to get sympathy?”

-(Love) didn’t answer, munching on a mini cupcake, as you watched this pathetic space for a man pleading with both women, begging one, then the other, not to leave, which made things worse.

-The happy couple were soon by you as well, trying the different desserts, watching this fallout as well, as the bride grinned at the groom, “You were right, it’s not a real wedding unless there’s a fight.” He just laughed, “That’s not a fight, a chair hasn’t been thrown yet!”

-(Love) shoved a cupcake into your mouth before you said anything about helping, you weren’t going to start a fight at a wedding.

-Chairs end up getting thrown after a third woman, a guest of another bridesmaid, came over to see what was happening and everything hit the fan very quickly, luckily after the bride and groom made their exit.

-(Love) helped you carry a few more plates of sweets out of the wedding hall as you both decided to get out before it got even worse and you both sat on your couch together, eating the food, relaxing for the rest of the evening.

[ivystoryweaver]

Decadent chapter 13

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Summary: A passionate night together leads Miguel to accepting your darkest desires...and giving in to his own

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Content: nsfw, 18+, unprotected p in v, creampie, biting, scratching, blood consumption, multiple orgasms, overstim, reader is consensually incapacitated and her body used, bondage, oral - f. rec, face sitting, aftercare, not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on Decadent...

"You're sure? You're okay with...what we just did - when I cut you and..."

"And scratched me and sucked me and drank my blood?" You shrugged one shoulder, easing your thighs across his lap. "I can see how it sounds when you say it out loud," you admitted, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Maybe it's you who needs to accept the monster in me."

Since you and Miguel made things official, you had grown quite comfortable sleeping on top of his massive chest.

It wasn’t that you spent every night together. He still disappeared most weekends....which you finally asked him about.

"I promise I'll tell you soon," he swore, so earnestly you couldn't find it without yourself to doubt him. "It's...a lot to take in."

Accepting his word as a sign of trust, a part of you still wondered if you were naive. Perhaps Miguel spent weekends galavanting with a secret family (or something equally horrible.) Your neighbor/friend Gwen teemed with sordid suggestions.

But you loved him. Your heart won out and you made a deal with yourself, agreeing to give him a little more time to explain.

Work in the lab continued, as did a search for a cure for Miguel's blood addiction/weakness. In the mean time, Miguel drank your blood, rather than get as weak and as sick (and irritable) as the last couple months.

At first, he insisted that you draw blood in the lab, but after spending several nights with you, his baser cravings grew too powerful to resist. Using his talons, he would scratch marks into your supple skin and drink from fresh wounds. Burying himself deep inside you while he drank elevated the pleasure exponentially for you both.

Which is where you found yourself right now.

The two of you barely stumbled into his penthouse apartment after work before he tore your panties (again) and stuffed thick fingers inside you. That was well over an hour ago.

Now, he rested against the headboard of the bed, his thick, muscular thighs stretched out along the mattress. Seeing this god of a man stretched naked especially for you never ceased to thrill.

Tipping his chin up only slightly, he beckoned you wordlessly toward him, patting his lap invitingly.

Wetting your lips, you eyed him hungrily, climbing obediently, spreading your slick thighs on either side of his legs, teasing his cock with your sopping cunt - your slick and his spend leaking out of you from the previous round.

"How are you hard again?" You giggled, pushing your fingers up over the breadth of his shoulders before tasting his lips one at a time.

"Mmm...told you. Superhuman stamina," he murmured, licking hotly into your mouth. Powerful hands gripped your hips as he tried to slip inside you again. "I didn't wear you out, did I?" He teased.

"No way," you fired back, easing off his lap to turn away from him. Before could grumble out a protest, you sank down on his thick cock, rotating your hips, riding him in reverse, your back arching in rapture.

"Fuck, you feel good honey," he groaned, his jaw going slack at the sight of your eager body ready to fuck him so good after he'd taken your body all evening. Talons extended to tauntingly scrape along the delicious curve of your back before sliding up your sides to cup your soft mounds. Taking the weight of your breasts in his palms, he fondled you gently, helping you move your lithe body against him. You purred in satisfaction as his thumbs brushed your hardened nipples.

Your drenched, slippery cunt felt incredible to Miguel, but you wanted more friction. With a slight whine, you rocked your hips faster, pushing up on your knees and dropping down hard until you found a vigorous rhythm bouncing on his cock.

"Faster?" He taunted against your neck. You could feel him smirking.

"Harder," you panted. "Fuck me hard. Need more."

Miguel growled out an incoherent response, gripping your hips and using his superhuman strength to work you over his length, slamming you down over and over again.

His appetite for blood had returned to normal, so starvation and weakness no longer plagued him. But this...hours on end in bed together - he was dying to sink his teeth into your flesh - despite having sworn he never would again.

"Miguel, harder," you whined, even as your sounds of pleasure ascended embarrassingly loudly. "Faster, please. I need...I need..."

He knew. He felt it too. You both craved the deep, primal, monstrous connection that had formed between you so early on.

Yes, he was certain of exactly what you wanted.

"I'm hungry," he groaned, fingers sliding around your throat. Roughly grabbing your jaw from behind, he tilted your head to one side, exposing more of the smooth skin of your neck.

He was fucking you so deep, but now - the possibilities made you wild with desire. “Please, Miguel. You can taste me.”

Damn. That was probably going to upset him. You'd promised not to ask him.

He dragged a talon across the side of your neck, growling as a sprinkling of blood sprang from your soft, sweat-soaked skin.

You felt the warmth of his tongue, wishing he would give in and sink his fangs into your flesh.

Unsure if Miguel gave into his cravings or if his fang slipped and sliced you - you felt that familiar pain and your heart both soared and sank. Because he would surely stop, horrified.

His massive chest rumbled with a hungry moan so powerful, you felt his deep satisfaction vibrate through your whole body.

“It’s okay, baby,” you panted, reaching blindly behind you to card your fingers through his thick waves. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Need you so much, Miguel.”

He apparently passed the point of needing permission, squeezing your throat a to the point of pain. However, the elation of him drinking you, the delicious pressure on your throat, the brutal slam of his cock plowing you so deep inside had you shrieking in pleasure as your walls clenched around him, your body rocked with a powerful orgasm that made you tremble and shudder against him.

Right as your pleasure crested and started to subside, you felt his fangs pierce your neck, fully. This was no accident and there was no turning back.

Lips sucked as his tongue laved ravenously, drinking until the venom in his fangs weakened you into a limp doll.

Lightheaded from blood loss, you slumped over.

Miguel laid you gently down, staring, conflicted, at the wounds in your neck, oozing with life-giving blood. Yet his cock twitched, aching for another release.

Gripping your thighs, he spread you apart, running his tongue along his fangs to collect excess blood.

“Fuck you’re pretty for me like this, muñeca,” he panted, recalling the sounds of you begging for this night after night.

Even if he punished himself for it later, you loved when he used you like this. It felt so wrong that you somehow craved it. You couldn't feel him fucking you, but his loss of control as he got off using your body - you wanted it. You only hoped he wouldn't back down.

His massive chest heaved as crimson eyes darkened lustfully. With his grip on you firm, he thrust inside your pliable, bleeding, paralyzed body with one deep stroke.

He molded you like a doll, like his dirty little toy. The languid, loose weight of your lifeless limbs added pressure as he pushed in and out of you.

“I could do anything to you and you’d let me. I know you want it. Want me to use you.” Lifting one of your limp legs over his shoulder, he groaned as your head lolled to the side, your vacant eyes unable to meet his.

You were spread so wide from him - soaked from endless hours together - of his cum and your slick heat. His balls slapped messily against your cunt as he fucked you so deep… he knew you would be sore tomorrow but he couldn’t find it in him to slow down.

When he was close, he pulled out of you - not that you could feel it - before jerking himself and spilling all over your breasts and your neck, leaving you a used-up, lifeless, fucked out mess. Panting harshly, he admired his handiwork, eyes raking over your beautifully ruined body, covered in his spend from your jaw down to your knees.

He didn’t even ask permission before reaching for his phone to take your picture. Not that you could protest in this position, but the thought that he wanted to remember you as his ruined, used toy made you fucking feral.

Flopping down on the mattress, Miguel tried to catch his breath for a moment. Even with his stamina - the exhilaration of finally feeding on you again was overwhelming.

After a few moments, he gathered your sweat and cum covered body into his arms and took you to the bathroom. Holding you gently, he ran a bath, adding some oils and salts before easing into the luxury garden tub with you.

He cradled you in his arms sideways, with your cheek laying against his chest.

By now, the paralytic was wearing off and you could feel the pain of the wounds in your throat. You hissed as the warm water stung the scrapes and bite you had sustained.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, starting to carefully wash you.

"Don't - " you started, but he hushed you.

"I'm not sorry for what we did," he clarified, brushing his fingers over your cheek as he gazed into your eyes. "I'm only sorry that the water stings."

You slowly nodded. "It felt good, Miguel. It's been so long. I wanted it so bad. Don’t be mad."

"I’m not mad, baby," he assured you, touching his forehead to yours.

You let out a sigh of blissful contentedness. "Feels so good."

A chuckle rumbled in his godlike chest. “Even when you can’t feel anything because you’re paralyzed?”

Gazing deeply into his eyes, you wet your lips before kissing him softly. “Remember, I’m the monster here,” you whispered against his mouth. “I…crave those things. I want you to bite me and use me. Fuck, it makes me want you so much.”

With that confession, you slipped your tongue into his mouth, hand blindly grasping in the warm water, hoping to find his cock hard again.

His superhuman stamina did not disappoint.

“Again, mi amor? You’ll be sore for days,” he chided, a bit condescendingly, one corner of his mouth curling in amusement, even as his crimson eyes widened in wonder that you still wanted more.

Biting your bottom lip, your eyes dipped coyly as you tugged on his thick member, stroking him just the way he liked.

He groaned, “You’re insatiable.”

“You gave me everything I wanted tonight,” you murmured against his lips, working your palm up and down his length, sloshing water sloppily. “Ask me for anything, Miguel, and I’ll say yes. Anything.”

“Corazón,” he moaned, hips shifting, fucking up into your grasp. “Anything?”

Your teeth tugged his bottom lip into your mouth, nipping tauntingly. “Yes.”

Nodding, he started thrusting again. Felt too good not to come if you were offering.

Your lips fused again in a heated tangle as you stroked and tugged him to orgasm.

The two of you managed to clean up and get something to eat before relaxing upstairs in the spacious den, cuddling together in his oversized chair. By this point you were dying to know what he would ask of you.

But you were distracted as he kissed you breathless, holding you like a treasure.

Miguel laid you open on the plush, expensive carpet, stripped your clothes off your body and spent the next hour with his tongue and lips all over you. He kissed you until you were dripping and arching into him, desperate for more. He nibbled at your breasts, littering them with tiny scrapes and cuts, sucking your nipples even as he drank warm red liquid.

He could no longer deny how hard it made him - how possessive over you he felt - knowing he could mark your body - that you wanted his marks on you - you craved them. Something dark lived in you and he was beginning to accept it. To need it.

Down he went, kissing the softness of your tummy, sucking marks into your thighs, passing an hour of attention with you panting his name, begging for what you really wanted.

Firing his warm, sticky webs to hold your thighs apart -spread so wide for him - he gazed down at you, desperate and writhing.

Finally, finally, he lowered his mouth to your cunt, nudging at your swollen clit with his nose. His warm tongue met your sex and your back arched violently as you came instantly. You felt him chuckle against you, inside you - his tongue thrusting in and out - the rumble of his laughter sending shockwaves up your spine as he purposely overstimulated you.

After an eternity of teasing, it was too easy to get you to orgasm, but he didn’t let you come down and you coudn’t find it in yourself to ask him to stop or to tap his shoulder for a break. No, instead your heels dug into his muscular back - your thighs slung over his broad shoulders as you bucked up frantically into his waiting mouth, fucking his tongue. Your shrieks of overstimulated pleasure tapered off into pathetic whimpers as he found the rhythm he knew you loved.

His superhuman strength allowed you to fist and pull his dark waves as hard as you wanted - to wildly buck and push his face harder into your sex. He could take anything you could give.

As if sensing you needed it harder, wilder, he rolled you over and pulled you down on his face, supporting your weight as you smothered his mouth with your pussy. He lightly smacked your ass, and, as if spurring a horse into action, you moaned embarrassingly loudly, riding his face as hard as you would his cock, as carelessly as you would use a toy in your bed alone.

Grabbing his hair again, you slammed his head down onto the carpet before yanking it up, using the would-be painful motion for more friction to fuck his face.

You and Miguel had done some dirty, wild things, but he’d never really felt this much unbridled loss of restraint from you. He moaned into your pussy, wishing he could fist his cock to the absolutely wrecked, desperate, filthy sounds echoing off the den walls - the squelch of your soaked cunt, slapping and dripping down his chin, making a mess of his hair, the carpet, of the both of you.

You came on his face only a moment later and before you were even halfway through your high, before the slight chance to start coming down presented itself, he laid you down and started working his tongue gently all over your pussy lips, your thighs, even your ass to clean you up.

“Miguel, fuck…fuck, it’s too much, oh f-fuck!” But since you didn’t safe word, he didn’t relent until you were a blubbering mess, having lost track of how many times you came, if you were currently coming now or coming down from a high.

He never used more than one finger and his mouth, but you finally passed out from exhaustion. He loved that he could do that to you without venom.

The next morning, you woke up clean, wounds appropriately dressed, in Miguel’s freshly made bed, wearing his t-shirt. It took you a few minutes to get your bearings when he entered with a tray of breakfast.

You sat up, feeling the slight sting of fang punctures in your neck and a sore, overused cunt.

“Corazón,” he breathed, rushing over to your side. “How are you feeling?” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, his eyes flickering all over you.

“I’m good,” you assured him, reaching to caress his cheek. “I’m a little sore, but for all the best reasons.”

To your delight, he nodded and rolled with it. “You’re a dirty girl,” he chuckled with a shrug. “And dirty girls end up sore.”

Gasping in mock-surprise, you whacked him with the back of your hand. “Miguel O’Hara!”

“Don’t try to deny it,” he fired back, catching your flying hand and tangling his fingers with yours.

The two of you shared a few kisses, and, as you started eating your breakfast, you admitted to him that you were thrilled that he finally seemed to be accepting your dark side.

“It’s not darkness,” he finally answered, surprising you. “Reaching for your hand, he brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “It’s devotion.” He placed a kiss to your hand. “It’s acceptance.” He kissed your forehead, then looked down into your eyes. “It’s everything I’ve ever needed.” This time, he kissed your mouth.

“That’s why I want you to live here with me.”

Seeing your eyes go wide, he squeezed your hands. "You can keep your apartment if you want. I'll even pay for it. But..." His eyes dipped almost shyly as he exhaled in a rush. "I love you. So...move in with me?"

The air rushed out of your lungs as your cheeks heated at such a request. "Of course I will. I love you," you confessed. "But..."

Massive shoulders sank as a worried frown tugged at the corners of his kissable lips. "But?"

Caressing his fingers, you swallowed hard, but held his gaze bravely. "First, I need you to tell me where you go all weekend."

next

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[earlgarden-archived]

I hear a symphony

"I used to hear a simple song, that was until you came along."

synopsis. on days where he can't sleep, he turns to you for comfort

warnings. Might be a bit ooc?

a/n. Idk why but I think of Columbina singing when I wrote this

I wrote this in honor of Dazai after chapter 109 (let's pray him and Sigma are okay)

Dazai Osamu.

In the soft glow of the moonlight, you sat beside the sleeping Dazai, reading one of your favourite novels. The room was bathed in a hushed stillness, disturbed only by the gentle rustling of the curtains and the faint chirping of crickets outside.

Dazai always had a hard time sleeping, but ever since you appeared in his life, he felt like his mind was put at ease, allowing him to sleep peacefully. However, on this particular night, his mind was filled with thoughts about his past in the mafia. His abuse from Mori, the fight against Mimic, and Oda's death. After tossing and turning for god knows how long, you began to worry about him. "Dazai, is something wrong?" Your voice breaks the silence in the room, yet Dazai doesn't respond. Sensing his inner turmoil, you try to think of a way to ease his mind. After a few seconds, you finally think of something. Before Dazai could wonder why you suddenly got so quiet, your delicate voice filled the room.

Softly, you sang a heartfelt lullaby that was sung to you when you were younger, your words caressing the very essence of Dazai's soul. Each note carried a tender affection, a indirect promise that you would be by his side through any storm. As your fingers lightly brushed against the bandages on his hand, you felt the tremor in his grip ease ever so slightly.

"Rest now, my love," you murmured, your voice like a gentle breeze. "In this world of shadows and uncertainties, I'll be your anchor, guiding you through the night."

Dazai's dark eyes met yours, a flicker of surprise and gratitude dancing within them. "Your voice... it's like a siren's call, pulling me back from the edge," he admitted, his vulnerability laid bare before you.

With a tender smile, you leaned in closer, you continue to sing, your sweet voice never wavering as you continued to serenade him. The words of the lullaby wove a tapestry of comfort around Dazai, lifting the weight of his troubles, if only for a fleeting moment.

As the minutes turned into hours, your voice remained a constant presence, a beacon of solace for the weary soul beside you. Dazai's restless demeanor gradually ebbed away, replaced by a calmness he hadn't felt in a long time.

"You truly have a gift," he finally whispered, his eyes now softened with affection. "Your voice... it's like an enchantment that banishes the demons from my mind."

In that intimate moment, your heart swelled with love for the man who had captured your heart, and you knew you would continue to sing to him whenever the shadows threatened to torture his mind.

For that night and many nights to come, your melodic lullabies became a cherished ritual, a loving gesture that lulled Dazai into a peaceful slumber. Your bond grew stronger as you found solace in each other's presence, two souls entwined in a symphony of love and understanding. And amidst the darkness of their world, your love remained an unwavering light, guiding you through the darkest hours and into a future where they could face any challenge, hand in hand.

[falmerbrook]

TES Summer Fest Day 3: Hungry

Summary: In the months after becoming a vampire Vyrthur is still trying to maintain a sense of normalcy, but having not fed recently, he is struggling to keep up with his duties, and his brother grows concerned.

(warning for descriptions of blood and gore)

I’ve been working on and off on this long backstory fic for Gelebor and Vyrthur, and this is a scene idea I’ve had for the second half of it that I think could work alright out of context as well. These guys live rent free in my head. I think I have thought about them more than the people who actually made them.

AO3 Link

The sun had never been so oppressive. It was noon of the summer solstice, and it felt as if the eyes of Aurl-El himself were baring down on Vyrthur, judging him as he stood on the Chantry’s balcony. In front of him there was a wooden altar with Auri-El’s bow and a sunhallowed arrow laid out upon it, and beyond that his clergy gathered below him. He couldn’t see them as he squinted and tried in vain to blink the pain of the sun’s searing light out of his eyes, but he could smell the metallic scent swirling inside their bodies and feel the warmth radiating from their skin. The emptiness in his stomach was scratching at his insides as the feeling infected his thoughts.

“We thank our… exalted father for giving… giving us these long… w-warm days under his… merry—no, merciful light. We are, as always… undeserving of… of… of this,” he spoke out into the crowd as the sensations of Auri-El’s mercy bombarded him. He knew he was butchering the prayer, but every second in this moment was agonizing.

“May Auri-El continue to… to bless us with… peace,” Vyrthur looked down to reach for the bow and arrow, but everything was too bright. His hands felt like they weren’t his own, and the table below him was beginning to pulsate and sway. He fumbled for a moment to pick up the bow and nock the arrow.

“And may his brilliance protect us from… our enemies and… and…” Vyrthur drew the arrow back and aimed the bow at the sky. It was just a blinding white, so bright it pierced through even his tightly shut eyelids. The skin of his hands and face were on fire and prickled as if he were being poked with thousands of needles, “illuminate our path.”

He fired the arrow, unsure if it was even pointed at the sun if not for a sudden flash of light from the sky and the awed gasps from the crowd. It was too much, and Vyrthur finally brought a hand up to shield his eyes from the light; to shield his eyes from his beloved god like a coward.

With that, the festival had commenced, but Vyrthur couldn’t bear to be outside anymore. The ceremony had been a few minutes at most, but it had felt like hours. His skin was on fire and the world was so bright, the air so filled with the heaviness of the warm bodies around him that a primal hunger was seeping into his mind. He stepped off the platform and made his way towards the doors to the main chapel, stepping slowly and deliberately so as to not make it apparent how desperate he was to get inside. However, by the time he had reached the door, his attempts to seem leisurely had been cast aside as he nearly threw himself through the doorway and slammed the door behind him. The sounds of the festival outside were cut off with the crispness of the Inner Sanctum’s air. Stumbling along the walls of the room he made his way to a bench and fell onto it, heaving and shaking. The halls of the Chantry were lined with guarded windows that let in little light, usually meant for protection in the winter, but now protecting Vyrthur from the summer. The Vale outside was so blinding that he had found the darkest corner of the chapel to rest. Barely 10 minutes outside and his body was aching and burning as if he was completing his pilgrimage all over again, famished and weak. Only this time, he was starting to realize Auri-El might not greet him at the end of this one.

For 3 agonizingly long months it had been a repeating cycle of starving himself until he had no choice but to give into the temptation. Unable to be satiated by the normal food that had fed Vyrthur for the entirety of his life, he would eventually find his thoughts becoming wild and disjointed, only clear when he could smell the blood of his clergy; those thoughts being only of violence and the spilling of their blood. The feeling terrified him in his moments of solitude, and the growing fear that one day he would harm one of his own peers became an ever-present gnawing at his psyche. He knew he needed to feed to protect his people from whatever darkness had infested him, but the act made him feel disgusting. He had been targeting animals of the Vale, but the discovery of their bodies and the threat his hunting was doing to the precious few resources Auri-El provided to them in their haven made the choice to continue down that path risky. Risky and selfish. With every feeding he felt his sense of self and his connection with Auri-El slipping as it filled him with a sickly energy and satisfaction each time.

“Vyrthur.”

Caught up in the dizzying thoughts of his hunger, Vyrthur hadn’t noticed the opening and closing of the chapel door, nor the footsteps approaching him, and startled at his brother’s voice.

“Are you alright? You seemed… distracted during the ceremony.” Gelebor usually spoke in soft tone, but Vyrthur recognized it as particularly gentle and careful in this moment.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be back out in a minute. I’m just not feeling my best today, but it will pass,” he replied.

Despite avoiding looking at the other mer, Vyrhtur could almost hear Gelebor’s frown deepen as he crouched beside the bench.

“You seem like you’re quite beyond the point of ‘not feeling well’. You look pale. I think you may be ill.”

Vyrthur kept his eyes focused on the floor, but noticed a hand reaching out to touch him and pressing against his forehead briefly before he squatted it away with a huff.

“Seriously, Gelebor, I’m fine. I’m just tired. It seems like I must’ve overexerted myself in all the commotion around the festival preparations. We aren’t quite as young as we used to be, are we,” Vyrthur said, attempting a chuckle to lighten the mood.

Clearly this didn’t work, as Gelebor flatly ignored him and continued with his concerns, “You looked like you were burning up out there, but you feel so cold. You’re clearly—"

“It’s fine. I’ve felt like this often recently. It’s just my age.”

“That’s why I’m worried, Vyrthur. You have seemed so unwell and distant since you almost died. The others are noticing it too—and I don’t say that to embarrass you, but I know they worry you are becoming unable to fulfill your duties. I know you would never do that on purpose, and I understand that you may not want to be public about whatever it is plaguing you, but something is clearly affecting you and I wish you would at least talk about it to me.”

Vyrthur kept his gaze cemented to the bricks at his feet in silence. He could hear the concern dripping from Gelebor’s words, but he struggled to embrace the feeling as his brother’s physical closeness triggered the hunger pains again. He had been avoiding eye contact over the past few months, worried Gelebor would notice the change in his eyes. To make matters worse, now just being near him Vyrthur could smell and feel the rich blood inside him. The thought of attacking Gelebor and splattering it all over the floor was clawing at the back of his mind, with the revulsion of the thought’s existence at the forefront. He was worried that if he even glanced over at Gelebor he’d be unable to resist the temptation.

Perhaps he should say something though, at least lay out a hint out for Gelebor to muse over, but the fear of his own blood spilling to his brother’s mace petrified him. Gelebor had made a promise to bring down whatever beast was terrorizing the Vale, and Vyrthur couldn’t feel completely secure in the thought that he would forego that promise just because the monster was his family.

“Seriously. I’m alright. Please stop worrying about me. I’ve not felt like… I’ve not felt as good as I used to since the excursion, yes, but today was just a result of not taking care of myself recently. I just need to rest for a moment,” Vyrthur said, finally bringing his gaze up to meet Gelebor’s, “Go out and enjoy the festivities with everyone.”

The eye contact replaced the pain of the hunger with a pain of guilt as Vyrthur saw the sustained worry in Gelebor’s eyes. It was obvious that Vyrthur’s reassurances made no difference, but still, Gelebor straightened himself with a sigh, relenting.

“Just keep resting until you feel better then, ok Vyr? Take your time. Don’t push yourself. We can wait,” he said as he turned to leave back through the doors to the balcony. As the doors closed, Vyrthur was left in the dark and silence, his hunger finally leaving the forefront of his mind.

-----

That night, Vyrthur found himself crouched in the entrance of a cave along the side of the Vale’s cliffs, his jaw tightly clenched around the neck of one of the Betrayed. His robes and arms were drenched in its blood from his frantic feeding, but as he lapped up the blood gushing out of its neck, he felt a surge of power and energy. He was getting high off it. Even as he drank, it made his hunger stronger until eventually his stomach began to feel full. How bad was this, really? Better he hunt one of these inferior beasts than one of his own, right? The less of these disfigured abominations of Auri-El’s children, the better, and the safer. Safer for the Chantry, and safer for himself.

As the hunger began to subside as his thoughts began to finally clear, Vyrthur paused and pulled away from his feast, looking down at it. The neck and shoulder had been shredded and mangled, the head nearly decapitated. In the few breaks through the blood covering his hands and the Betrayed’s body he could see their skin was the same. This one was clearly young, not a child, but small and inexperienced enough to have been easy prey. As the blood sat heavier and heavier in his stomach, he couldn’t look away from the scene in his arms.

Unceremoniously, Vyrthur tossed the body of the Betrayed down a steep passage of the cave, out of sight before the disgust could truly settle in.

[blueeyedwriter]

You are everything, you are enough - Eren Yeager

Summary : You are pushed too hard during training one session and boyfriend!Eren reassures you afterwards that you are everything, and you are enough. Both as a soldier, and a person.

Notes : Eren fic to switch it up!! This one is much shorter because I still wanted to post something for y’all…but the ideas are definitely stuck somewhere not in my mind so if anyone has any requests please send them my way!! It can be Marvel, AOT, AU, relevant to the show/movie, anything!! 💙 enjoy :)

—————

You were 99% certain you were about to faint if Levi and Erwin kept pushing you the way they were. You understood that ever since you all found out the real truth about the titans there is a mainland to fight, but you did not understand why you out of everyone was being pushed to their absolute limits.

“Y/N! You need to be faster, because right now all I see is complete fucking laziness!” Levi yelled in your face, and you looked up to him, eyes angry and sweat dripping down your face. You were being fast, you were not being lazy. You were also just fucking exhausted from training over 6 hours without a meal in your system to assist your energy levels. So God forbid that make you a little slower than normal.

Levi glared back at you, but then eased off once he realized the look on your face. You were trying, but you were also tired. Even he could see that, and needed to acknowledge it.

He sighed, “you’re done for the day, get out of my face, brat.”

You stood up tall, waving him off with a, “gladly, Captain,” and walked off, hurrying to get into the comfort of some leggings and a sweatshirt and a big bowl of soup to the face after today.

Eren, Mikasa, and Armin watched as you stormed off, and Levi looked in the direction of his other most strong and respected soldiers.

“I don’t understand why they keep pushing her the way they do,” Armin spoke up, from the bottom of his heart. He worried about you like a brother, and that hasn’t gone away since you’ve all gotten older and gone through more traumatic times side by side.

“She’s strong, she can handle it,” Mikasa was certain.

Eren shook his head, dropping his ODM gear, “just because she’s strong, doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve a break. I’m gonna go check in on her.”

He was trailing behind you, but no one could have stopped you from the mission of you falling into the comfort of your own space. Eren knew that, so he kept his distance, but was close behind. As soon as you reached your room, tears started to slowly fall down your face. You were in pain as you slowly started lifting your shirt off, small knocks at the door startling you.

“Come in,” you softly spoke, because you were also 99% certain who was at the door.

Your heart became less heavy as Eren opened the door, quietly closing it behind him. He watched as your expression went from sad, to thankful, to safe all within 5 seconds. It wasn’t long until he was rushing over to you, so you could collapse into his arms. You didn’t mean to go from delicately crying to full on sobbing as soon as you reached him, but he was your only safe place to do so with. You had to stay strong, collected in front of everyone else. Ever since you and Eren started dating two years ago, you were allowed to be vulnerable and a complete mess with him if needed.

He held on to you, stroking your hair and whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you were able to control your breathing again. He kissed your forehead and cheeks, waiting until his kisses went from wet to dry.

You looked up at him, his eyes letting you know it was okay to confide in him, even with the darkest of thoughts.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” you started.

Eren shook his head, “sweet girl, talk to me. I need more than that.”

“I’m too exhausted, I’m too worn out. Being Levi Squad’s strongest soldiers comes with a burden to bare and to present at all times, no matter the cost,” you almost started crying again at the next sentence, “at this point, I wish a titan would take me out so I could finally just rest.”

Eren was a master at not reacting right away. Even if the words you were saying sliced a gash in his heart, his facial expression’s would never show that. This was about you, not him. And right now, his mission was to help you, not him.

“Listen to me,” he spoke clearly, “if a titan was to suddenly take you out, how would that make me feel? Mikasa, and Armin? Sasha, and Jean? Damn it, even Levi,” okay, now maybe he was getting a little worked up, “we all love you so much, and although we see and expect the best from you sometimes, that does not mean you owe it to us. You owe it to yourself to take a breather, to tell Levi no, to put yourself first and take a day off it that means helping your mental well-being.”

You tried to speak up, but he wasn’t finished.

“We would all not be here if it wasn’t for you. You give us peace by existing and fighting alongside us, and we don’t take that for granted. I do not take that for granted.”

A small smile started to form on your face, reassuring to Eren that what he was saying was helping you, even in the slightest way.

“Why does it feel like I’m just not doing enough?” The smile slowly faded as your thoughts won over your mind again.

Eren moved so you both were sitting on your bed, his arms on your shoulders as he forced your eyes to look into his, “Y/N, you are everything, and you are enough. You are allowed to have one bad day after many good days of loving, fighting, and surviving. Levi and Erwin may push you hard, but it’s because they know you’re worth it. On and off the field, you are worth everything. You got that?”

The smile was back on your face, and you slowly nodded your head. You don’t know how he did it, but Eren always knew what to say at the right moment. It meant everything to you.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, resting your forehead on his, “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“I love you,” he whispered back, “I don’t plan on going anywhere, not until I take my last breath. We are going to get through this, together.”

He planted a small kiss to your lips and allowed you to finally change into those comfy clothes, gripping your hand as you both walked to the kitchen to make big bowls of soup, Eren never once not reminding you that you will always and forever be enough. As a soldier, and as a person.