#Imagine if I could do all this in reality? ‼ Out of Character

[highbabyofthenightcourt]

So many amazing points were made and they were all backed up by canon 👏🏽👏🏽

We all know that writing often relies on plot devices—SJM has a tendency to craft situations that serve a larger narrative, which can sometimes lead to side plots that aren’t as polished as they should be. It’s an unfortunate mistake that should be avoided, but it doesn’t change a character’s core identity. If they are meant to be good, they remain good. The only consequence is that certain actions may feel confusing if not handled properly within the grand scheme of things.

Even so, Rhysand was never vilified by the author. His portrayal in ACOSF was entirely dependent on the perspective we were given—and even then, he was not cruel. He was perceived as arrogant and rude, but also as one of the most trustworthy males in Prythian (as stated by the main character herself).

His choices may not have been the best if we isolate them from the circumstances—but when considering the context, it’s clear his actions were rooted in fear, not control. I acknowledge that, given the world’s current state of affairs regarding women’s rights, there is an understandable, visceral reaction to a woman seemingly not being in control of her own body. That reaction is valid. But that was never the intended message of this storyline.

There wasn’t much Feyre could do at that point—not because of Rhys, but because of the dangerous reality of her pregnancy. There was a high risk that if she were told, stress could have triggered early labor, and if the baby’s wings had already formed, the delivery would have been fatal. This is likely why Madja didn’t tell Feyre herself. Would the “politically correct” thing be to tell Feyre, even if it risked killing her? Maybe. But who is to say that any of us, in real life, wouldn’t have done the same as Rhys if faced with the responsibility of possibly losing the person we love most? Who is to say we wouldn’t have desperately sought every possible solution before confronting them with devastating news?

Also, let’s not forget the world this story takes place in. This is not a modern society. This is a world where women were literally forced to be with men who believed they owned them through mating bonds. A world where women were not allowed to be High Ladies. A world where women’s wings were cut off to keep them powerless. A world where a woman’s own family mutilated her for having sex. SJM created a setting filled with systemic misogyny—and Rhysand stands against all of it. He made Feyre his equal in title and power. He outlawed wing clipping. His second and third in command are two powerful women.

Rhysand was never written as someone who sought control over Feyre, even when had that been the case, it would have fit the setting—similar to another High Lord, who locked his bride in a house, treated her like property, told her there was no such thing as High Ladies. But that was never who Rhys was. What he did was out of sheer terror of losing the love of his life, not a desire to wield power over her.

And let’s be clear, Rhysand never insisted on a baby. Feyre made the choice to have one and they began trying. It was something beautiful and precious that they both wanted, something they wished to share. Anyone who has followed their love story through their books knows how deep their bond runs. It isn’t something they could live without—it is why they bound their lives to each other.

Feyre understood him. She forgave him almost instantly because she knew his actions weren’t born from disregard for her autonomy. She knew they came from fear—from the worst kind of pain imaginable.

At the end of the day, the pregnancy storyline served a larger purpose. It furthered Nesta’s arc, introduced key elements of worldbuilding, and set up plot points for the future. Could I have lived without it? Absolutely. But I can also acknowledge that sometimes, in the process of writing, smaller details can be mishandled in service of the greater narrative.

And none of it changes what Feyre and Rhysand’s love means. Their story is still the most beautiful love story I have ever read. Their history is woven with proof of the truest love—love that has always been about choice, respect, and freedom. The fact that ACOSF didn’t dedicate enough time to exploring the full weight of Rhys’s fear and Feyre’s understanding doesn’t erase everything we already know about him.

It doesn’t change that he was the one who told Feyre she was no one’s subject. It doesn’t change that he was the one who got angry when she assumed she owed him a child as a High Lord’s wife, assuring her that she owed him nothing. It doesn’t change that he didn’t tell her about their mating bond at first, because he never wanted her to feel obligated to be with him.

It doesn’t change who he is. It doesn’t change who they are. And for me, it doesn’t change the fact that, at the heart of everything, Rhysand and Feyre’s love will always be the most profound and breathtaking story of all.

If i may add my input on the subject, i would like to talk about Feyre's pregnancy and the surrounding controversy.

While i completely understand the people who have felt upset about Rhysand and the others not telling Feyre, i also understand why they did not. As for the claims that Rhysand wanted an heir out of his mate, and did not care about her life, i think they are absolutely ridiculous.

Rhysand was the one to correct Feyre when she believed that she owed a child as a high lord's wife. He is the one who told her that she owes him nothing. He did not have to do that when she already believed she had no choice. Rhysand made sure Feyre knew she ALWAYS had a choice.

Furthermore, the risk was not only to Feyre's life but also to the child's. Rhys would have lost the two most important beings in his life. He did not have a personal gain in this.

While i do not fully support the fact that he did not tell her, by the time he discovered the risks there was nothing Feyre could do about them. Even if she decided to nullify the pregnancy, at the stage she was in she would have still had to go through the process which could kill her. We are also aware of the consequences excessive stress can have on pregnancy.

Rhysand was trying his best to bear the burden until he found a solution. If he had thought there was a slight possibility that Feyre could solve the issue, he would have obviously told her right away. Maybe he didn't do the right thing, maybe it would have been better if she knew. But he never did what he did out of malice. He never had anything but love towards his wife. And even Madja advises him to not mention it until until later.

He begs on his knees for Helion to help, while the rest of the inner circle looks for answers. Rhysand's whole world is Feyre. I do not believe he would choose to live on if he lost her.

I think it is important that we remember that Rhysand and Feyre are the reason why the series succeeded. Their love is the beginning and end of these books. Those who know them, know their hearts are good.

Anyway, sorry for the rant, but i needed to say this for my sanity.

[mossangelll]

is that hyperpigmentation?

arcane characters x reader

basically what the title says, you draw the arcane characters à la hyperpigmentation 😍 i needed smth silly to work on to get me out of my writing rut, hope you enjoy :p

content: gn!reader, reader is their partner (could be seen as platonic/child reader but i think most of, if not all, the hcs allude or explicitly call reader their partner - sorry!)

Jinx

she LOVES it

as an artist, engineer, overall creator she can really appreciate the more wacky expressions of art

she does a whole art critique (barely a critique tbh) and pretends to be some stuffy piltie talking about the genius and emotion behind the artwork

“ya know, toots, i’m reaaallyyyy enjoying what ya did with that…um, splodge? on my face there. yeah!”

she draws her own version but this time it’s a portrait of you

you swap them and have a cute little date where you colour the pictures in together and add details in the background

by the end, jinx’s workshop is covered in glue and glitter and paint and powder and also for some reason silly string

jinx even makes frames from scratch so they can be hung up - they’re probably the most nicely presentee decoration she has in her place

Ekko

you slide the portrait of him over to his side of the table in silence

he looks down absently and has to do a double take

“this is…me?” he asks hesitantly with his eyes widened like a deer in headlights; a look you rarely ever see from him - you nod and confirm his fears

“we have one tree down here. paper’s expensive. remember that.”

walks away and goes about his duties helping the firelights and though you suspect he might be upset, he did take the picture with him

feels so guilty about his reaction he almost sacks himself into a wall as he rides his hover board

later that night he apologises and makes a show of sticking the picture on his bedroom wall (in the corner he can barely see of course)

Vi

she’s been in prison and seen some interesting tattoos but this takes the cake

spends a good ten minutes staring at it whilst rubbing her chin as if that’s gonna make it look better

asks you if this was the rough draft

she’s smooth though so she basically tells you she hates it but in a way that you don’t even realise - you’re too busy being seduced to notice

“i love how wild your imagination is babe 😍”

vi keeps the picture and shows jinx; needless to say, this portrait becomes famous

kids all through the lanes have a challenge where they find all the weird faces jinx spray painted everywhere

vi pretends to act dumb as if she doesn’t know how jinx got ahold of them but you both know what happened LMAO

Caitlyn

she laughs in your face

she probably just had an argument with her mum over being an enforcer so she really needed this to lighten her spirits

teases you over it but accepts it gracefully because she’s a kiramman and those manners have been engrained into her

keeps it in her room as a joke and everything’s seemingly ok

except she can’t stop looking at it

and then looking at her reflection in the mirror

starts to question reality because she knows there’s no way she looks like that but if so, why would you draw it in the first place 😭

then she enters the mad stage and she confronts you about this thing called negging she discovered

it’s a loooooong night but don’t worry it ends in lots of laughter and giggles

she understands it wasn’t serious and was just projecting her stress onto the picture

but then this starts a new tradition where you two draw daily doodles of each other; sometimes with stupid faces, other times as animals, whatever you two are feeling really

Mel

the woman was too stunned to speak

no, she’s literally speechless for a good minute or two as you hold it out for her

she eventually takes the portrait from your hands but does it in a way where you’d think it was going to explode the second she touches it

she tries her best to smile and be graceful about it, years of etiquette training being tested but even this is a bit excessive

she finds a way to dodge actually having to tell you it looks bad but also dodges telling you that it looks good too - she’s a lot of things but she’s not a liar 😭

she’s incredibly diplomatic

the very next day she’s introducing you to an absolutely fabulous painter who just happened to make an impromptu visit but has just enough time to run a session (or multiple) with you!

how serendipitous is this!

never again will she receive a portrait from you like hyperpigmentation

Jayce

“oh wow this is for me?”

you handed this to him in the busy academy building in front of SOOO many people and now his face is red

his teeth are gritted, hand rubbing the back of his neck and if you look closely there’s even beads of sweat dripping down his forehead

you’ve got this man stressed out

takes like 20 minutes trying to tell you that he’s not too sure if this is exactly his style

internally he’s crying for help because he just wants to get out of this situation

he loves you don’t get it wrong but this has never happened to him before and it’s not like they’ve got a guidebook on this stuff

eventually admits defeat and accepts the portrait

it’s probably in the break room and although he isn’t particularly fond of it, he won’t stand for anyone saying mean things about what you made

that is until you tell him it was all a joke in the first place and you never thought he would actually accept it considering how shitty it was

yeah, he allowed everyone a ten minute free for all where they could slander the picture after that

he is gonna give you silent treatment for all of an hour before he can’t stand it anymore and he asks you not to pull pranks like that on him again with tears in his eyes 😭

Viktor

viktor is chronically ill AND chronically overworked

gonna be real, he sees the portrait and doesn’t even think anything of it

like, he’s so sleep deprived that he’s constantly squinting and so to him, it low-key looks like him

you even got his beauty mark right too! most people forget that detail!

it’s only after a good few weeks of having the picture on his bedside table and actually, finally, getting eight hours of sleep that he properly looks at the picture and

who the fuck is that

but at this point it’s too late, it’s already in a frame next to the bed you two share and there’s no way he can discretely get rid of it without you noticing

stages an accident where his cane “accidentally” happens to slip and somehow punt the picture frame right out the window with surprising accuracy

he gives you those puppy dog eyes and tells you how sad he is but that he’ll survive so don’t worry!

can’t even feel guilty about the situation because the moment the portrait is gone he stops having nightmares

Silco

another one who is speechless

if you were anyone else, he would’ve berated you so badly you would want to quit by the end of it

unfortunately you’re someone he loves so he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place

the thing is, he really does appreciate that you went through the effort of drawing a picture of him since it reminds him that perhaps his love isn’t as one-sided as he fears

so he really does want to have it framed and put up on his desk so he can stare at it whenever he misses you

the problem is that even though one of his eyes is fucked up he can still see how butt ugly the drawing is

plus the fact that if he has meetings his business associates are gonna see it and that’s gonna be a tough one to explain

rather not lose out of business because his partner decided to be picasso for a day

silco ends up compromising by having you draw a teeny tiny version he keeps in his wallet instead :3

the bigger version stays in a locked compartment of his desk drawer, he doesn’t want to risk sevika seeing it

Vander

vander does NOT care what it looks like, he loves it

you could literally scribble on a page, say “that’s you” and he’s tearing up at your thoughtfulness

it’s going on the fridge asap and it’s staying there too

he’s gonna show it to everyone with such pride in his voice

sure, he doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking at and maybe you drew his body hair a bit liberally but you made it so that’s good enough for him!

when he shows it off, most people say aww what a cute werewolf and ask how old his kid is

the light leaves their eyes when he tells them, chest puffed out, that his fully grown adult partner did it and that it’s actually a portrait of him

whether you made it as a joke or not, expect all of your friends, your friend’s friends, those friend’s friend’s friends…everyone to have seen it

Sevika

sevika tells you it’s ugly straight away <\3

rolls her eyes as she listens to you explain all the reasons why she should like the drawing

she does nawt care

wants to act unbothered but deep down she’s a bit insulted

however she doesn’t like sein you upset so she kisses you to distract you from the fact she hates the drawing

sevika is an incredibly considerate partner so now she knows you like art, she takes it upon herself to buy colouring books and art journals that you two can fill out together

this is how you find out she’s a god at drawing and you find it sweet how she takes you under her wing

if something’s bad she’ll tell you but it will always be constructive criticism and before you know it your portraits actually look decent

she’s smug knowing she helped you get to that point

little do you know she kept your abhorrent portrait of her and she looks at it every so often to see how far you’ve come

she’s a softie deep down

AU!mylo

he says he likes it but that’s just because he wants to hit

also is a bit pretentious so you could hand him a really bad painting and he’ll try and act like he “gets it” even if there’s nothing to get 😭

this WILL make him doubt his looks constantly

he’s confident for sure, more than he should be at times, but now he’s got that image in the back of his head

aura down and now he’s even WORSE at flirting god save this man

will go around asking random people if he looks like the guy in the portrait because he’s not going down without a fight

he needs to beat the allegations one way or another‼️

AU!claggor

genuinely too nice to decline it or say it looks bad

doesn’t know what exactly it’s meant to be even though you already said it’s a portrait of him

too focused on his plants to worry about it too much, it’s just something that makes him chuckle every now and then

he will conduct a mini interview on why you made it look the way it did

he looks all serious as he nods at your answers

deep down he just wants to understand how your brain works

masterlist

[lies]

team banzai for life

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know multiple of these are likely important to people, but I'm asking in terms of like - which of these do you tend to focus on the MOST, enjoy the most, that is most essential for you to actually care about the media, etc.?

(For example: someone finding "Relatability" most important would likely not enjoy a show much if they have trouble empathizing with the characters/relating to it, even if it were good otherwise. Or, someone might be able to overlook bad acting and ugly costumes, as long as the Character Dynamics are fun to them, because they value that more than Aesthetics- while for others, bad costumes would be a dealbreaker.)

Also feel free to reblog and explain your answer or more information in the tags- I've always been curious about people's relationships to media, how they conceptualize it/what they get out of it, how some people value some parts more than others, how that informs their overall taste and genres they may be more inclined towards, etc. :0c

[madmanipulation]

It's my 9 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

[vulpinesaint]

my toxic trait is that i think alastor hazbin hotel is cool actually. sorry for not being immune to the red-coded new orleans serial killer with a jazz age radio-based persona and character design meant to evoke the image of a deer. not like he's fucking tailor made to cater to my interests or anything. AND he's ace

[seafoam-taide]

I love love love my dear Entropy I think about her all the time I love her <33 I have to write about her she is always in my thoughts. Don't click these tags open unless you really want to read them there is . There's lots. THERE WERE TOO MANY IT KILLED SOME OF THEM. WHY DIDN'T IT TELL ME TAG LIMIT I KEPT TYPUNG !!! That's so sad and I can't even put the rest that I typed up here bc I forgot it already because my brain fucking sucks. Whatever whatever whatever rahggg beams Entropy thoughts directly into your brain you know exactly what I mean now

[urlocal-limitesshbic]

*.˗ˏˋ DEILD- The Quickest And Easiest Method To Lucid Dream That I know ´ˎ˗.*

Listennnn, I love the lucid dream method down. It is AND ALWAYS WILL BE my favorite way to shift, apart from the void state.

BUT I know I cannot be the only one struggling to get lucid😩😭 At least I used to struggle before I found DEILD. I found other techniques tedious, having to do constant reality checks during the day felt like a chore and lying completely still in bed for 30+ minutes waiting for my body to fall asleep was quite literally torture to me. IF I could stay awake through it because most times I couldn’t or just rolled over and gave up because nothing was happening and I was très uncomfortable.

I’ve tried mild, SSILD, fild, ALL THE “ILDS” every single one and while they are effective, I’ve finally found the technique that works best for me and takes the least amount of time so I thought I would share, just in case it may help someone else!

With this technique you…..

Go from being awake directly into a lucid dream without falling asleep (this is called a wake initiated lucid dream and in my experience I feel more aware and in control with these vs when I randomly become aware in the middle of my dream. They are also easier to remember if you have poor dream recall. )

Are able to start the lucid dream scene in the privacy of your own room so you don’t have to worry about trying to shift in the middle of distracting dream scenes or dealing with distracting dream characters

You can save a Lucid dream that’s been cut short or even have several lucid dreams in one night using this method

Don’t need to do reality checks during the day if you don’t want to or do any other daytime prep

The whole thing takes 10-30 seconds START TO FINISH!

The technique…

*.˗ˏˋ DEILD ´ˎ˗.*

Dream Exit Initiated Lucid dream

Steps…

Before bed set the intention that when you wake up you will immediately remember to perform DEILD

Set a touchless alarm to wake you up anywhere from 3-6 hours after falling asleep. I like this one! Maybe put it in a playlist with a lucid dreaming subliminal or theta waves set to play after the alarm goes off to boost your chances of becoming Lucid🌙

Go to bed as normal. As I fall asleep I like to imagine myself waking up to the alarm and successfully performing DEILD. Then I imagine myself successfully entering the void from the LD and then successfully waking up in my wr. I loop this sequence until I fall asleep. I do this to help me remember to do the technique the second I wake up, but it is not at all necessary.

Immediately upon waking and hearing the alarm, I try to remember to stay still and not open my eyes. Minimal movement is fine, but we’re trying to convince our body that we’re still asleep! The alarm will shut off on its own.

Wait for what feels like 10 seconds without actually counting (Again, you don’t want to activate your Brain and wake yourself up too much )

After it feels like 10 seconds have gone by, do a reality check like the nose pinch test EVEN IF YOU FEEL WIDE AWAKE and don’t think you could possibly already be back asleep in only 10 seconds. Most of the time you’ll already be in what is called a false awakening-when you think you’re awake in bed but you’re actually dreaming

If you were able to breathe through your closed nose you are now in a lucid dream starting out in your room. You can proceed to shift to your dr in any way you like-some of my go to’s are:

-creating a portal

-entering the void and shifting from there

-entering the astral realm and shifting from there

-waking myself up from the dream but intending to wake up in my dr not my cr

Editors note:

If when you do the nose pinch test, you are still awake, repeat step 6 up to 2 more times. If by this point, you still have not entered a lucid dream, it is best to go back to bed and try again the next time you wake up. This method is very effective but fragile, as it is best performed in that very small hypnopompic window right when you are teetering on the edge of awake and asleep.

Why this method works…

When you wake up from sleep and don’t move or open your eyes, it tricks your body into thinking that you’re still asleep and it puts you back in a dream, even though your mind is actually awake! This is why a touchless alarm is helpful, or you can use natural awakenings.

Troubleshooting the method…

The hardest part about this method is remembering to stay still as soon as you wake up.

You can set the intention to remember to do so before bed

You can also use prospective memory training during the day (every time you look in a mirror/ drink something/ plug in your phone/ enter a different room etc you can affirm “the next time I wake up I will immediately remember to perform DEILD” )

And if you move by mistake or have to use an alarm that needs manually turned off, all is not necessarily lost. it’s still worth trying anyway as long as you think you’ll be able to fall back asleep! Just wait 30 seconds instead of 10 before doing a reality check and consider using an anchor to help keep you focused and awake (could be focusing on the sound of the subliminal if you made a playlist, or the sound of a fan etc)

TLDR OF THE TECHNIQUE:

Wake up either naturally or to a touch-less alarm. If you must use a manual alarm, keep movement minimal as to not activate your brain too much.

Lie still with your eyes closed and keep a blank mind for 10-30 seconds

Do a reality check to see if you are lucid dreaming

Shift from the lucid dream

Videos explaining the technique….

“Use this simple technique for more lucid dreams. Please.” -Tiger123

“Lucid dreaming techniques shouldn’t be this easy!” - Daniel Love

“Dream exit induced lucid dreams-DEILD tutorial”- Tipharot

[cheshire-castle-library]

Happy Tuesday Ask-A-Thon from the @ask-a-thon team! Sorry for the delay in sending out questions while we adjust to the recent moderation changes.

If you could spend a day with one of your OCs, who would it be and why? What would you do?

Happy Tuesday (on a Wednesday x'D)!!

I think Bridgette - and by association Cascade. They fill this roll of connecting tissue for the Many and Varied worlds within Reality in my fiction. No matter what I write, it's all connected - even when "other worlds" are involved because all of Reality exists within the framework of the Black Goddess and the Starburst God.

But that's just explanation to say, it'd be nice to chill and watch time go by in Near-Infinite Worlds from on high - a "heaven" of void and starlight where nothing hurts. Just calm company in the cool of that place outside of Reality that still Exists; though she couldn't help point out the things I need to work on, the ways I'm living that are hurting me, and encourage me to try something else. Cascade would pretend he's not listening, focusing on the music erupting from his mind, either replaying the songs of mortality or composing that beautiful melodic cacophony he's so known for.

Of course neither figure - mercurial in nature - would sit still for long. Though both human in their own ways, they'd get bored or they'd hear something troubling from one of the barely numerable worlds and they'd go down among the mortals, or they'd bring a troubled mortal up there; or - in some occasions - Cascade would pluck his favorite star from the sky below, place them in the gods' realm and discuss the situation, and then that star would fall into whatever world needed a hand of god with agency and choice of their own.

It would be business as usual, I couldn't stay there forever - as much as the Gods cannot - but it would be relaxing for a while, cool and comfortable, and we'd discuss shoes and ships and ceiling wax, and their goals for their future that I'd then pen, lounging within the blessed potential of complete emptiness, to the sound of raucous music and the wishes of near-infinite worlds.

[dirthenera]

Ok I need to get this out with the news about devs being fired dropping.

There will be spoilers for Veilguard here so proceed with caution.

EA fucked the game, and the more I think about it, the more angry I am with them.

It all starts with one choice- the devs wanted the veil to come down in that opening, and EA told them no. Told them they couldn’t bring the veil down at all.

It was never going to be a player choice- it couldn’t, it would create two entirely different worlds leading forward, so it would have to be something outside player control, and they were told no.

The veil coming down was outside forces and the veil staying up was Rook’s choice. And had to be Rook’s choice.

Because of that, our Rook could never see the veil coming down as a worthwhile option. Which means we could never engage with it as a reality. We could never ask what that would look like, or question the morality of the veil, either practically, or as a thought experiment. No companions will bring up what it might be like in any positive way or even just as an “I wonder.”

We only get to see veil =bad so Rook must be right.

They cut Solas’ elven followers because having even *one* npc on his side for noble reasons would make us question too much, and we were not allowed to have an opinion other than veil =good, because the devs were hamstringed by it.

No companions ever discuss what it could be like without the veil, and they *should*. Can you imagine Emmrich and Bellara debating it? Emmrich absolutely fascinated by how it would impact spirits and they wouldn’t need to possess anyone or anything, Bellara leery after seeing so much wild magic in Arlathan but wondering if uninterrupted etheric flows would create more stable magic over time. Taash surprising the party by being way more cool with it than expected due to their Rivaini upbringing, and more open to that than necromancy.

Lucanis and Harding being firmly against it to the point it causes some friction in the team, Davrin just staying out of it because he doesn’t get it and doesn’t want to. Harding has a moment of questioning at a weak point after reminiscing about Cole, and wonders how many like him there could be if the veil did come down.

Neve feeling extremely mixed about it, between it possibly allowing a reshuffle of power in Tevinter, removing the ability for mages to make deals with demons, but also upset at the potential raw chaos.

But we never even get to look at that. Because there was no option there. Even if each character landed on veil=good, we never even got to have the discussion, because we couldn’t do anything with it.

And we can see how that spirals out and created a much less morally complex game than we’ve previously gotten. Rook is the good guy because they said so, Solas is the bad guy who, despite being beyond willing to talk to anyone who will listen to him, refuses to expand on what the veil coming down looks like. Because he can’t. Because then we might agree with him.

We’re only allowed Varric’s point of view, which makes sense for the beginning, but there was never an option to expand it. There is one single dialogue option where we can tell Solas “whoops didn’t know that.” But that’s the beginning and end of that train of thought.

They even set us up as this FANTASTIC foil to Solas, having meddled in a ritual we didn’t understand and unleashing multiple blights and elven gods, essentially destroying the south, blighting most of the north, partially destroying a city, and a countless death toll. But taking actual responsibility with that isn’t allowed- because we may sympathize too much with Solas. Because we clearly did the right thing because the veil is still up. It’s not even addressed in the regret prison! Solas tells you thousands would still have died if he took down the veil, but thousands did die as a direct result of Rook meddling. And nowhere can you acknowledge that.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Soft & Hard

Aemond Targaryen x Ex Girlfriend

Summary: How do you forget about Aemond Targaryen when he’s everywhere you look?

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, emotional infidelity, descriptions of self-hatred, situationship, intoxication, smut, heavy petting, drunk sex, P in V, (some) size kink

Word Count: 4000

A/N: This has been plaguing my mind for weeks now, so I really needed to get it out of me and into the world. This can be read as a continuation of my Hockey player Aemond drabble, but can also be read as a standalone. Aemond is a hockey player in this modern AU! 🩵

You prop your feet up to rest on the sides of your bathtub, angling the shower head just right so it hits that spot that sends pleasurable shivers rippling through your body.

Your eyes are closed, and you’re desperately trying to visualise the hot guy from the TV series you’d just binged; mind racing through any arousing scenario you can come up with.

It’s not an easy task; keeping yourself occupied enough to not drift towards the very man you’ve vainly tried to erase from your memory. 

You don’t want to think about him. 

Thinking about him always leads to missing him. 

It leads to longing for him. 

No matter how badly he hurt you. No matter how much you rationalise your reasons for leaving, your stupid heart yearns to fill the hole he’s left behind. 

Pathetic.

You shut your eyes with more force, thinking of the hot TV character. Upping the pressure of the shower head, you imagine it’s him going down on you that’s causing the pleasure building inside. Your hips begin to shallowly sway back and forth, and low whimpering moans slip from your lips. 

As the pleasure builds and builds, the image in your head morphs; the hot TV guys’ hair turns silver, no matter how hard you try to stay focused. 

You’re close, so close, and just as you’re on the edge of pleasure, you hear him,

“You’re so pretty like this”

And you cum so hard you drop the showerhead in your grip, legs shaking as your hips jerk upward aggressively. 

Water sprays across the bathroom as the shower head falls, but you’re too lost in your own bliss to truly care, giving yourself a moment to just disappear into the fleeting, fierce pleasure consuming you. 

After a while, when your legs have stopped shaking and your cunt has stopped clenching around nothing, you turn the rampant shower head off with a sigh. 

The satisfaction of your orgasm is short-lived, promptly followed by the lonely reality of you chasing pleasure alone in your bathroom. You could stay in the tub and make yourself cum 10 more times and it wouldn’t change the loneliness residing inside of you. 

You could try to picture that hot guy from the show fucking you for hours, still you’d feel the same. 

Still, visions of him would cloud your mind. And the chill of loneliness would penetrate your bones, as it does right now. 

Because no one kisses your forehead afterwards, or holds you tight, or whispers sweet things into your ear. 

You're alone, and the warm water quietly splashing around you doesn’t stop the cold porcelain of your bathtub from chilling your heated flesh. 

You shiver. 

Sick of yourself; of your self-pity and hatred, you leave the tub and throw on a dressing gown, already on a search for a new distraction. 

Anything to take your mind off Aemond Targaryen. 

Forgetting Aemond was nearly impossible. 

Not only did your mind remind you of your heart’s longing for the man that broke it. The world did as well. Like when you overheard your colleagues discussing his latest game, and how skillfully he tackled his opponents, landing a blow on them so precise yet hard that they flew into the rink. Or when you got home after a long day and turned on the TV, greeted by him giving a post-match interview all sweaty and panting. 

The only way you knew him. 

Being restricted to seeing the man you’d spent countless nights together with through the TV screen has brought you to the conclusion that ultimately, your relationship hasn’t changed much. 

Sure, you don’t send him nudes anymore. Nor does he fuck you into the mattress of whichever hotel room he brings you to. 

But the distance is the same. The loneliness isn’t new; it always existed between the two of you. He never really cared to let you in. 

You were convenient. 

Pliable. 

An easy fuck. 

You should’ve realised it sooner. Like that time when Alicent Hightower, Westerosi socialite and Aemond’s mother, stopped by one of his practices. You were helping him lace his skates when she appeared, and as soon as he noticed his mum approaching, Aemond’s large hand gently but firmly pushed you away. 

Ms. Hightower’s curious gaze had asked about you, and her son huffed out, “She’s an acquaintance”

An acquaintance. 

Not even a friend. 

To you, Aemond was the first thing you thought about in the morning, and the last thing you thought about before going to sleep. 

To him, you were an acquaintance. 

Pathetic. 

That should have been the last straw. But you kept seeing him. Not even the humiliation and hurt you felt as you excused yourself and ran to the bathroom with tears in your eyes could stop you from craving him. That was the power he had over you.

The power he still has over you, even in his absence. Even if you blocked his number 6 months ago and haven’t seen him once since. 

The actual last straw was a message you’d gotten from an unknown number, asking if you’d send more of those “hot slutpics in dat black thong”. For a second you thought it was Aemond having a laugh, but the message didn’t sound like him, and he isn’t exactly known for being a guy that appreciates humour, or ‘pranks’.

Turns out, the number belonged to Aegon Targaryen, Aemond’s older brother and notorious fuckboy. Word around King’s Landing was that every girl who’d slept with him had gotten chlamydia, and still he seems to find a new conquest to throw his arms around each weekend. 

Perhaps the sleaziest guy in the Seven Kingdoms.

Turns out, it runs in the family. 

You blocked Aemond’s number that night. After swearing to never let your desire for him get the best of you again, you begged your friends to take you out and get you so shitfaced the humiliation Aemond had inflicted on you would be washed away. 

It didn’t work.

You’re still tainted by his touch. 

So you switch tactics. You look for someone else. 

About a month after you’d called things off with Aemond, you thought you’d found a good replacement. A nice, inconspicuous guy who was eager to please; eager to make you like him. You would’ve felt guilty, really, if the dark hole of lonely self-hatred in your chest didn’t outweigh your selfishness. 

And still, Aemond Targaryen was everywhere. 

You’d find him in that adoring look your new partner gave you as you sucked him off in the shower. You’d find him in bed, when you couldn’t sleep and imagined it was Aemond’s heavy arms holding you tight. You’d find him in your fantasies, seemingly incapable of coming with your new partner unless you closed your eyes and pretended the short, curly strands greeting your hand between your legs were actually long, silky and silver. 

Ultimately, your conscience caught up with you, and you broke things off with the new guy as well. He had told you that he loved you, and the sweetest of confessions felt like the sharpest of needles prickling your heart. 

Aemond never said it. 

Oh, how you wish it was him saying it. 

Sometimes, even after six months of not seeing him, you’re still surprised by how incredibly piteous he’s rendered you. 

Yearning for a man who only saw you as a plaything. Who only ever cared for you when you were conveniently there for him to do as he pleased with. Who refused to expose your relationship to his mother, and shared your nudes with his brother. 

Fucking prick. 

Today’s Friday. 

Single and lonelier than ever, you beg your friends to go out dancing with you. It’s become your new weekend ritual; go out and dance until your feet hurt and you’re so tired you collapse on your bed, mind delightfully empty. 

Now, you're back on the dancefloor, drink in hand, eyes closed as you sway to the music. 

You always drag your friends to the same place, The Three Towers, a nightclub of the slightly more exclusive kind, with proper DJs and strong drinks. 

They must’ve figured out by now that it was Aemond who introduced you to this place. You see it in the pitiful looks they give you every time you insist on coming here instead of going to any of the many other places in Oldtown. Their eyes say what you’ve known to be true for over six months;

Pathetic. 

It’s not like Aemond likes to go out anyway. He hates crowds, dislikes strangers, loathes the fake people gathering around him to tell him empty words of adoration. 

But that one time you’d wanted to go dancing, he’d brought you here. 

Maybe he brings all his “acquaintances” here. 

You tell yourself that you don’t come here for him, that it just happens to be a great place, but still, every time you catch a glimpse of something silvery in the corner of your eye, dread punches you in the gut. 

Why do you seek him out when you know actually meeting him would destroy you? What if you saw him here with another girl? Maybe one of the models his brother so often gifts his infected cock to? 

Tumultuous thoughts swirl in your mind until you notice that the flash of silver isn’t Aemond’s hair at all, and ease settles over you. Well, something akin to ease. The self-hatred is still there,

Pathetic. 

Your feet quickly carry you to the bar, eager for more of the numbness only alcohol provides. You order another G&T and almost spit it out after the first sip; it’s basically all gin.

Good.

You take three large gulps and move back to the dancefloor, searching for your friends who you’ve lost in the crowd of intertwined bodies. 

You scan your surroundings, and then it happens again. A flash of silver. Only this time, it’s him. 

You remember the first time you saw him. TV appearances and watching him on the ice doesn’t do him justice. In person, his ethereal beauty’s blinding. Just like it is now. One of the spotlights over the sofa he sits on hits his hair, causing it to glow like the beacon of a dark night at sea. 

Calling you in. 

Your feet work by themselves as they walk towards him. You panic, desperately searching for any excuse to talk to him. 

What do you say? 

Suddenly you’re right before him, drink in one hand and the other nervously touching your hair as you dumbly stare at him. He looks up from the drink in his hand, a whiskey on the rocks you’d guess, and meets your eyes. 

His gaze is cold and stoic. 

Unimpressed. 

He raises an expectant eyebrow. 

And yet you say nothing. All the witty, insightful, hard-hitting truths you’d wanted to tell him for the last six months vanish as you stand before him frozen in panic. 

Pathetic.

Pathetic. 

Pathetic!

You have nothing. Your mind’s empty, the only thing you can do is feel. Feel the self-hatred, the loneliness, the insecurity he’s inflicted upon you. 

He rolls his eyes. Aemond’s not known for his patience, “If you’re looking for that new boyfriend of yours, he’s not here”

“I don’t have a boyfriend”, you blurt out, prompted by the shiver running through you caused by the venom dropping from his words. He sounds so hateful. 

He stands abruptly, forcing you to take a faltering step back as he tower over you,

“Come”

He takes the drink in your hand and places it on a nearby table before grabbing your hand and leading you out of the rowdy club. The chill of the night air hits your scarcely clad body as he drags you towards a cab waiting outside, your ears still ringing from the loud music in the club.

He opens the door and pushes on your arm to get in. His touch is still impossibly warm; just as you remember it. 

He slams the door shut and walks around to the other side, getting in and grunting an address you’ve never heard of to the taxi driver.  

You know your friends would be furious if they knew who you left with, so you send them a quick text stating that you’ve left ‘cause you didn’t feel well. 

You place your phone back in your purse and look outside. It seems like you’re driving towards the north part of the city, a place you hardly know. 

The deafening silence in the taxi is so tense, any sane person would ask the driver to stop and get out in a heartbeat. 

Aemond, sitting next to you with his jaw clenched and fidgeting with his customised black and red lighter, sends nervous ripples of fear through your being. You know he’s contemplating something, yet you wouldn’t dare ask. 

Any sensible person would get out. 

But you can’t. 

Because he still smells the same. And it’s everywhere in the stuffy cab. And your heart hurts, a tear threatens to spill, because you’ve missed it all so much; his smell, his hair, his voice, his touch. 

Him.

The silence persists, until you're finally freed as the taxi driver stops and Aemond hands him a few copper stars. 

You get out and take a deep breath of the late summer night's air. The buzz of alcohol still clouds your judgement somewhat, yet you feel more aware of yourself than ever before. 

You look around and see Aemond approach the entrance to a sleek building in that brutalist, modern design, and you follow in tow. He still hasn’t said anything, and neither have you.

You get in a lift, go up to the top floor, and enter a dark flat with only a small table lamp lit by the entrance, obscuring your view of the place. 

Just as you make way to move further into the room, Aemond hinders you. 

He doesn’t allow you entrance to the rest of the space, cornering you against a low side table by the entrance door. He’s so tall, and so broad, you disappear into the wall as he steals all the space around you. 

“Why did you agree to come with me?” 

He’s so close you feel his breath tickle your skin. It’s too dark to truly see the expression on his face, but the shadows cast on him makes him look stern. The smell of him intensifies. You feel warm.  

This is all you’ve wanted. All you’ve feared. 

You still desire him so.

“You told me to”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you know it’s because your reply’s caught him off guard. He’d assumed you’d fight back, jab at him in some way. He tries again,

“My mate saw you at that club last week, you know”

Is he keeping tabs on you? 

“What happened to your boyfriend?” 

How does he know about that? 

You swallow, “Nothing. It just wasn’t right” 

“Hm”

Your eyes are locked together, his mismatched gaze just as alluring as you remember it. Without looking away, he brings a hand up to gently stoke the cold skin of your arm. 

The harshness of his stare falters, 

“Did you miss me?” 

“Did you miss me?” 

The retort leaves your lips before you register it forming in your head. Can’t give in to him that easily. Can’t make your suffering known to the person causing it. 

The harshness reappears. 

“Did he fuck you the way you like?” 

His tone is cold, yet heated with anger. The same hateful tinge from before. 

Your drunk mind works without you operating it, 

“He wasn’t you”

The confession slips out, and so does the pitifulness. The loneliness. The pathetic mess you’ve become. 

Aemond didn’t expect your admission either, eyes narrowing in suspicion, 

“What do you mean?”

Is this the time? 

To tell him how utterly devastated you’ve been without him? How he plagues your mind? How your entire being is tainted by him? 

No. 

“Why did you bring me here?”, you ask, foggy mind finally cooperative enough to let you change the subject.

“Because you wanted me to”, he replies, the gentle hand on your arm suddenly travelling down to caress your exposed thigh before  harshly cupping your cunt. 

A startled gasp espaces your lips. 

His touch is so nostalgic it travels from your aroused core to your heart, and squeezes it painfully.  

His hand is big enough to cover you entirely, and with the heel of his palm, he pushes harshly where he knows your swollen clit lies obscured under your panties. His long finger taps against your hole, and he huffs a quiet, condescending laugh as he feels how moist the fabric is.

When did you get this wet? 

You feel the heat of his touch radiate from his palm to your cunt, so persistent it finds its way through your underwear. He only moves his hand to stroke you over the fabric and press at your clit, but the gratification of finally being granted his touch works you towards release at a speed you’d thought impossible. 

“Still a little slut for me”  

He brings two fingers up to press right over your clit, rough circles demanding that you obey his touch and come for him. 

His breathing hard through his nose, the look in his eye is hard to decipher, 

Arousal? 

Fury? 

Fuck it feels good to be pushed against a wall by him. To be subjected to his rough treatment. Anything to feel his touch on you again. 

Your hips move upwards to meet his fingers; you’re so close to falling apart. 

“You missed me. And that fucker you were seeing couldn’t compare to me. Isn’t that right?” 

He spits out the words, teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he leans even closer. 

Your arms have been hanging limply at your side, and you have to fight the sudden urge to grab him and press him against you. To feel him closer. 

“Did he make you this wet?”

Aemond’s tongue licks the sensitive spot behind your ear and you moan loudly, fully consumed by the way his fingers push you towards release. 

You angle your face so that his mouth is right by yours. With parted lips, you look up at him pleadingly, begging him to kiss you. 

Something in his eye shifts, and a victorious smirk breaks out over his face, 

“Come”

And you do. So hard you see stars and your legs give out. The pleasure is intense, it steals everything from you; your breath, your senses, your self-discipline. 

Your hands fly to Aemond’s biceps, anchoring yourself to him as your body twitches forcefully in the pleasure rupturing you. It’s cathartic; a long awaited release only his hands can coax out. 

When you come back to reality, to the dark hallway you're trapped against Aemond’s body in, the dreaded self-hatred you’d gotten to know so well makes itself known again. 

The brutal reality of exactly how far your pathetic infatuation with Aemond has driven you crashes over you like an ice-cold wave of regret. You feel hot tears well up in the corner of your eyes as they stay casted down, refusing to look up at the man who’s greatest pleasure in life seems to be to torment you. 

Why had he brought you here? Why did he enjoy hurting you? Why had you fallen for it? 

“What did I do to make you hate me so?” 

It’s the alcohol talking. Or maybe it’s the last thing you need to hear from him before you can finally let go. The last shard of your heart crushed in his grip. 

Silence is the only answer he gives you, and without looking up, you push him to move so you can get away from him. Instead of allowing you to leave, he brings one hand to your cheek, engulfing it in warmth, and drags your face upwards to meet his eyes. 

Before you can read his expression, he ducks his head down, letting his lips graze over yours. His tongue comes out to swipe over your lower lip in a slow, gentle caress that feels more sensual than anything you’ve ever experienced, and in retaliation your greedy arms pull him closer, eagerly kissing him back. There’s a slow urgency to the way his tongue seeks out yours, bending your body backwards to taste you deeper. You relish in it. 

You want him to eat you up. To devour you completely. You’re his anyway. 

Without breaking the kiss, Aemond leads you down the dark hallway and into a dimly lit room. The only thing you register is a large bed in the middle, where he takes a seat and keeps you standing between his legs, still kissing you. 

His hands roam over your body; over your exposed arms and legs. They find the zipper at the back of your dress and pull it down, slowly undressing you until you're completely bare. 

He stands for a brief moment to rid himself of his own clothes, and then sits again, guiding you to climb onto his lap. 

You follow his every command in enchantment. You grant him every kiss he seeks, allow him every touch he craves. He can have it all. 

He guides you to sink down on him slowly. You’re still so wet, yet he’s so hard your insides are forced to mould after his stiffness. 

Once he fills each part of you, he wraps your legs around his waist, sighing in satisfaction as he presses your body so close to his the skin of your torso sticks to his. 

“I won’t last long-”, he whispers into your ear, “-a 6 month wait is excruciating”

The touch that you’ve known as harsh and demanding is now so soft. So delicate it slowly picks up the shattered pieces of your broken heart and mends them together again with each gentle caress.

Your hands cup his cheeks, gazing into his lilac and blue stare as you slowly begin to move. 

Aemond doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say that one phrase that you want him to, but the look in his eyes is mesmerising. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable. It’s intimate.

He’s giving himself to you. 

You wrap your arms around him, accepting him. You want all of him, all to yourself. You’ve wanted him for half a year. You’ve wanted him since the first time you met him. 

He meets your hips each time you sink down, and the otherwise carnal pursuit for pleasure feels dreamlike as Aemond’s arms envelop you and you disappear into him. 

You want to say it, but not yet. You don’t dare. Would he retreat again? You know it to be true, but it’s too early. Maybe someday. 

Instead, it’s Aemond who speaks over the moans and sighs of pleasure,

“Don’t leave me again” 

You don’t know how long you fuck, but each orgasm feels more consuming, more powerful, than the last. Ultimately, you collapse together on the bed, legs and arms still intertwined. The familiarity of Aemond’s heavy arms over your waist soothes you, yet the soft sheets of the bed provide a stark contrast to the stiff, clinical sheets of the hotel rooms he’d always brought you to before. 

There’s nothing left between you, no more layers to shed, so you ask him about everything that had led up to your separation. About how he dismissed you in front of his mother, and about the text from his brother. The latter seems to genuinely surprise him, 

“I’ve never shared your pictures with anyone, especially not him” 

Guess Aegon Targaryen isn’t above snooping through his brother’s stuff. 

You talk all night, and Aemond tells you about his strained relationship with his family, “My family has an ability to ruin things for me”, he confesses, “I didn’t want that to happen with you”

As the rays of sunrise begin to seep through the window, you admit to the loneliness that’s been eating away at you since parting from Aemond. 

He cups your cheek again, thumb stroking your cheekbone,

“I fucked up. I’ve missed you more than I thought possible”

Your loneliness hadn’t been solitary. He’d felt it too. You’d shared it. 

You lay your head on his chest, listening to the slow drum of his heart. Before it lulls you to sleep, you remember the last thing you’d like to ask him,

“Aemond, where are we?”

“My place”

A/N: I never know if I should write it as come or cum? After some studious research (not), I decided that come is the original and therefore works better! Thank you for reading, I write these drabble for fun to improve my writing, so don't be too harsh please 🫶🩵

[n0cturnalp1g]

The Dragon, The Bitch, and the Sheer Audacity

Summary: Prince Daemon Targaryen was in a familiar predicament/ But this time aroundit wasn't him that was avoiding his wife, it was his wife doing everything she could to avoid him. Characters: Daemon Targaryen x Female!Reader!Hightower. Gwayne Higtower Word Count: 1,040 Chapter Warnings: Not Edited. Just got inspired to write a short chapter because of @just-some-random-blogger Thank you for the commentary, really made my day when i read it!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prince Daemon Targaryen was cursed with the consequence of his own actions. He stared at the empty bed of his marital chambers. Yesterday he had married you and forcefully made you his wife, but he wasn’t much of a monster to force himself onto you–once again he finds himself not consummating his second marriage.

“Where is she?” Daemon had questioned the servant trying to busy themselves with cleaning the mess in the room.

“She is with her sister, the Queen, your Grace.” The mousy servant spoke, fear all the more evident in her eyes–he remembers her to be one of the servants helping with tending to his new wife last night, the verbal lashing they’ve found themselves into and cups and daggers being thrown at one another after. “They are praying in the Septs.”

Daemon couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the notion of the Sevens. Of the devout faith his new wife had because of your own family. One of the few flaws he was willing to overlook at this moment. But he couldn’t help but wonder if it would have been better if you had married in the tradition of his house, he could already imagine Otto and his spawns frothing at the mouth at the possibility.

“Tell the dragonkeepers to prepare Caraxes for flight, and ensure that the saddle will be big enough for myself and my wife.”

The eyes of the servant widened but did not voice her reaction out loud as she bowed and left Daemon to his own thoughts–a dangerous thing to do at this moment. It didn’t take long for him to also order to have his wife be brought  to the dragonpit, maybe a semblance of the reality of your new life would do you some good.

His eyes lingered on the mess that still remained in the room. His eyes zoning in on the familiar cloth that was stained in blood–blood cut from his own hand instead of what everyone perceived to be your maiden blood. It was better that way, for everyone to believe a consummation that has already transpired than an avoidance that was all too certain that came between them.

He sighed, slouching his head in frustration.

But somehow, anything that has to do with his own wife means he will no longer know peace. Chaos was now a constant for the Rogue Prince when it comes to his Wretched wife.

“Your Grace.” A guard has interrupted the momentary peace of his chambers.

“What?”

“Your Lady wife has been requested to return to Oldtown to assist Lord Hightower.”

“Of course she was.” He muttered under his breath already knowing the mess his day would be with his wife and everyone that involved the Hightower name.

All your life you had always believed yourself that there was no such thing as a God, and even more so multiple one that would ever place you in such a predicament. But here you were. Newly married, unconsummated and much preferring the presence of your younger sister than your new dragon husband–until her brother had requested her to return back to Oldtown.

“How easy it is for our Uncle to kick me out of Oldtown and demand me right back because of his own incompetence.”

Gwayne spoke your name gently but there was an evident warning in his tone. With nothing but the clothes on your back, you had joined your brother as you were demanded to return back to Oldtown as you were the only one capable of dealing with report reviewing–who knew your insistence of studying more than what was required of you would end with you in this predicament.

The pride of a lord is his ultimate downfall. You know all too well and made good use of it in your time under your Uncle’s ward. You’ve nearly burned down his tower as he tried to prove a point and failed to do so.

One of the only things that brought you immense pleasure was the small little fact that you made sure not to inform your husband of your departure. It brought a glimpse of satisfaction knowing that you were able to one up him and insist upon yourself that you still had control on yourself and your own autonomy.

“I’m afraid of asking why you are smiling, so I will not ask.”

“Nothing that needs your concern at the moment, brother.” You reassured, galloping your horse further.

The sooner you arrive in Oldtown, the sooner you are ensured that you will be further away from your tyrant of a husband.

For the next few days, you and your younger brother travelled by horse from King’s Landing to Oldtown. The presence of your younger brother brought a momentary peace, away from the judgement of your father and sister and away from the control that was not bestowed upon your husband since your marriage to him.

“I’m actually surprised your husband allowed you to travel away from King’s Landing, just a day after your marriage.”

You said nothing as soon as your eyes lingered onto the tower you had known all your life. As many memories of pain and turbulence you’ve endured here, it was a home that you always wanted instead of King’s Landing. You wanted this, the peace and tranquility away from the politics of the throne.

Now you were smack dab in the middle of it all.

“Home sweet home.” You muttered under your breath welcomed with the cautious eyes of the numerous guards lingering at the gate.

But neither you nor your brother could have ever expected that instead of your Uncle Ormund waiting with contempt for you, the sight of a large ugly dragon and equally large and abhorrent rider would come waiting for them both in Oldtown.

“Do you expect you can leave the Keep without informing your Lord Husband, My Dear wife?” Daemon Targaryen smirked, the swagger of a man that was constantly given what he wanted.

Behind him was his dragon, the vicious Blood Wyrm that brought fear and power to his family–and this sense of entitlement that knows no bounds in this day and age.

“And just a day after you wed me, you’re already running away, Dear Wife?”

[madmanipulation]

[ In Betsy’s latest comic, it’s revealed why Jamie ex machina is never a viable option. He’s an agent of chaos. “Felt bad” my ass. He did it for the fun and excitement, let’s be real. ]

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could we please have a batboys (and Bruce) x reader who can break the 4th wall?

This was rubbish.

Dick

Would rest his head on your shoulder and ask. ‘Who are you talking to sweetheart?’

He genuinely wants to know considering the first thing he heard was you talking back his beautiful back and perfect thighs, only to find that you were saying all this to no one in particular.

‘Oh just the lovely people reading this.’ You tell him happily and Dick would only see the walls of your shared room.

‘And what are they saying?’ Dick would then say.

‘Oh I can’t hear them, nor can I really see them exactly but I just have this feeling that we are being watched -or read in this case- by many people, I can sense them and i want them to feel included in my love life with the most beautiful man Gotham has to offer.’ You tell him as you kiss him on the cheek, making him smile.

‘Well as long as they know that I am taken by you, then we’ll be okay.’ Dick replied as he kissed your forehead sweetly. Dick at first though you were just the type to talk to yourself like some people, but seeing as how it seemed as though you were more or less addressing someone rather then just talking to yourself, Dick then assumed that you might have an ability that allows you to look past this reality and into another one entirely that might be looking into this one.

It was a scary thought to think that he was being watched ,or read as you put it, by another reality but it was intriguing nonetheless the less that there was a possibility of multiple dimensions. So he could only imagine what you were able to experience if you were able to see beyond this reality to address people who probably saw him in a different form entirely.

If anything he’s extremely curious as to how your ability worked exactly as it was something that was clearly unheard of. Somedays you would address the audience as per usual but other times you didn’t address them at all, almost as though you knew where and when they’ll pay attention to you both: all so that you could entertain them for as long as possible without it coming across as excessive or too long winded.

He would try to act like he could see them too as to not have you feeling so alone, but would get flustered when you tell him that he was looking the wrong way.

He’ll leave the fourth wall breaking to you instead and will be nosy and ask all sorts of questions about your ability, all before saying that your powers was the most coolest he’s come across, but you knew he was only saying that because you were his beloved partner but that didn’t make what he said any less true.

Jason

Would raise a brow at first but would keep this tendency to himself out of a need to protect you from those who’d gladly send you away for such tendency.

Jason isn’t phased by much but you talking to a wall as though someone was there brought a weird feeling to his chest.

‘His thighs? Perfect. His stomach and autopsy scars? Delicious. Arms, hands and back? Gorgeous but all of you at home are already aware of that and could only imagine how plush his tits are-‘

‘Who are you talking to chipmunk?’ He’d ask, cutting you off as he expected you to be on the phone to someone, so imagine to his surprise when he saw your phone on charge and you were in fact talking to thin air.

‘Just the people thirsting after you.’ You’d reply as though it was common sense.

‘Thirsting?’ Jason tried the word, not liking how it sounded coming from his mouth. ‘What’s that?’

‘Just think of it as another word for desire, but they can’t have you because in their reality you’re a fictional character who gets the short end of the stick constantly by people who don’t know what to do with you in general.’ You shrugged as you looked over at him with a smile. ‘Also you get stereotyped as someone you’re not by people who obviously lack a capacity for reading given how short their attention span is.’ The last part was muttered under your breath before bringing the conversation back to him.

‘Enough about me how about you honey?’

It wasn’t the first time you’ve done this and Jason knew it wouldn’t be the last either as he would find you passionately ranting to your invisible audience about something, and while it was cute to watch you be this passionate, he also became concerned for you in case you were going through something that you didn’t want to burden him with out of a need to protect yourself.

‘You can tell me if you’re going through something you know that right?’ He’d tell you one night as he holds your face in his hands.

‘Of course I do jaybird,’ you whispered to him before watching him as he fell asleep, only to move your head elsewhere to speak to the wall. ‘Isn’t he the cutest? Truly a man unlike any other, a dying breed if you will, but I can assure you dear readers that you too will find your Jason Todd because that’s what you all deserve in life is to be loved deeply by an non-judgmental and caring man.’ You fished before joining him in your sleep.

Tim

He thinks your maladaptive daydreaming.

What else was he meant to take away from you talking to seemingly no one so passionately as you did in that moment.

He didn’t want to say that you were insane but it wasn’t everyday where a sane person would idly make conversation with thin air or a brick wall as casually as you did.

That or you were extremely lacking in sleep and were now seeing things, if that was the case then he would be able to relate to you as he had those types of days also, more often then others that’s for sure but from what Tim could tell was far from the truth as you looked bright and too well rested for that to be the answer.

And honestly? He doesn’t want to know who exactly you were talking to as not to frighting himself shitless and would act as though you talking to a crowd of no one within your shared room was completely normal in Gotham.

God forbid you start talking to this unseen audience during the night, Tim will think he’s in some sort of horror movie that he was forced to watch with the rest of his family on Halloween. Seriously who knew fourth wall breaking could come across as though you were demonically possessed?

He wants to ask who you’re talking to, he really does but if he was running low on fumes that day, really tired and wanting nothing more then sleep he would forgo all logic and just agree with what you were saying to thin air.

‘I wish I could tell you just how mean Tim can be when he’s sleep deprived, you think you know sarcasm? Wait until Tim is on about two hours of sleep and then you’ll know true sarcasm.’ You’d say.

‘Says the one who’s talking to the wall as though it had ears to listen or a mouth to respond.’ He’d replied.

‘See what Im on about? Absolutely mean when he’s sleep deprived.’ He would hear you whisper aloud but he was on the verge of falling asleep against the table to find out the true reason to your uncanny ability to break the fourth wall.

Damian

Genuinely thought something was off with how often you would look off into the distance, as though you were addressing someone he couldn’t see, like a hidden camera that lead to an unseen audience.

‘Isn’t he the cutest when he’s acting all tough,’ he’d her you say, ‘it’s like if you give a rabid chihuahua a knife but ten times worse because he can actually back up his deeply descriptive threats.’ Damian’s brow would raise at this as he watched you silently as his mind wondered who you could possibly be entertaining with such things.

Gotham has an ability to make the most strong minded person break and needles to say Damian would keep silent watch over you while you had these kinds of episodes, even when you would proudly praise his artistic skills but never to him directly, but more so to seemingly thin air with a beaming smile.

‘He’s got a future as many things and in all honestly I’m envious of how multitalented my Dami is, but at least I get to be his hype man and cheer for him no matter what, which is something I bet half of you which you could have but here I am loving your fantasy!’ You’d finish with a cackle and it left Damian smiling to himself at your pride towards him, but also still very curious as to who it was you were talking to.

‘Who are you talking to.’ He would ask you one day.

‘The audience reading this fic.’ You’d reply as though it was the most casual thing to bring up in conversation.

Damian’s brows furrowed. ‘Audience? What audience.’ He tried looking in the same direction as you, only to see nothing but his bed.

‘Oh I don’t expect you to see them but they are there,’ you tried to reassure Damian but it only came off as ominous and albeit cryptic, ‘they are always there, watching.’ You’d add and needles to say your words only made Damian go into a defensive posture at the aspect of being spectated by beings only you could seemingly engage with.

Well done you’ve made Damian somewhat paranoid as to what this audience you speak to wanted, what they wanted with you to have you keep engaging in conversation with them and what they could be planning.

‘Always watching?’ Damian asked.

‘Yep,’ you replied, ‘but not when we’re in the bathroom, that’s just really weird but other then that we are merely entertainment for them to consume on days of boredom and to grow a parasocial relationship with us to their leisure.’ You added and when you looked over at Damian, his jade eyes were wide and you winced internally, wishing you hadn’t said anything at all because now you’d knew Damian would start reaching for his sword out of instinct now.

Try and tell him it’s a joke as much as you like but Damian would now take your ability to break the fourth wall as a sign that someone was out there, watching all of you, an invisible enemy that he couldn’t kill and it pissed him off. He’ll break you free of the curse…sooner or later.

Bruce

‘That man is finer than a mother fucker and he knows it. And I know damn well all you thirsty bitches are making edits of my sexy Bruce to the song of older by Isabel LaRosa. I just know it you absolute sluts, but I can’t blame you because I would too.’ Bruce had just finished showering and the first thing he sees is you seemingly talking to a wall as though you were talking to a group of people in a whole different plan of existence.

He’s seen a lot of things in his time as Batman but someone talking to people who aren’t there? He’d assume you’re either clairvoyant or have another ability that can allow you to talk to an audience of people whom he can’t see, for whatever it was wouldn’t change Bruce’s opinion on you, powers or not.

‘My darling.’ He’d greet you as he holds you from behind. ‘May I ask why and or who you were speaking so passionately about me to?’ He adds.

‘The people reading this fanfic.’ You’d tell him as though it was a completely normal thing to admit as it was something you had been doing for as long as you could remember. Your parents thought you were talking to an invisible friend like other kids your age, but it grew concerning when you were still talking to no one in particular well into your late teens.

Bruce just raised a brow but would assume that you had some ability that you weren’t comfortable to admit to him, and he didn’t want you to feel pressured to talk to him about such a thing, especially not if you had admitted to someone in the past before and their reactions were negative.

He would just try and look deeper into this sort of thing in hopes of finding any pre-existing information about anyone showing similar signs as you and reading it deeply and intensively so that he could be well informed to know what you were going through. Bruce loves to be educated on things that he didn’t understand with the hopes of understanding it on a deeper level, so if he did managed to find something that perfectly describes what you were doing, then he’ll be reading it until he could recite it in his sleep.

He didn’t want you to feel as though you should be ashamed of your unique ability and would often take notes and things that he’d noticed you do as you addressed the invisible audiences in vivid detail. Your ability to see into another reality or anything similar to talk to people was a powerful thing to have and Bruce was fascinated by such a unique power, a power that could prove that alternate realities exist.

But Bruce would find himself intrigued with how you talked to this invisible audiences, almost as though you were greeting an old friend, whether or not this was your way to cope with the fact that you could sense an audience watching your every move and leave no privacy to be had for yourself. It was unfortunately something Bruce wasn’t quite sure but until your ability was causing you harm he would contour to watch and observe while acting as though he was unaware/ unfazed of your tendency to talking to seemingly no one.

Basically reader: you should know this too

[changbunnies]

Devourance (18+)

♡ Pairing: Dracula / Nosferatu!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: vampire au, dracula / nosferatu au, 1800s au, human / vampire relationship, horror themes, reincarnation, soulmates, smut

♡ Word Count: 3.9k

♡ Summary: Hyunjin has crossed oceans of time to find you– the one who's blood calls to him, who beckons for him in the dead of night, who yearns for his touch against all conceptions of what one must and must not desire. The ancient Vampyr has an appetite for you; an appetite that won't ever be sated.

♡ General Warnings: reader has depression (referred to as melancholy), reader is a lucid dreamer, usage of vampire abilities (invading dreams, shapeshifting, heightened senses), hyun's true form is very Creature Vampire so. still sexy if ur a monster fucker like me but some of y'all may not like that lmao

♡ Smut Warnings: does having sex with someone inside their dream count as somnophilia? idk !!, outdoor sex (kind of; it's a dream so they're not really outside lol), wet dreams, pet names (my love, my heart), referenced biting and blood drinking, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: originally, when i was planning my late kinktober fics, this was strictly a dracula au (as i love the 1992 movie and have a beautiful copy of the book sitting in my horror novel collection <3) but i saw the nosferatu remake in theaters and it rotted my fucking brain lmao so this became a blend of both ! i hope you enjoy it, cause i had a blast writing it <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

It starts as a dream; a waking one, so vivid and lucid that the line between conscious reality and imagination blurs, all perception of time and space bending and warping to what your subconscious mind feels most safe and familiar.

Your hands clasped together, a deep breath before you close your teary eyes, your souls desires laid out in a whispered prayer– "Come to me."

Who are you asking for? Who will heed your call? A friend you wish to have, but have yet to obtain? An imaginary prince charming who will right all the wrongs of your life with his presence alone? God himself? Death?

You do not know– all you know is that you are desperate for an escape from the melancholy that permeates your life, seeping its way into every crack of your porcelain heart, as thick and murky black as tar. It sticks to you, wraps itself around every cell, clinging to you in a loveless embrace.

Even in your dreams you cannot escape it; so often you hear tale of joyous dreams. Dreams in which you stand upon the altar, waiting to be wed to the love of your life, dreams in which you share a dinner with one you admire, or dreams in which you have coveted all that you desire.

You are regaled with recollections of dreams full of simple pleasures; warm and nostalgic, dreams of playing in the front yard as a child, with your mother's freshly baked bread wafting to you from the open window. Dreams of early school days, where one's only worry in the world was what they'd play when they got back home.

For some, dreams are entirely nonsensical; there is often no clear purpose, nor story, nor concrete feeling– but it is pleasant in its own right, and entertaining to recall the absurdities in which you found yourself in the middle of.

You do not experience such simple pleasures.

While for others, dreams are a pleasant escape from everyday life, a blissful end to an arduous day of work, your dreams are an extension of your reality. They offer no comfort, nor joy, nor escape from your bleak, mundane existence. You are ever as aware of yourself whilst asleep as you are while conscious, feeling every emotion just as strongly as you do in the light of day.

You wish you could say you have adapted to life with your melancholy, or learned to be at peace with it, or that you don't mind having no escape. But the truth of the matter is that your dreams being not a safe haven as they should be tolls on you, made worse by the fact that even in the sanctuary that should be your mind, you are utterly alone and miserable.

So there you stand in your waking dream, wishing for a change. A mirror of your reality, your status within your dream reflects the state you were in before falling to sleep. You are in your bedroom, as pitch dark as you left it when blowing out the candles, the only illumination coming from the moon shining through your balcony doors.

You stand in the middle of the room, hands clasped and eyes closed as you whisper your prayers, the same lily-white chemise you wore to bed draping your body. So perfect a recreation of your surroundings, that were it not for the fact that you so vividly remember adhering to your sleep routine and laying your head against the pillows, you might not even be able to say that this was a dream at all.

And though it is just the confines of your mind, and you are certain no one but God can hear you (if he will listen, and hasn't yet turned his back on you), you plead. 

"Come to me. A guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, a spirit of any celestial sphere– anyone, anything. Please, hear my call."

There is naught in the room but silence when you are finished; you are as alone with your thoughts as you ever are. You take a breath, blink away building tears, readying yourself to try again– and then, to your greatest surprise, there is a response.

For the first time in all your many dreams, a voice answers you– soft, an indistinct whisper akin to your own, but you hear it echo in the silence of your bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, a soft gasp leaving your parted lips as you look around the room.

Slowly, you lower your hands, taking an unconscious step forward, closer to where the voice calls to you from your balcony. You cannot yet discern what the voice is saying, nor can you see their figure, but you watch breathlessly as the lock on your balcony doors seems to unlatch itself, a sudden gust of wind pushing it open.

The air is cooler than you'd expect for a late spring's breeze, but you do not shiver or shrink away from the sudden chill; instead, you tentatively take another step, following the unfamiliar, beckoning voice. The voice becomes clearer the closer you step to the balcony, and though you see nothing out of the ordinary before you, you feel them.

No, to say you do not see them is not right– invisible in your mortal gaze, yes, but the moon casts their shadow on your wall, your curtains billowing with the steady breeze capturing their inhuman silhouette. And surely it is merely a trick of shadow that makes the figure appear so inhuman– because how else can you grapple with so foreign a creature standing before you?

You rationalize the impossibly tall silhouette as the moon elongating their shadow, the sharp and pointy length of their nails having simply become exaggerated, the unnatural point of their ears the result of a penumbra trick. Their figure vanishes with each fall of your curtains, reappearing with each rise; but their shadow ever lingers, eerie black against your ivory walls.

Their shadow serves as a reminder, you think– that even when you cannot see them, they will be there. Watching, beckoning, waiting; the voice, once so indistinct and otherworldly, is now crystal clear in your ears. Soft but luminous, it calls you as you take another cautious step closer.

"You," the voice starts, and though soft, it is an aching rasp– reminiscent, you think, of when one has fallen ill, or of times when one's throat has grown stiff from disuse. You have no further time to ponder if this is the man's– creature's?– natural inflection; for in just a few more careful utterances, their tone smooths, the soft voice becoming silken.

"You," the male voice repeats, smooth as satin and utterly mesmerizing, "I have heard you. And I answer in turn– come to me."

The shadow moves along your wall then, creeping closer to you; it feels as if it envelops you, embracing you with a blissful warmth you've never before felt. It clings to you with each step, but it does not feel like the melancholic tar you are accustomed to; it is a gentle ribbon, guiding you further with promises of sweetness you have so long craved.

Holding now to the railing of your balcony, you look to the gardens below. There you see him, standing amongst the tall, twisting trees and blooming lilacs. He gazes up at you, eyes black as a void, and yet they still shine in the light of the moon.

And just as a void promises to, his look swallows you whole. You lose yourself in the dark, hypnotic pool of his eyes, stumbling forward almost blindly, with one simple thought– you must go to him.

You are before him in an instant, though you have no recollection or understanding as to how. Did you walk off the balcony and fall below? Did you turn back and trek through the house to make it to the gardens? Is this the absurdity of dreams that normally eludes you, or is a greater power at work?

The answer seems of little importance; bewitched by the man standing before you, you find that logic and rationality hold no value. He is here, perfection and beauty embodied wholly– the answer to your prayers; that is all you care to know.

Your hand trembles, your utmost desire now to reach out and feel him beneath your fingertips, to confirm that he is not just a figment of your dream– that there really was someone in this world who could hear you from beyond, and cared enough to respond to your call.

Hair as black as his eyes, a few long strands falling over his perfect cheekbones, while the rest is tucked behind his normal, and not at all pointed, ears. He has full, plush lips shaded in an enchanting, muted red, with a little mole under his left eye and utterly flawless, pristine skin.

He is ethereal, and radiant, and he is here for you– and while his eyes hold a darkness you have never before seen, his smile is impossibly tender. He takes your trembling hand in his own, and you can feel his nails poke your skin as he closes it around you.

They are long, yes, but not as long and pointed as his shadow would've led you to believe them to be. There is a part of you that decides you were correct to think his features were simply exaggerated and warped by shadow, though the deep recesses of your heart and mind know this isn't true.

Whatever he is, whoever he may be– he is not of this world, you know that for certain. For who else in the world could hear you? Who would have the power to meet you in your mind? A trickster, an angel, a devil? It matters not, you decide; for perhaps, in some ways, you are not of this world either.

Perhaps you have always felt melancholic, twisted, and odd, because your destiny did not reside with your fellow man– perhaps it lied here, with this creature who wears the mask of the beautiful sort of prince charming you've yearned for.

His shadow was the truth of his being, you innately know, and yet it gives you no fear. He squeezes your hand, a reassurance, while the other rises to cup your cheek in his palm, a tender rub of his thumb along the skin where he holds you. His gentle touch is ice cold, but it spreads warmth through your body regardless– because oh, how you've longed for the companionship of another.

"You are for me," he whispers as he inches closer, your noses on the precipice of touching, "and I, you. Do you believe in destiny?" He stares at you, observing you closely as he awaits your answer. You swallow, heart quickening as you hold his gaze.

"Yes," you utter softly; for in the depths of your soul, you feel it– the immutable pull that tells you this is where you must be. Beside him, in his arms, at his side for all eternity– and he will love you, this you know true; because even down to the very marrow of your bones, your body says it is so.

He has searched for you for an age; not someone like you, no. You. Only you. And his delight to finally have heard his beloved's call, and to answer– it is an unparalleled joy, one that he expects you to share. For even in your mortal life, your blood sings for him just the same as it did those many, long centuries ago.

You were promised to him then, as you are now– and he will have you, just as he did then. First in sleep, as you are now, but someday soon he will find you in the physical world once more. He will hold you in his arms, your reunion as joyous as it is profane. Rejoice, as you join him back to your true home; the castle, your castle, where every moment was spent in unholy exuberance.

"Do you remember?" he asks, voice honey-sweet, "remember how we once were?"

You do not, not really– your mind has no recollection of the man before you. But your soul remembers, has carried the weight of centuries of love and longing with it all this time, waiting for the moment all the feelings harbored within could finally be unearthed.

"I know you," you answer, truthfully; because while this is your first meeting in this life, you recognize him all the same. In the deepest recesses of your memory, he is there, gazing upon you with the same reverence he does now. He holds you close, kisses you tender, his touch along your skin slow and gentle, his name a whispered prayer on your lips.

Hyunjin.

His eyes light up when you call his name, a smile growing on his perfect lips. Hyunjin would know you anywhere, and there was never any doubt you were his love– but all the same, it is a great relief to hear his name fall from your lips again after so many years spent longing for it.

He kisses you then, doing his utmost to relay the depths of his passion, while also holding the carnality he feels for you at bay– the last thing he wishes to do is overwhelm you with his appetite too soon. You are his affliction, his every desire, he must have you; and he can only pray that you will not deny him, or yourself, the pleasure– but only when the time is right.

"You will be mine once more," he says; a statement, not a question, between kisses to your lips, "as I am eternally yours." Your nerves tingle, blood alight as you return his affections, meeting his lips with urgency.

"I will have you," he continues, almost breathless as his lips begin to trail down your neck, "Will you swear it? That again, we are for no one but each other?" His breath tickles your skin, the points of two sharp teeth touching the sensitive pulse point. You shiver as his fangs linger there, closing your eyes as your heart thunders in your chest.

Hyunjin can not truly drink from you here, not in the confines of your dream, but his teeth against your neck serve as a reminder– that your blood is his greatest temptation. Should you promise yourself to him once more, he won't be able to resist you– as there is no taste sweeter than the blood of his beloved.

"I swear," you whisper your promise; for you will never fear him, nor can you deny the ecstasy that comes when he drinks from you. “ever-eternally, I am yours.” 

He is a beast of nightmares, a plague set upon the world, a ruinous omen of death, your immortal Vampyr; and you are safe in his hold. For he loves you and needs you too greatly to cause you any harm– an affection that contradicts his nature, but what a welcome contradiction it is. 

When you meet his gaze once more, his eyes burn with desire; it has been an agony, truly, to have such carnal desire for you all these centuries. And he could do naught with his desires but wait– wait for the day you would return to this world, and pray that your body and soul would still sing for him the way it once had. 

Hyunjin could have taken concubines, could’ve shared his castle with any great number of men or women– but they would not have been you. None can sate him the way you can, none can spread such flames of passion through his icy veins, none can make his eternally still heart feel as if it beats. It is not a vain promise when he says you are the only one for him– he means it with every fiber of his immortal being.

Your heart and soul, now free from their sepulchre, burn with need. He can hear the erratic thump of your heart, the blood rushing through your veins, can smell the arousal pooling between your legs. You desire him, just as he desires you– and he decides then that the time is right; there is no need to be cautious and careful with his affections.

You want him, and he wants you– and you will have each other, now and forever.

Hyunjin kisses you once more, hungry and urgent. He pulls your body flush to his own, holds you tightly as the wind rolls quickly past you. You realize, when you pull away to catch a breath, that your surroundings have shifted. Now in the center of the estate’s hedge maze, he lies you down on the stone bench beneath the grand statue of Mnemosyne.

You shiver against the cold stone, but he warms you with another kiss. His tongue meets your lips as his hand dances around the bottom of your chemise, lifting it up just enough to expose your lower half. His hands find your thighs, the points of his nails digging at the soft flesh as he squeezes you in his palms. 

It elicits a needy sound from deep within, one that you almost don’t recognize as your own. You feel the sharp points of his teeth with your tongue, while he spreads your legs apart to make more room for himself between them. He tugs your panties away with haste, and there is no shyness to be had when he separates to look at the way you glisten under the moonlight for him. 

He takes a moment to stare, licks his lips before looking back up to meet your eyes. You hold his gaze as he frees his cock from his trousers, swallowing as you look down for just a moment, and then back up to him. You are both eager, it is clear– and he will have neither of you wait any longer; you have both waited long enough. 

“I will have you,” Hyunjin repeats as he grabs your hips, lifting your bottom up from the stone bench and aligning you with himself. His thighs support you, while his feet stay firmly planted on the grass and stone below. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he removes one of his hands from your hips, using it to find leverage on the stone as he leans over you. 

You can feel his cock pulsing against you, excitement and anticipation building exponentially in your gut. “Mine again,” he whispers as he captures your lips in another kiss, “You are mine, my love.” 

He presses inside you as slowly as he can manage to, and you gasp, hands reaching out to cling to his arms. Thick and full, you let out a shuddering moan when his cock is sheathed fully inside your wet heat. He moans with you, the centuries of building need finally melting into the pure bliss he’d been longing for. 

But he refuses to rush– his thrusts are slow and fluid, precise and calculated, searching for the spot he knows will bring you utmost euphoria. You let out a high-pitched moan, followed by a curse, when he succeeds; and he smiles before he grits his teeth, determined to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

“Hyunjin, oh, please–” you whimper, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves as he picks up his pace. He wanted to drag it out longer, truly, he did; but the mind is a powerful thing, and even whilst in a dream, the pleasure that you both feel is entirely real. 

And how much longer can one who has held centuries of lust and yearning hold back? Especially when the object of his every desire is moaning and begging for him so sweetly?

He could never resist you– not then, and especially not now. And long has he craved to hear his name spill from your lips like this again; so much so that the sound of it sends him into a frenzy. 

“Again,” he utters, equal parts desperate plea and urgent demand, “call to me, say my name.” You oblige easily, his name falling from your lips in a tantalizing mantra; and you feel his cock throb violently with each salacious whimper, his every thrust laced with desire and urgency.

He releases his grip on your hip, moving his hand to your center and pressing his thumb on your clit. Your breath catches, eyes rolling back as he rubs your clit in steady, practiced circles.

“Cum for me, my love,” Hyunjin urges; he is on the precipice of release himself, and he needs you to fall apart with him– it is the only way he can truly be satisfied. Your thighs tremble, whimpers broken by harsh breaths; and you let go of his arms, reach up to his face and pull him down into a desperate, needy kiss. 

He moans, and if his flesh were mortal, he is sure that goosebumps would’ve risen over every inch of his body. His thrusts lose their fluidity, becoming quick and choppy as he chases the high your body promises him. You clench tighter, toes curling and body quivering as you finally cum, your every moan of pleasure captured by his lips. 

His hips still as his own high takes him, his cock fully pressed inside, his cum spurting in long, sticky spurts. Your kisses are breathless, impassioned, but no longer urgent– they are soft promises of love, of eternity together in bliss.

You smile at him when he pulls away, and he looks at you just as tenderly as he had before, stroking your cheek and indulging in the heat it offers his thumb. You’ve never felt so relaxed, happy and at peace– but just then, you feel a sudden jolt.

It is a sign that your consciousness is returning to reality, and you will soon find yourself back in your bed, with the morning light shining on you from your balcony. Hyunjin, an invader in your mind, feels himself being pushed out– for he can not stay by your side beyond the bounds of your dream just yet. 

There is fear and uncertainty that peaks within you as you fight to stay asleep just a moment longer– but he is quick to calm you, kissing you one last time before you the sun’s rays shine down on you.

“I will find you again in the waking world, my heart,” he says, squeezing your hand in his before he starts to fade once more into shadow, “this, I promise.”

You rise with a start, blinking rapidly and lingering, unshed tears falling from your eyes as you raise your hand to your heart. Just as expected, it is morning now– the late spring sun is bright and warm, and birds chirp in delight as they welcome the dawn of a new day.

You frown, feeling the erratic thumb of your heart beneath your fingertips as the melancholy claws its way back around you, reminding you that it has not left. Your inner thighs are sticky and wet, you realize a short moment later, and for the first time, you blush.

And then you giggle– and the melancholy, though ever present, now has a weaker grasp. You wonder, as you rise from the bed and prepare for your day, how long it will take for Hyunjin to find you. Days, weeks, months? 

You hope it is soon– but if it is not, you know what you will do. Every night, when you blow out the candles and fall asleep, you will call to him. You’ll invite him back into your mind, greet him with a soft kiss, and revel in his tender touch.

You will make love, you will smile, and you will talk of the future with greater enthusiasm than you have ever known– for he is your destiny, your truest love, your one and only immortal Vampyr. Ever-eternally.

[starmapz]

rest in the mourning || r. sukuna

❦ heian era true form ryomen sukuna x female reader

❦ oneshot

❝ sukuna is a god among men, untouchable by mortals. or so you had both thought. as he fades quietly in your arms, sukuna wonders if curses die with regrets. ❞

❦ warnings ; 18+ only. angst. hurt/no comfort. descriptions of sex. hickeys. soft(ish)!sukuna. pet names (dove, minx, queen). descriptions of death and loss. major character death. takes place in the heian era.

❦ words ; 1.7k.

masterlist

You felt it, the moment it happened. Like fate or destiny, you had a connection beyond the bond of your relationship. You had the arrogance to believe this bond could never be broken. The king was a sheer force of nature, unable to be defeated, and he would never let someone lay a finger on his queen.

Yet, as he slumps against the wall of the estate, lower body covered in debris, you can see the way life drains from his eyes. Where once they swirled with pride and confidence, all four of his crimson irises are glazed, dull and slipping away quickly.

Dashing past the assailants that don’t dare interrupt your anguish, you fall to your knees before your king, ignoring the way the debris beneath you tears your knees open. Your blood coats the ground as you shovel the stone and gravel away from Sukuna, unable to find any words suiting the situation as small mumbles and whimpers of ‘no’ part your lips.

His eyes, usually so full of his fiery disposition, drift slowly from your hands freeing him of the fallen bricks and stones that cover his legs, until they reach your face.

He thinks you’re beautiful. He always has. You’ve been with him as long as he can remember and never once has he dared to imagine a life without you. He’s sure you feel the same way, he’s more than certain you thought he couldn’t die.

“Hang on Kuna, I’ll- I’ll find Uraume, we can-” you stammer, your words coming out breathless.

He blinks slowly, taking languid and long ragged breaths as he attempts to burn the image of you into his mind before he’s gone. The way your eyes regard him with such care, the way you would challenge his word, unafraid of the king’s hisses and growls. You had no reason to fear him, for he would never bring you harm.

“Minx.” His voice is low and strained as he directs your attention back to him. You lean forward to take his face in your hands as you kneel at his side. Your touch is warm, eliciting a content hum from him. It’s unusual to see your lover so soft and vulnerable. The weight of realization that he’s fading fast is enough to tear you apart, to crush and drown you in your own pain.

He leans into your grasp as your thumbs trace the tattoos running along either side of his jaw. Long lashes flicker shut, shoulders slumping as he allows himself to relax into your embrace.

Your Sukuna is not a soft man. He doesn’t indulge in fleeting touches and gentle caresses, he doesn’t show vulnerability for he has none. He’s confident, assertive, and blunt. Although he wouldn’t dare bring you harm, he’s rough and his touch is insistent. While you rarely find him upon his throne without you on his lap, he remains dominant and demanding. He only grows more indulgent of your requests to cuddle, kiss, or relax together behind closed doors.

Here, in the estate’s garden surrounded by prying eyes, there is only one world where Sukuna seeks such gentle actions.

The world where he’s dying in your arms.

Sobs wrack your body as the realization comes over you, unable to hold back the way you plead with him. “You can’t leave me,” you beg, searching his eyes as they flicker open again. The emotions swirling within the crimson of his irises are ones you can’t place, don’t recognize. They’re unbefitting of your king.

“Curses do not die,” he reminds you, “I will return one day.”

It doesn’t bring you comfort. There is no string of fate binding the two of you together and the reality of the fleeting life you live is that you won’t be there when the day comes that he returns.

“Uraume and I can’t, no, won’t-”

“You will.” Sukuna interrupts you. “You will go on. I command it,” his tone is foreignly soft, sending a shiver up your spine. His fingers twitch as he attempts to move one of his mighty arms to hold you in one of the many ways he’s learned brings you comfort, but his muscles only tense, unable to move.

“Not without you, just hang in there,” you plead, your body shivering as you turn your head from side to side uselessly, desperately searching for help. It’s all in vain, Uraume has been missing since the beginning of the battle and the rest of the estate lies in the ruins of crimson that coats the battlefield.

“Dove.” His tone is more assertive this time, but despite the hope his tone brings you, the nickname freezes you in your tracks, pausing even your sobs as your anguished expression takes him in with parted lips.

Sukuna has only ever called you dove once. Queen and minx have always been more fitting terms of endearment for the person Sukuna deems worthy of ruling alongside him. It was on your wedding day, long after the ceremony had ended, in the privacy of your room, with the festivities having come to a close.

You had laid upon his chest, your form rising and falling with his breaths. You’re certain he doesn’t know you heard him call you the name, that he had assumed you were asleep. It had been a long night that left you covered in lovebites and bruises, markings mirrored upon his own skin.

You wonder if he’s aware that you heard him that night. If he knows it makes you weak. You wonder if he feels the way you tremble now as you hear it for the first time once again in many years.

“You will live for me,” he instructs. “You are more than worthy of your title as my queen.”

Your lips part but nothing comes out. Sukuna’s breathing is growing shallower and there’s still so much left unsaid. So much you need to tell him, but you aren’t sure you have the words to say what needs to be said.

Sukuna gasps for air, his head falling back against the brick behind him as a cough wracks his body. Your hands fall to your sides, your eyes filled with disbelief as you watch your husband fade before you. Your hands shake so violently that Sukuna yearns to hold and still them, but there’s no strength left to muster to perform such an action.

They say no sorcerer dies without regrets. Sukuna wonders if that’s true of curses too.

Do curses die with regrets? Or is it some other part of him that feels this guilt, right now?

The king of curses wishes he would have returned those three words more often than he did. He did return them, right? He can’t seem to recall a time. He wishes he told you more often how your beauty stands out above all. How he could pick you out of a crowd blindfolded every time, how one brush of your skin is all he would need to identify you. He knows you like the back of his hand.

Sukuna cherishes the way you touch him. The way your hands card through his locks, the gentle way in which you run your hands along the lines of his tattoos. He cherishes the way your lips capture his, the way you’ve always been so unafraid of claiming him as your own.

He longs once more to feel the way your body fits with his so perfectly. The way your skin sticks to his in the afterglow of sex, the way your moans sound musical as you repeat his name like a mantra when he thrusts into you, finding that spot that makes you sing.

His vision blurs, speckling at the edges as his head bobs slowly, breaths growing shorter. He can hear your sobs. He can hear the way you beg him to stay awake, to wait for Uraume to heal him. He always did love to hear you beg for him, but not like this. The way you cry for him twists in the pit of his stomach in an unfamiliar way that makes his jaw tense, but it lasts for only a moment as the muscle twitches before he’s unable to move it.

He can’t feel his legs any longer. His arms have long grown numb.

With all the strength he can muster, he lifts one of his upper arms to caress your cheek. You stare back at him with wide eyes, words falling from your mouth as you plead with him to hang on for you. Tears stain your beautiful cheeks, slipping over his fingers as he wipes them. He can’t feel the tears, though in truth he isn’t certain he would want to.

Still, he commits your melancholic expression to memory, because he knows this is his truth, and he won’t let himself forget what he’s done to you.

Curses die with regrets. He knows this, because as his head falls and his vision darkens, all he sees is that terrified and lost expression seared into the landscape that is what’s left of his mind.

If Sukuna has a heart, it twists in guilt and pain, yet he knows it pales in comparison to the turmoil you’re experiencing as his lifeless body slumps forward into your arms. As his form stills slowly, his entire weight falling forward into your lap, his final moments are spent in heaven.

Your hands brush through the pink of his hair so lovingly that you know on a normal day he would grumble irritatedly and slap your hand away. As his body relents to darkness, it’s then that he hears your gorgeous voice amongst the ringing that silences the sounds of the outside world.

Your voice is his lighthouse in all this darkness, that leads him to peace.

“I love you, Sukuna.”

He longs to say it back. He feels your hand falter in his hair as your tears fall freely and your wails alert the estate to the loss of their king. With every ounce of strength he has, he tries to return your words. He feels his throat tighten, but his body has already given up on him.

Sukuna is a curse, the king of them, yet in death he thinks he may have been cursed worse than any human could be.

Curses die with regrets just as sorcerers do.

Sukuna will spend every lifetime wishing he returned those three words to you.

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a/n ; please follow/like/reblog/share if you enjoyed. ♡ i'm sorry :')