#Rejects: tempest

[tempest-ina-tea-cup]

Hello, Tempest. -@space-apothecary

Hello Aaron, what's up?

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚

gangleader!sukuna x reader, modern au

tags: daddy kink, dirty talk, blowjob, sukuna speaks italian, petnames in italien translations: piccola - little one/baby principessa – princess che brava – (what a) good girl sei carina, lo sai? – you're cute, you know? ti piace, piccola? – you like it, little one? notes: minors dni wc: 3.6k

Life was tough. At least your life was.

Living alone in this day and age was expensive and to pay your student loans was almost impossible. Yes, you could go the easy route and just sell your body or some pictures but that really wasn’t your style. You weren’t going to turn your body into a product. So, when a man called Toji came up to you, asking how much you were worth for the night, you rejected him and asked if you could do something else that would earn you just as much money. The handsome man simply smirked before your criminal life started. Ever since then your job was to “exchange fake money with real money”. Money laundering.

And you did just that. Asking your friends to lend you money and giving them back fake money, returning products you bought with the fake money, asking people if they could change one bill for another. It worked. The last few months worked without any problems at all. This month however was an absolute nightmare. Not only did Toji give you way more money than usual, you were in the middle of exam season. You were running behind and Toji warned you that his boss, Sukuna, was not pleased with your current status. Well, it’s not like you could do anything about it anyway.

As the heavy front door creaked open, a wave of exhaustion washed over you, burdened with the weight of deadlines, exams and Toji’s constant warnings. Your footsteps echoed in the dimly lit hallway, each one a testament to the fatigue that settled deep within your bones. With heavy shoulders and a weary sigh, you dragged yourself through the threshold of your home, longing for the solace of your own space. The weight of your backpack seemed to increase with every step, a physical manifestation of the mental strain you had endured throughout the day. As you entered your room, the soft glow of your desk lamp provided a faint comfort, but even its warmth couldn't dispel the overwhelming sense of stress that enveloped you. Toji kept sending you messages, telling you to hurry up and wash the money. Another sigh fell from your lips as you let your backpack and jacket fall to the ground. The moment you turned around you started to scream – a stranger was sitting on your bed.

Sukuna, the embodiment of wrath and power, sat on the edge of the bed, his presence casting a palpable aura of danger in the room. Clad in a white shirt and black pants that hugged his form with menacing elegance, his usually composed demeanor was shattered by a seething anger that simmered just beneath the surface. The fabric strained against his muscles as if unable to contain the sheer force of his rage. With a clenched jaw and eyes ablaze with fury, he exuded an aura of dominance that commanded attention. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to contain the tempest within him. Every breath he took seemed to echo with the promise of destruction, a silent warning to those who dared to cross him. Despite the veneer of sophistication his attire provided, there was no mistaking the primal wrath that pulsed through his veins, ready to unleash chaos upon any who dared provoke him.

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Ain’t no way you’re talking to your leader like this, stupida.”

Realization hit instantly. This was what Toji was warning you from the whole time. It was Sukuna – the gang leader. You heard a lot of terrifying things about him. The name of Sukuna Ryomen struck terror into the hearts of all who dared to utter it. A gang leader with a penchant for unspeakable cruelty, his reign of terror was marked by a litany of horrifying deeds that stained the streets with blood and despair. From the depths of his depravity, tales whispered of Sukuna's penchant for gruesome displays of power — from the grisly dismemberment of rivals left as warnings, their mutilated remains strewn across the city like macabre ornaments, to the innocent lives snuffed out in acts of ruthless vengeance. His depraved appetite for control knew no bounds, his twisted machinations orchestrating a symphony of fear that echoed through the alleys and corridors of the urban labyrinth he ruled with an iron fist. Behind the facade of opulence and influence, Sukuna's true legacy lay in the shattered lives and haunted souls that bore witness to his reign of terror, forever scarred by the horrifying specter of his atrocities.

It was the first time that you actually saw him and it was the first time that you instantly got on your knees for a man. You knew you had to show your utmost respect to this man. “I am so sorry. I–I didn’t know. Please forgive me, Sukuna.”

A grin graced his face as he saw you submit to him so quickly. He loved that fear struck anyone who laid eyes upon him. On top of that: You were a beauty. However he could not just look over your lack of achievements. At first he was impressed by your work. You managed to wash all the money and not have a single cop suspicious of you, you were smart and didn’t tell a living soul about your connection to Sukuna’s gang. So, he decided to give you some more money, he was sure that you were able to handle it. You weren’t and you took none of Toji’s – his right hand – warnings seriously.

“You look good begging on your knees, piccola. You would have made way more money on the streets, you know?”, he snickered, Toji told him about your decision to never sell yourself. Sukuna respected that as long as you still somehow benefited him. “Toji warned you, didn’t he? You’re behind. Why are you fucking up my business, y/n?”

The flicker of a lighter cast an eerie glow upon his features, accentuating the cold calculation that lurked behind his piercing gaze. With practiced nonchalance, he retrieved a cigarette from its pack, his fingers deftly manipulating the slender cylinder with an air of arrogance. Ignoring the palpable tension that hung in the air like a shroud, he brought the flame to the tip of the cigarette, a small ember igniting amidst the darkness. The sharp inhale of smoke filled the room, intertwining with your fear, a sinister dance that mirrored the power dynamics at play. In that moment, as the tendrils of smoke curled around him like malevolent serpents, Sukuna asserted his dominance with a single, calculated gesture, cementing his control over both the room and its trembling inhabitant.

“I–It’s just exam season…and I was given more than usual…I am really, from the bottom of my heart, sorry for everything.” You were frozen in the oppressive atmosphere of Sukuna's presence, your heart hammering in your chest like a caged bird desperate for escape. As he lit up a cigarette with an effortless display of power, you couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down your spine, your nerves alight with a cocktail of fear and anticipation. Your breath caught in your throat, caught between the instinct to flee and the inexplicable pull of his dominating presence. Despite the terror that coiled in the pit of your stomach, there was an undeniable undercurrent of arousal that stirred within you, a primal response to the sheer force of his authority. The way he commanded the room with effortless control sent a shiver of excitement coursing through your veins, igniting a fire of desire that burned beneath the surface of fear. In the face of his overwhelming dominance, you found yourself teetering on the edge of submission, your body betraying you with each racing heartbeat as you struggled to navigate the complex interplay of fear and desire that pulsed between you two.

Sukuna's gaze, sharp as a blade, pierced through your facade of fear with unnerving precision. In the flickering light of the room, his eyes seemed to strip away your defenses, laying bare the tangled web of emotions that churned within you. He could sense the trembling of your limbs, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying the fear that gripped you. But beneath that fear, there simmered something else — a raw, primal desire that pulsed with a rhythm all its own. With a predatory grin, Sukuna leaned in closer to your kneeling form, his voice a low, husky murmur that seemed to caress the very air around. "I can see right through you, piccola," he murmured, his words laden with a dangerous allure that sent a thrill coursing through your veins. "You can't hide that hunger from me." And in that moment, as the tension crackled between you like electricity, you realized that you were completely at his mercy, your desires laid bare for him to see.

As Sukuna's penetrating gaze lingered on you, you felt a flush of embarrassment spread across your cheeks like wildfire. Caught in the crosshairs of his scrutiny, you wished you could disappear into the shadows, away from the intensity of his knowing stare. The revelation of your hidden desire left you feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way you had never experienced before. Each beat of your heart seemed to echo the rhythm of your mortification, the weight of his gaze bearing down on you like a heavy burden. Unable to meet his eyes, you lowered your gaze to the ground, willing yourself to shrink away from the searing intensity of his presence. In that moment, you felt small and insignificant, your embarrassment a stark reminder of your own vulnerability in the face of his commanding dominance “Excuse me…?”

Sukuna leaned back again, a smug grin on his face “Come closer, principessa, kneel right in front of me.”

Every word was your command. Slowly you got closer. Sukuna lounged on the edge of the bed with an air of undeniable authority, his legs spread wide in a display of dominance that seemed to fill the room. Clad in sleek black pants, he exuded an aura of raw masculinity that was impossible to ignore. Before him, you knelt with a mixture of trepidation and submission, your eyes downcast as you awaited his next command. The tension between you crackled in the air like electricity, the space between you charged with unspoken desires and untamed passions. The balance of power shifted palpably, with Sukuna reigning supreme over his willing captive, your fates intertwined in the complex dance of dominance and submission.

With a gesture both possessive and tender, Sukuna's hand descended upon your head, his touch gentle yet commanding as he stroked your hair like a prized possession. His fingers traced the curve of your skull with an almost possessive reverence, eliciting a shiver of submission that coursed through your veins. In the silent exchange between you each caress was a silent affirmation of his dominance. With a soft, whispered command, he guided your head to rest upon his thigh, the weight of your submission a tangible presence that settled between. In this intimate tableau, you surrendered yourself completely to his will, your breath mingling with the fabric of his pants as you lay vulnerable and exposed before him, a willing captive to his every whim.

“Sei carina, lo sai? Look up at me with those big innocent eyes. Wanna seduce me, piccola?” As Sukuna's hand firmly grasped your head, a jolt of arousal surged through you, your pulse quickening with an intensity that matched the grip of his fingers. The sensation of his touch, commanding yet possessive, sent a thrill through, igniting a fire of desire that burned hotter with each passing moment. Caught in the vice-like grip of his hand, you felt a surge of excitement welling up within you, your breath hitching in your throat as you succumbed to the intoxicating power of his dominance. The boundaries between fear and desire blurred into nothingness, your body responding instinctively to his commanding presence with a hunger that you could scarcely contain.

“D–Did you just call me cute?”

“Is that all you have to say about it?”, With a deft motion, Sukuna's thumb traced the line of your cheek, his touch both possessive and tender as he caressed your skin with a commanding intimacy. As his thumb lingered at the corner of your lips, a surge of anticipation rippled through you, your breath catching in your throat at the tantalizing prospect of what was to come. With a boldness born of desire, you parted your lips ever so slightly, inviting him to delve deeper into the depths of your surrender. Without hesitation, Sukuna's thumb slipped past your lips, his touch igniting a symphony of sensations that danced upon your tongue. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady blend of power and desire that left you dizzy with need. You surrendered yourself completely to his touch, you felt a primal connection forming between you, binding you together in a web of desire that defied all logic and reason. And as you savored the taste of him upon your lips, you knew that you belonged to him utterly and completely, your surrender a testament to the irresistible pull of his dominance.

With an air of unwavering confidence, Sukuna basked in your submission, relishing in the power he wielded over you. His gaze, smoldering with desire and dominance, held you captive, each glance a silent command that you willingly obeyed. As he felt you yield to his touch, a predatory smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, his satisfaction evident in the way he savored your surrender. With a voice that dripped with authority, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he posed the question that hung between you like a tantalizing promise. “Che brava. Wanna make me feel good, piccola? Wanna taste something else?” he murmured, his words laced with a potent blend of desire and challenge.

With a silent nod, you affirmed your desire to delve deeper into the intoxicating dance of submission and dominance that bound you to Sukuna. Your breath hitched in anticipation as you watched him lean back with a self-assured grace, his movements deliberate as he reached for the buckle of his pants. The sound of leather against metal echoed in the hushed room, each click and slide a symphony of anticipation. With each movement, the air seemed to crackle with an electrifying tension, the promise of what was to come hanging heavy between you like a veil of desire. As he freed himself from the confines of his pants, a thrill of excitement surged through you. As you watched him bare himself before you, you knew that there was no turning back — you were his, body and soul, bound to him in a fiery embrace of passion and submission.

He was big. Bigger than you were used to. It was veiny, long, thick and circumcised. “Ti piace, piccola?” Him speaking Italian turned you on even more. It suited him – his aura, his appearance, his dominance.

With a mixture of trepidation and eagerness, you lowered yourself before Sukuna, your heart pounding in your chest with a heady mixture of anticipation and desire. As you met his gaze, you found yourself ensnared by the raw intensity of his eyes, their smoldering depths fueling the flames of your arousal. With trembling hands, you traced the contours of his thighs, your touch a silent prayer for permission as you inched closer to your purpose. And when you felt the heat of him against your lips, a thrill surged through you, your mouth watering with a hunger that mirrored the primal need that pulsed within your veins.

“Brava piccola.” With a commanding yet tender touch, Sukuna threaded his fingers through your hair, guiding your movements with a firm guidance that left you breathless with desire. As you wrapped your lips around his cock, you savored the taste of him upon your tongue. With each eager suck and swirl of your tongue, you sought to please him, your own pleasure intertwined with the intoxicating thrill of his approval. 

As the heat of passion consumed you, Sukuna's dominance surged to the forefront, his grip on your hair tightening with a commanding force as he pushed your head down onto him with an urgency that bordered on ferocity. He started fucking your face, with each rough thrust, he plunged deeper into the depths of your mouth, his movements guided by an insatiable hunger. The air was thick with the heady scent of your shared arousal, the sound of your ragged breaths mingling with the wet, slick sounds of his cock going deep into your throat. In the depths of your submission your senses were overwhelmed by the dizzying whirlwind of pleasure and pain.

“Hmm…fuck, you feel perfect, piccola. Was made to suck my cock. Look at you, taking it in so good.”

With each forceful thrust, Sukuna primal desire surged forth, his movements a testament to the raw intensity of his need. As he plunged deeper into your mouth, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion, your senses drowning in the overwhelming tide of sensation. The taste of him upon your tongue was intoxicating, a heady blend of power and passion that left you trembling with desire. Suddenly he pulled you off his cock, leaving you out of breath, your cheeks soaked with your tears.

You lowered your head, licking and sucking his balls as you started to jerk him off simultaneously. As you lavished attention upon him, your mouth and hands working in tandem to pleasure him, he unleashed a torrent of dirty whispers that sent shivers cascading down your spine.

“My good little girl.”

“You’ll make daddy cum, piccola.”

“Fuck, makes me want to make you mine, principessa.”

His voice, low and husky with desire, filled the air with a symphony of erotic promises, each word a tantalizing invitation to delve deeper into the depths of the shared ecstasy. Your own desire surged to dizzying heights, your arousal palpable in the slick heat that pooled between your thighs.

As the crescendo of pleasure reached its peak, Sukuna's primal instincts surged forth, his release imminent and inevitable. With a guttural groan of satisfaction, he surrendered himself to the relentless tide of ecstasy, his body tensing with the force of his climax. In a torrent of raw passion, he came, his hot seed spilling forth, coating your face with its warmth. You gasped in surprise and ecstasy as you felt him release, your skin bathed in the sticky warmth of his essence. And as you looked up at him with eyes glazed with desire, you knew that in that moment, you had become a vessel for his pleasure, your own desires subservient to the intoxicating power of his dominance.

As Sukuna beheld the aftermath of his release, a smug grin spread across his lips, his satisfaction evident in the arrogant tilt of his chin. With a sense of ownership that bordered on arrogance, he surveyed you before him, your face adorned with the evidence of his dominance. His gaze lingered on the trails of his cum that glistened upon your skin, a testament to the primal power he wielded over you. With a low chuckle that reverberated through the room, he voiced his approval, relishing in the sight of his essence decorating your face like a badge of honor.

“Suits you, piccola. You look pretty with my cum all over your slutty face. Should take a picture as blackmail material.” For Sukuna, there was no greater pleasure than seeing his cum adorning your face, a physical manifestation of his power and control over you. He gazed upon you with a possessive gleam in his eyes, he knew that he had claimed you completely, body and soul, in a fiery embrace of dominance and submission.

With a swift and fluid motion, Sukuna straightened himself, the clink of his belt buckle punctuating the air as he secured it with a confident flick of his wrist. His movements were calculated and precise, every gesture a testament to the unwavering confidence that defined his persona. As he stood before you, your gaze lingered on him, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his commanding presence. With a final glance, he bestowed upon you a smug smirk, a silent acknowledgment of the power he held over you.

“Would love to fuck your sweet lil’ pussy right now but I still have some business to attend to, piccola. By the way, you have two more weeks for that money. Next time around it won’t end this way.”

Without another word, Sukuna turned on his heel and made his way toward the door, his steps echoing in the quiet room with a sense of finality. His departure left a palpable void in his wake, a reminder of the fleeting nature of their passionate encounter. And as he disappeared into the shadows, you left alone with your thoughts, your body still humming with the remnants of the pleasure you gave him. You knew that you would forever be under his spell, your desires forever entwined with his in a web of lust and submission. Though you did wish that he would have did something to you.

Just when you decided to play with yourself you heard your phone ring – a message from an unknown number.

Ciao piccola, wait for daddy. I’ll be back in two hours. I want your pussy to be soaking wet.

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

INDEBTED

Summary: When your father's scandal threatens your family's legacy, Rafe makes you an offer you can't refuse.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x KookFem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Coercive Behaviour, Choking, Graphic Scenes / Smut.  

Word Count: 4.8k words

Author's Note: 1000 followers! Wow, I never thought I'd reach 1000 followers. A part of me believes that half of these are bots, but regardless, to those who are real and have decided to join me in my little corner of the Tumblr woods, thank you. Your love and support, especially during these trying times, means a lot. I had this one shot sitting in my drafts for a while and thought I'd finish the damn thing and share it as a thank you. But heed those warnings : it's a dark one. Much love to you all ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

Embezzlement.

What a weird word.

It rolls off the tongue with an unfamiliar bitterness. It's the kind of term you'd see in a crossword puzzle, nestled between "clandestine" and "malevolent." You never imagined it would be splashed across news headlines with your family's name and the face of your father in the centre.

For years, your family was among the shining stars of Figure 8, leaders in hospitality, prestige, and wealth. Your home was the epicenter of elegance, the heartbeat of social galas. But now, news vans line the perimeter of your estate, their cameras hungry for a glimpse of the fallen dynasty. While online vultures, under the guise of investigative websites, sift through every chapter of your family's history.

Naturally, it caused a ripple, and as the waves of the scandal crashed onto the shores of Figure 8 with relentless force, family friends who once sought your company now wrestled with their association to yours. The 'friends' who once envied your galas and soirées now whisper behind closed doors.

It was the talk of every gathering. At lunches, tennis courts, even the marina; your family’s name was whispered with a mix of pity and sensationalism. Every disclosed detail, every leaked piece of evidence, threatens to shatter the glass pedestal upon which your family once stood unchallenged.

Yet, amidst the tempest of rumors and glares, your mother remains the eye of the storm. Resolute and graceful, she doesn't waver. The titan of Figure 8's social scene, she's always known how to command a room, and this scandal won't rob her of that gift.

Tonight, at the Midsummer ball, she's an emblem of defiance against the rising tide of whispers. And she does it so effortlessly. She glides through the crowd with that same charismatic charm. She smiles warmly, asking about children and recent vacations, pets, and passion projects, extending olive branches even when met with frosty receptions and curt replies.

You, however, are not as composed. The weight of judgmental gazes is too suffocating, the murmurs too piercing. The confines of the ball, with its glittering chandeliers and faux smiles, become a prison. With each passing moment, the walls seem to close in further. You need air. A moment of solitude. An escape from the suffocating pretense.

Whispering a quick excuse to your mother about needing the powder room, you slip away. The soft hum of the party fades behind you as you venture down a paved stone path, leading to the beach. The cool breeze and rhythmic waves provide solace, a stark contrast to the stifling ambiance of the party.

You had taken off the flower crown your mother had insisted you wear and were about to remove your shoes when you heard it: the soft crunch of footsteps on sand, drawing closer.

Hesitantly, you turned, finding him. The one whose eyes often sought yours in a crowd. Whose lingering gazes you'd always felt but habitually ignored. The same person who continually asked you out, oftentimes rudely and crudely. The one you had rejected, rebuffed, and shut down more times than you could count.

Rafe Cameron.

"Came to rub salt in my wounds?" you asked, unable to mask the bitterness in your voice.

"Now why would I want to do such a thing?" Rafe murmured. He pulled a joint from his pocket, placing it between his lips. The soft flicker of the lighter momentarily illuminated his face, revealing a brief smirk before the darkness cloaked him again. "I thought you might appreciate some company instead."

The word 'appreciate' ricocheted around your mind, sounding almost absurd in this situation. Company? From Rafe Cameron? The notorious Kook King of Figure 8, a classic case book narcissist who, you were certain, had probably raised a toast to the scandal engulfing your family. At this moment, you'd rather eat glass than accept his sympathy. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the sea, barely acknowledging his presence.

“I'm not in the mood to talk, Rafe," your voice steady but seething with restrained frustration. Your eyes remained locked onto the undulating waves before you. The smell of sea-salt filled your nostrils, and for a fleeting moment, you felt at peace. It lasts all of two seconds before Rafe opens his mouth again.

"Fine, I'll talk. You listen," he asserts, as he settles against a rock. He leisurely inhales from his joint before blowing out a plume of smoke into the night air. You can feel his contemplative gaze on you; it becomes evident in the softened timbre of his voice when he speaks again. “You know, it's downright shitty what they're doing to your dad. To your family. To you... I can't stand by and watch."

A scornful laugh escapes you as you finally meet his gaze. "Well, life's not exactly handing out fairness certificates, is it?"

He shook his head, "No, it isn’t. But, it still doesn't make it right. It doesn’t make it fair when your dad claims he’s innocent—”

“My dad is innocent,” you assert fiercely, standing tall, arms crossed defiantly over your chest.

“Oh, I believe he is. But the world? Not so much. Your dad’s always been good to my family. My old man took it hard when he heard. I mean, of all the people on Figure 8 to be arrested for embezzlement, your dad was the last person anyone would suspect—”

“What's your point, Rafe?” You snapped, clearly about to lose the last shred of patience you had.

"I’ve been thinking about it alot, and maybe my family can help.”

Skepticism etched itself clear as day on your face. It seemed ironic that Rafe felt his family could help when Rose and Ward shunned your parents the moment the news broke.

“And how do you propose to do that?" you asked, your voice tinged with mistrust.

Rafe shrugged, a casual gesture that contradicted the gravity of the situation. "My dad, he's got connections—”

“So do mine,” you shot back.

“But did yours play golf with Senator Whitfield every Saturday? Rain or shine? Nah, didn’t think so.”

You felt a moment of silence envelop you both, the distant murmurs of the sea a constant reminder of the world moving around you.

"Alright, I'll bite," you said with a lick of your lips. "What do you want in return? You're clearly not doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Rafe flicked his joint onto the sand, extinguishing it with a deliberate twist of his shoe. As he stepped closer, moonlight illuminated his eyes, giving them an almost predatory glow.

“You've got me," he admitted, his smirk devoid of warmth. “I do want something in return. Something that has been on my mind. Something I’ve wanted for a long time now. You."

A shiver raced down your spine, a cocktail of revulsion and trepidation. Retreating a step, your voice quivered but remained defiant.

"So, you're after a date?" You clarified, eyes narrowing. The same date he'd pestered you for, relentlessly, over the past year. The same date you'd denied him repeatedly, because despite being handsome, Rafe Cameron's moral compass seemed nonexistent.

Rafe scratched his ear as he moved slowly toward you, his expression pained as though what he was about to reveal would hurt him far more than it would hurt you.

"Yeah, see, a date won't begin to cover what I'm risking for your old man, given his rap sheet is longer than my arm. No, what I want is far more... rewarding," his voice sank to a sultry whisper as he towered over you.

"And what would that be?" you asked, tension crackling in the air between you.

"I want to be able to fuck you whenever and however I want—for a month, maybe two, perhaps even a year..." he shrugged slowly, "The specifics are negotiable, but doesn't that sound fair? A little pussy in exchange for your dad's freedom?”

The slap was instinctual. Swift. The sting on your palm matched only by the shock on Rafe's face. For a split second, everything was still.

Rafe's eyes turned to steel, his demeanor shifting chillingly in a heartbeat. He closed in, his voice a venomous whisper slicing through the salty sea air. "You must have a death wish" he hissed, an unmistakable dangerous edge to his words. His hand gingerly brushed his reddening jaw, his piercing gaze never leaving yours. "Your dad's freedom? It's dangling by the thinnest thread... The right words from a senator could decide whether he walks free or becomes someone's bitch behind bars."

He paused, his gaze falling to the flower crown in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out to touch it, his fingers lightly tracing the delicate petals, an almost gentle gesture that was jarringly at odds with the tension of the moment.

"If you want to help your dad, having a friend like me might be your best bet." he murmured. "Think it over, yeah?" His gaze lifted back to yours, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you whispered, disgust fueled your retreat as you stormed away, his chilling laugh echoing ominously in the night air.

"You will, princess. When you come to your senses, you will."

Rafe's lingering words pressed on you, growing heavier with each breath. The looming possibility of your father's life behind bars became ever more ominous as Rafe presented a potential solution—a solution with an inconceivable price tag.

How could he even insinuate such a thing? The mere suggestion repulsed you, igniting a fury at Rafe's audacity. Yet the unease gnawing at your belly made you question: to what lengths would you go to save your dad? With your family facing disgrace and teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, Rafe's proposal offered a faint glimmer of hope, even if it took the ugliest of forms.

In the solitude of your bedroom, the pristine walls seemed to close in, just like the midsummer ball. Picking up your phone, you stared at the screen, the bright white light harsh against the dim setting. The contacts list stared back, an overwhelming list of names, none of whom had reached out during your family's time of need.

You scrolled, hesitating briefly before landing on Rafe's name. A whirlwind of emotions — from anger to desperation — consumed you as you pressed on it. Trembling fingers typed, deleted, and retyped a message multiple times, finally settling on the simplest of words.

"We need to talk."

Almost immediately, three dots danced on the screen.

"Tomorrow 7pm, Tannyhill.”

Was Rafe’s curt response.

You could barely sleep that night, as your mind raced, forming what you hoped was a semblance of a plan. You needed to negotiate on your terms, to retain some shred of dignity. It wasn't a detailed strategy, but it was enough to at least get through Rafe's offer with your sanity.

The next day as you approached Tannyhill, you whispered silent affirmations to yourself, reaffirming your resolve, your worth, and the necessity of your mission.

And then, there he was. Rafe Cameron, leaning casually against the frame of the ornate door, a picture of wealth and arrogance, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in the impending darkness of the evening.

Rafe opened the door for you, his face betraying a flicker of something you couldn't quite read, but there was no turning back now. You stepped in, ready to negotiate with the devil himself if it meant saving your family.

"Where's everyone?" you asked, there was no point in exchanging pleasantries. Nothing about the situation was remotely pleasant.

"Movies. You know, I hadn't expected a text from you so soon." his voice dripped with condescension, "I was betting on at least a week or two."

"Yeah well, it is my dad's life on the line," your footsteps echoed with purpose as you followed him into the living room, eyes steeling for the battle ahead. "The sooner we finalize our agreement, the quicker you can pull whatever strings you have, right?"

Rafe spun around, his gaze locking onto yours. The sly curve of his lips unsettling. "Sure, I’ll make a few calls,” he stated, voice dark and sardonic, "but it'll depend on the terms we agree to."

"Alright…” you braced yourself, your arms folded trying to regain control. "Let's start with how lon--"

“A year,” Rafe cut in, not breaking eye contact.

"That's out of the question. A month," you shot back.

His chuckle resonated with an underlying seriousness, his eyes narrowing in focus "Sure, we can say a month. You willing to fuck me at least twice a day? No? Then eleven."

You straightened your back, your resolve hardening. "Two months, tops."

His eyes gleamed as he considered your counteroffer. "How about this, we keep our little arrangement going until your dad's free. It could be a month, maybe two…” he shrugged nonchalantly “It might even be a year. It depends on how soon he’s out. What do you think?"

You hesitated, visibly weighing the implications of such an open-ended commitment. Your dad’s charges were serious. The chances of those charges disappearing and him being released in a month seemed like a miracle. "What if it drags on for years?" you whispered.

Rafe’s grin grew more pronounced, relishing your distress. "Well, princess, that's for you to decide. You can always walk away whenever you think it’s unbearable. Does that seem fair?"

"Okay, fine. Now about condoms--”

“Not using them--”

“Oh, we’re using them. I’m not interested in having your kid, Rafe, and I’m certainly not interested in catching anything from you.”

“While I should be fucking insulted” he said dryly “I always glove up and get tested regularly too.”

“Okay, so why are you suddenly against using condoms with me, then?”

“Because I promised myself…” he said slowly, his voice lowering as he made his way towards you, “If I ever got the chance to fuck you, I'd do it raw.”

Your jaw clicked, your hands itching to slap him again. “Weren’t you fooling around with Letizia a couple of weeks back?”

“Yeah, so? I was gloved up.”

“I don't care. You've slept with half the girls on figure 8. I want you fully tested before we even think about doing anything. Condoms every time, no excuses.”

“Alright. I’ll get tested. Condoms while fucking, no condoms for blowjobs.”

"Yeah, about that, I'm not doing oral.'” you said folding your arms in resignation.

Rafe's eyes bore into yours, annoyance coloring his features.

"No. No. You don’t get to dictate how I fuck you." he snapped, his voice taking on edge of authority. "Look, i’m willing to let you negotiate a few terms, give you some semblance of control but it’s got to be worth my while, and for it to be worth it, I get to fuck you how I want, when I want.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve waver.

"Now, here's what I want to make this deal work: when I call, you answer. No matter the place, no matter the time. You show up. Clear?" Rafe said.

You paused before giving a hesitant nod, the magnitude of your agreement dawning on you.

"And if I ask you to wear something specific, you will. No questions. We have a deal?"

Your throat tightened as his demands began to overwhelm you, but you managed a brief nod in response.

"Remember, fail to meet my terms, and our deal ends. Understood?"

Another nod.

"Anything else?"

“When will you make the call?” you asked quickly.

“After our first session,” he proposed, his smile revealing a hint of anticipation. “After that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure your dad’s free”

" I want proof. I want proof that you’d stick to your part of the deal.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good." you said as you took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Get tested and send me the results," you responded, you're tone neutral, treating it as a standard business transaction. "I'll do the same. We can then choose a time and date."

Rafe nodded in agreement, his gaze intense and piercing.

You extended your hand towards him.

"What's that for?" he chuckled lowly.

"A handshake. To seal the deal."

Rafe reached out, his arms enveloping you in a firm yet tender grasp, pulling you against him. It took everything within you to not push him away.

"How about we seal this deal with a kiss, hmm?" he murmured, "Especially since we'll be doing a lot more than kissing very soon."

Rafe leaned in, letting his lips graze yours. But you stiffened, instinctively tilting your head so that his lips met your cheek instead. A soft chuckle escaped him as he retreated just a fraction.

“Ah ah” he chided. With his fingers gently but firmly cradling your jaw, he directed your face back to his, an unsettling tension growing palpable between you.

"Play. Nice.” he whispered, his voice considerably smug. "Kiss me. Like you mean it." It wasn't a mere request; it was a command that left you feeling completely cornered.

A battle of wills ensued; neither of you making the first move, both of you waiting for the other to blink first. Rafe's eyes never left your own as he leaned in once again, his determination clear.

His tongue gently pushed past your parted lips, and you allowed it, setting off a delicate yet conflicting dance between your tongues and lips.

Groaning into your mouth, his eyes shut as the kiss deepened, carrying an undeniable intensity. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at your tender flesh until his tongue lashed hungrily against yours sending a peculiar mix of tingles and dread coursing through you.

Finally, you pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath while your chest heaved. Rafe remained close, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breathing matching your intensity.

"I'll get tested first thing tomorrow," he whispered, his voice thick with urgency and desire. "Make sure you do, too."

"All clear."

That was the message Rafe sent you two days after your heated conversation, accompanied by a screengrab of his test results. Without hesitation, you replied, sending him your own results in return.

As your fingers tapped across the screen, a surge of disgust washed over you. The very idea of being intimate with Rafe was anything but appealing; it fact, it made you feel sick.

You'd never choose Rafe of your own volition. Sure he was handsome but his excessive drinking and drug habits were repellant, and his disdain and bullying nature towards the Pogues was disturbing. None of his qualities were remotely attractive, let alone fuckable.

But then, the stern, resilient part of you asserted itself, urging you to focus on the goal at hand.

This was not about you or Rafe; it was about orchestrating your father's release from prison, a critical mission where failure wasn't an option. With this clear objective ingrained in your mind, you steeled your resolve, preparing yourself for what lay ahead.

When he proposed meeting up that same night, you didn't find it strange given Rafe's impulsive nature. However, the location he suggested did catch you off guard.

It wasn't Tannyhill, the somewhat familiar and comfortable place you had anticipated, but instead, an unfamiliar address. The randomness of the location set off tiny alarms in the back of your mind, making you wary but you took a deep breath, quickly typing out your response-

"I'll be there."

It wasn't just any random address, as you initially thought.

At the front of a gated tree-lined drive stood a prominent sign declaring, “Cameron Developments.” The freshly poured concrete and stacks of lumber clearly indicated that it was a home under renovation.

As you made your way along the winding path, unease gripped you, but the sight of Rafe’s truck haphazardly parked near the entrance reassured you that you had indeed reached the right place.

The estate was draped in an unsettling darkness, punctuated only by the soft chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, and the sporadic glow of work lights from inside, hinting at the ongoing renovations.

Exiting your car, you took a moment to absorb the scene before approaching the house. With each step towards the porch, your heart rate quickened. But before you could even announce your presence, the heavy door groaned open, revealing the looming presence of Rafe.

His expression, obscured by the shadows and dim work lights from within, gave away nothing. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter, then closed the door and locked it.

A knot formed in your throat, a cocktail of dread and adrenaline. Pushing the mounting fear aside, you gathered your voice, attempting to sound braver than you felt. "Alright, let's get this over with," you said.

A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Rafe's lips. You felt an icy dread settle in your chest. "Oh, we will," he murmured, "But first, I want to play a game... to make things... interesting." The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive.

"One minute" he said, as he cracked his neck from side to side, his eyes boring into you. "You get a one-minute head start and after that, after that--" he sighed happily "I'm coming for you. Run."

Panic gripped you. "Run? What? What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean run?" you stammered, your voice edged with rising panic.

But his eyes were cold, devoid of humor or empathy. He leaned closer, his voice a menacing hiss that left no room for interpretation. "Run."

A rush of adrenaline hit you, and without another word, you sprinted past him as if your very life depended on it.

You had no clear destination in mind, only the primal instinct to run and hide. Every fiber of your being was attuned to survival. Heart pounding in your chest, you sprinted up the grand staircase, taking the steps three at a time, feeling the weight of your own desperation in every leap.

At the top, a maze of doors and hallways stretched out before you. You lunged for the nearest one, finding yourself in a dimly lit bedroom freshly painted in white. Shadows danced on the walls from the solitary work light, and your gaze immediately snapped to a closet on your right.

Without hesitation, you slipped inside, gently closing the door behind you. The smell of paint and cedar filled your nostrils. Placing a trembling hand over your mouth, you tried to muffle the sound of your heavy, ragged breathing.

Gently, so as not to make a sound, you nudged the slatted shutter doors of the closet closed, leaving only thin slivers of the room visible – distorted, but enough to keep watch.

The ominous sound of footsteps reached your ears; they were methodical, unhurried. Rafe was searching, savoring the hunt. You watched in horror as his elongated shadow, cast by the work light, drifted across the closet. A cold sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to fight back the urge to gasp as the shadow paused momentarily by the closet doors.

After what felt like an eternity, the shadow moved away, and you heard his footsteps retreating. Letting out a silent sigh of relief, you gave yourself a moment to gather your bearings. But you knew all too well you couldn't remain hidden for long; he would inevitably retrace his steps and find you.

Gathering your courage, you carefully eased the closet doors open and quickly scanned the room for an escape route. Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you made your move. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you tiptoed across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards that might betray your presence. But the moment you stepped out of the bedroom, you collided with a solid mass.

Rafe's eyes pierced through to your soul, pure hunger reflected in them as he stared down at you. His hand clamped around your throat, pulling you close as the smell of your fear and his cologne filled your nostrils in a nauseating mix. His lips crushed against yours, ravaging your mouth with an intensity that nearly made you faint.

As your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, you frantically writhed in his grip. Your fists relentlessly pounded against his arm, trying to get him to relinquish his hold on you, but it was no use. In one swift motion, Rafe backed you into the bedroom and forcefully dragged you to the floor, your fingers wildly clawing at his arm as you searched for any type of leverage you could find.

Rafe ravished your neck with unbridled hunger, his other hand violently tugged at your skirt and panties, scraping the skin of your thighs until finding your moist center—the slippery wetness signifying your surrender to pleasure. Rafe groaned as his fingertips slid through your slick folds and into you causing you to gasp at the white-hot jolts of pleasure.

"For someone who's only doing this to save their dad, you're soaked..." Rafe laughed breathlessly, trailing a line of wet kisses up your throat. "All that sanctimonious bullshit about what you will and won't do and look at you, fucking dripping for my cock—”

"Fuck you!" you screeched, a potent mixture of embarrassment and venomous rage coursing through you has you writhing beneath him, your determination to push him off almost frantic.

"That's it—fight back," he jeered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Fight back. It'll make this all the more satisfying."

You kicked and screamed, only for Rafe to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands connected your wrists together over your head. In a single move, he flipped you onto your stomach and straddled you from behind, his erection pressing against your ass.

One of Rafe's hands tears off your panties, your screams in protest seize immediately as Rafe stuffed the flimsy cotton into your mouth.

"There" he taunted with a sinister chuckle, pressing you down further as you desperately attempted to wriggle free. You strained to let out a scream, your voice stifled by the makeshift gag.

That same hand worked feverishly to free himself from his pants. You could feel the throbbing heat of his erection at the cleft of your ass. Could hear him tearing open the condom packet with his teeth, the necessary prelude to satiating his ever-growing hunger.

Not too long after he was grinding the head of his cock against your wetness while you fought to express your protests through the gag.

"No, no, this is what we've agreed to. What you agreed to..." Rafe's breath hitched as his cock slid over your weeping slit. With one hard, raw thrust, barely allowing you time to adjust to his girth, he plunged himself deep inside you.

He wasted no time, immediately beginning his relentless thrusts, utterly indifferent to your muffled struggles behind the gag. Your body writhed beneath his weight, your movements punctuated by desperate grunts, the hardwood floor beneath you offering no mercy.

After a brief moment, Rafe released your wrists and drew you closer, his grip on your hips unwavering as he continued to drive into you with unrelenting force. Your head spun as you gradually surrendered to the powerful cadence of his movements. His hands clung to you possessively, guiding both of you in a desperate, synchronized dance. Every nerve in your body ignited, primal heat surging from deep within.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your body succumbed to his unyielding force. Despite the freedom of your hands, you found yourself paralyzed, incapable of resisting or offering any form of resistance. Instead, you relinquished control, allowing Rafe to claim you entirely.

"I'm gonna fucking cum. I'm gonna cum. Cum with me," he growled through gritted teeth, his tempo increasing to a punishing pace.

You weakly shook your head, 'no,' your determination unwavering as you fought to maintain control over your desires. The mere thought of your pleasure becoming entangled with his, sullied and exploited for his depraved fantasies, was something you could not bear.

"Oh, you'll cum-" he sneered.

In a sudden, ominous gesture, he swiftly removed his leather belt from its loop around his pants and coiled it around your neck, pulling and winding it tightly around his fist.

"If you want to breathe, you'll cum," he snarled, pounding you with relentless force. The room was filled only with the sound of your choked gasps for air, Rafe's ragged breaths, the creak of the leather as he tightened his grip, and the rhythmic punishing slap of his hips against your flesh. You fought with every ounce of your being not to succumb to your impending orgasm, tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes as you waged a futile battle.

The room reverberated with your agonised screams as your orgasm consumed you. Your muscles tensed and quivered beneath you, each wave of pleasure crashed over you like a violent tsunami drowning you. Your fingers clawed at the belt constricting your throat, the leather biting into your skin and to your abject horror, you were gushing around his cock as you climaxed.

Rafe fucked you harder, burying his face in the back of your neck. With a triumphant roar, Rafe's orgasm struck, and he shuddered against you, muffling his moans of pleasure into your skin as he stuffed his cock deep.

Sated and content, he collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and laboured, the condom filled with his cum. After a moment, he withdrew and shifted to lie beside you.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you managed to free yourself from the tight confines of the belt and the stifling gag that had cruelly silenced you. Every fiber of your being, every muscle in your body, screamed with raw pain as you gulped in fresh air, each breath feeling like a hard-won victory. Tears of relief and anguish streamed down your face, and with a shaky hand, you hastily brushed them away.

The room seemed to sway, a disorienting blend of fear, relief, and vertigo threatening to drag you into terrifying darkness.

Yet, slicing through the fog of your distress was the haunting sound of Rafe's laughter. His voice was breathless, yet unmistakably gleeful. His fingers, dampened with sweat, raked through his messy hair, highlighting his heightened state of manic exhilaration.

"Next time," he grinned, a chilling promise lacing his words, "Next time, we'll use rope."

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

Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

[kingcael]

Hello! I've been following for ages and I was so excited to see you credited for the new CR art! I saw you asked for questions, so I have two!

Corellon is the god of beauty, traditionally associated with elves but currently being represented by a robot. How did you approach designing the god of beauty specifically in the manifestation of a machine?

I'm super interested in the Wildmother, given how angry-wolf Taliesin's playing her, and I love the expression you drew her with. Any thoughts on designing a nature god to be furious?

It’s all a bit surreal tbh! Thank you so much!

1. For this project since the mortal and divine forms are so entwined, my work began after Hannah was mostly finished the Aeormaton version, so I extrapolated with the sculptural lines she had created and added the minimal canonical details we know of Corellon. For me the beauty in the machine is the design, using natural and organic elements and shaping them with intention. To be honest I imagine beautiful clockwork and machinery as an art form, Corellon’s mortal form is a shrine in himself, a perfected piece of art fit for him to inhabit.

2. Nature seems to encompass the spectrum of human emotion on a grand scale, every element has its corresponding catastrophe, a breeze can become a tempest the same way annoyance can become fury. Knowing the Brutalist abnegation of nature in Aeor, it wasn’t hard to imagine how rejected and affronted the Wildmother would feel, her shrine is made purely in defiance of the manufactured stone around her, (why hers is more covered than the others actually) so the fury was natural to include. Her direct look out is also meant to conjure defiance, challenging the viewer to acknowledge her inevitable reclamation.

[milliesdiary]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃 — 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭; you were born from adultry and look the part. as a result, a child calls you a bastard and your partner reacts accordingly!

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬; rhaenyra, daemon, alicent, jace, aemond, aegon

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬; established relationship, violence, fluff. female reader. imagine y’all are on a walk outside the palace or something LMAO

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; i know aemond, alicent, and aegon have negative views toward “bastards,” but they fell in love with you anyway. sorry i dont make the rules <3

𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐘𝐑𝐀

the second the words come from that child’s mouth, rhaenyra’s head is whipping around at the speed of light. she almost doesn’t know what to say at first, the words still processing in her head — but then an anger strong as a tempest builds inside of her. dealing with such things with her boys has certainly amped something up in her; the second that word is mentioned and she’s automatically in fight mode. “that is a vile accusation,” she spits, her voice waspish and rich with ill-concealed anger. “go. now.” the white sheet of her silver hair alone is enough to have the kid reconsidering their actions and send them running. no one dares insult the princess: not face-to-face at least. the second they’re gone, rhaenyra is turning toward you and clasps your cheeks in her hands, her eyes shining with that stubborn charm you love: “pay them no mind. you are like anyone else in this house,” she assures, drawing you into a tight, almost motherly hug. “true-born.” 

𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍

daemon has never been one for following rules, so him choosing to be in a courtship with you would not be out of the norm; his love does not know titles or traditions. when you’re called a bastard, daemon fucking laughs; not at your expense, but at the idea that a child thought they had the right to speak on such a thing, let alone levy such insults at a woman. you glance over at him, but he doesn’t return the look, only staring the kid down with those sharp eyes of his. not a single word has to come from his mouth and you know what he’s thinking: say it. you can’t imagine being on the receiving end of his cold stare — and it’s apparently excruciating, considering the child mutters out a ‘sorry’ and practically sprints away. they’re gone now, but daemon knows the words aren’t; you’ll probably think about them the rest of the day. he’s not one to pry though, so he merely grabs you by the hand and tilts his head down to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “it’s refreshing, isn’t it?” his voice rumbles, tone snarky. he raises his head slowly with a quirk of his lips. “not having children who are cunts.” 

𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓

a hypocrite, no doubt: berating rhaenyra’s sons for being bastards and yet falling in love with one herself. she understands it better now, what it means to accept someone born from adultery; it’s something she’d do for you, at least. so once a child catches sight of you and calls you such, her brows are knitting together and she’s swiveling in that direction. the only thing she can do is just stand in pure surprise and shock, especially upon noticing it was a kid who spoke it. the child doesn’t do anything else (probably just now realizing that you’re with the Queen), and disappears rather quickly out of fear. the moment they’re gone, alicent is immediately looking at you and trying to analyze your expression. her hands quickly find themselves upon your shoulders and she lines her face up to yours so you meet her eyes. “listen to me. people will try to impress on you that you’re a mistake. you must reject this counsel. what happened in the past doesn’t matter,” she promises, nodding her head as she says it. alicent’s hand comes to rest on your cheek and she gives a sympathetic, sweet smile — one that she always wore when she was 15, and one she only wears for you now. “you are mine, and i am yours.”

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐄

the child didn't just breach the line between mockery and outright bullying; no, they stripped it away completely. jace knows exactly what it is like to be harassed for being different. the moment the word comes out, jace is spinning on a heel toward the assailant; he thinks twice about making a scene, because he’s been called it so many times and he should be used to it by now — but then he realizes that the child is talking about you. almost instantly, a brutal heat settles in the pit of his stomach. perhaps its ser harwin’s temper, or maybe his mother’s; wherever it comes from, it’s red-hot and searing, much like the flames that burst from the mouth of the dragon he rides. “what did you just say?!” jace automatically challenges, taking a step toward the child. his voice is deeper when he’s angry, matching the way his dark brows frame his narrowed eyes. a mix of a sneer and a frown is on his lips, and if that wasn’t telling enough, his hands are balled into fists. rest assured that if the kid continued, they would be getting a boot to the chest; jace has a younger brother and knows not to go overboard, but also knows that something like this can’t go unchecked. once the child admits defeat, jace is letting out a scoff and rolling his shoulders in an attempt to ward off his anger. “don’t let anyone say that to you,” he says, trying to scold: instead, his words come out less stern and more soft. “we are not bastards. we belong in our families.” jace just stares at you with those pretty eyes of his, waiting for you to nod before he gives a strained smile and leads you along. expect him to hold a grudge against that kid forever. 

𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃

aemond has always had a sense of duty that aegon does not; he resents his nephews to the extreme for being bastards. but when it comes to you... well, perhaps there is an exception (he’s a giant hypocrite, thank you very much). similar to jace, aemond is instantly on the kid’s case. as awful as it may be, he has no qualms with hurting a child. “do my ears betray me?” he questions sharply, staring the kid down with that eye of his, lips slightly quirked. he’s livid, but he conceals it fairly well — the only telling part of his anger is how tense his jaw has become from clenching his teeth. if the child did not realize that he was talking to the secret lover of the prince, he sure does now. aemond slides his dagger out of its hidden holster on his hip, and when the child’s eyes widen, he almost lets out a breathy chuckle; he swallows it deep down and decides on a warning: “say it again and i will have your tongue.” the moment the child is gone (and thoroughly terrified), aemond takes in your almost shocked expression. “it was a jest,” he concludes coolly as he sheathes the dagger; you know it was anything but. a smirk graces his lips as he takes your chin between his forefinger and thumb: "though considering the circumstances,” he whispers, “i would count him lucky, my lady.”

𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍

like his mother and aemond, aegon certainly has favoritism when it comes to someone being a “bastard.” he would laugh hysterically if it was directed at his nephews. if it were you though? his woman? it’s another story. quick to anger, aegon’s face screws up the moment the child taunts you. he can be lazy and sullen, yes, choosing alcohol over confrontation any day and drowning in cups — but if someone said that shit to you? he’s suddenly very responsive. impulsively, aegon slaps the child across the face. not only is he upset, but he’s slow to forgive, so don’t expect him to feel bad. he winds back around after, not even giving the kid a second glance when they start to cry. “what? he’ll be fine,” aegon murmurs upon seeing your expression of surprise. he lets out a derisive snort and grabs you protectively by the wrist, pulling you along; no one shall lay a single insult on anything (or in this case, anyone) that aegon claims his own. “if i had it my way, that little shit’s parents would be searching the seven hells for him.” then, after shooting you a vengeful grin, he leans in to whisper hotly into your ear. “when i’m king, i’ll be sure they are the first to go.” 

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

In defense of Shakespeare's Daughters

When students find out that:

Shakespeare has no living descendants (and that's why we don't have to ask "Which Shakespeare?" like we do with the Bach family),

That he did have a son, once, but that boy died when he was only ten years old, and

That son was named "Hamnet" (not a typo, BTW)

Those students who go on to become Shakespearean scholars can get a bit obsessed when it comes to themes of fathers, sons, and grief (particularly in that one play about a Prince of Denmark).

So I'd like to take this time to point out that Shakespeare was also the father to two daughters: his firstborn, Susanna, and Judith, Hamnet's twin sister.

And to help me make the point that the Father/Daughter relationship was important to him, and not just a consolation prize, here's a few of the plays that hinge on it (an incomplete list):

The Tempest: a father and daughter as the only humans on a tropical island.

Romeo and Juliet: The tragedy unfolds with exponential speed when Juliet's father decides that she must marry Tybolt immediately.

Much ado About Nothing: The comedy almost becomes a tragedy when Leonato rejects his daughter during the wedding ceremony.

The Winter's Tale: In the first half of the play, the jealous king rejects his infant daughter, wrongly thinking she is a bastard. In the second half of the play, we see the daughter as a teenager, and her relationship with her adoptive father, a shepherd; the play is resolved when she returns home, with her adoptive father, to her birth father.

Hamlet: Let's face it -- the whole play gets mired in schemes, secrets, and second guesses until Ophelia's response to her father's death unleashes a flood of action.

Merry Wives of Windsor: the "B Plot" is all about how the young adult daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Page successfully schemes to marry the young man she actually loves, instead of either of the arranged marriages her parents are hoping for.

[vagabond-umlaut]

mine? yes, mine.

▸ each fic in this series is connected, but can be read as a stand-alone too! :)) ▸ please don't spam like and reblog! enjoy reading! <3 ▸ masterlist

⁕ six seeds, like rubies... ... and the flowers find themselves blooming in decay... (trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; inspired by hades & persephone)

⁕ tryst, too tempest Icarus fell for loving the Sun. You will, for loving your lover. (trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; inspired by 'hades & persephone' and 'fall of icarus')

⁕ affaire de cœur Plucking one's heart from their chest and devouring it is all 'affairs of the heart' meant to the King of Curses— until his Queen walked onto the stage of his life, that is. (trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; gallons of domestic fluff; hints of spicy times)

⁕ l'heure bleue Ferocious, fearsome, infallible. The King Of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, has never fought a war he hasn't won. But, does that mean he'll taste success in this battle of beliefs, raging against no one but his Queen, as well? (trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff & humor; spoiler alert— would-be-dad!sukuna x would-be-mom!reader)

⁕ ruby, one baker's dozen Winter mornings are meant to be whiled away in the silent comfort of one's blankets— a rule the feared King of Curses knows and follows— or must one say, he knows and desperately wishes to follow, but alas! (trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; SLEEPY LOVING & CUDDLING; you & 'kuna have two adorable menaces as your twin babies)

⁕ cauterize; cicatrize Wounds left by love are funny little things. Sometimes, they close by themselves. Sometimes, they close when singed by rejection. Other times, they heal when you scar once again, falling in love once again. (ryomen sukuna x fem!reader; reincarnation au; sukuna has been reawakened in the modern era but he has no vessel; reader was sukuna's wife in her previous life; fluff & angst & humor; grumpy!sukuna; flirty!reader)

[alanagrey]

Dark Bucky Barnes One Shots

ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ɪs ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ sᴘᴇᴄɪғɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴛᴀʙᴏᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪsᴛᴜʀʙɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴘɪᴄs. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs.

✸ indicates my personal favourites, but all the below fics are absolutely fantastic.

◌ One Shots

Two Graves, by @highonmarvel

→ [no description]

Cut, by @boxofbonesfic ✸

→ [You haven’t been having the best luck on dating apps, but you’re willing to try again]

disturbed, by @twjournals

→ [leaving the woods did nothing to keep the darkness from following you home]

Concrete Jungle Rapunzel, by @imanuglywombat

→ [You spend your days locked in a gilded cage, high above the concrete jungle, waiting for Bucky to return]

Doctor, Doctor, by @honeyhan-123

→ [With a bullet in his arm, Bucky seeks medical attention and a certain surgeon catches his eye]

What You Can’t See, by @honeyhan-123

→ [Bucky doesn’t understand how you could think were were just a one night stand]

R U Mine?, by @cryptidcasanova

→ [You made the mistake of falling for the mysterious stranger you met in New York. Unfortunately for you, you never asked about his line of work]

Goosebumps, @cherienymphe

→ [Living with your roommate was a dream come true…until she met Bucky]

Ten Steps, by @darkthallas

→ [A home intrusion by The Winter Soldier that doesn’t end so well for you]

After Party, by @xxindiglow

→ [Bucky doesn't take kindly to rejection]

Til Death Do Us Part, by @cherienymphe ✸

→ [after your arranged marriage has served its purpose, you bring up the inevitable topic of divorce. It is only then do you realize that you and your husband might not be on the same page]

swimming pools, by @sgt-seabass

→ [Bucky pays you back for your time as his contact by teaching you to swim]

You Can Cry, @highonmarvel ✸

→ [Biker!Bucky takes a liking to a sensitive girl]

You Know Better, Don’t You?, @xxindiglow

→ [Bucky doesn't like being told to move on. Ex-boyfriends are a pain in the ass]

blackout, by @our-destiny

→ [no description] [He was always watching. Everywhere you go he was always there keeping an eye on you]

Warm, by @highonmarvel

→ [Vampire!Bucky saves you from a car wreck]

Dumb Bunny, by @lunarbuck

→ [The Wolf sees you walking through the forest on your way to your grandmother's house, and he just can't help himself]

Take Me Home Tonight, by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

→ [You run into a familiar face while working]

You’re My Obsession, by @navybrat817 ✸

→ [You’re the light in Bucky’s darkness. And he doesn’t want to share you with anyone, including Steve]

Best Man, by @navybrat817

→ [Bucky found the girl of his dreams and Steve couldn’t be happier]

Send Me An Angel, by @navybrat817

→ [Bucky thinks you’re an angel]

Run Like Hell, by @navybrat817

→ [You weren’t supposed to see the Winter Soldier that day. So you ran. The Soldat loves a good chase though...and you’re not getting away from him that easily]

Caught in the Sirens, by @straywords

→ [After getting away from your ex, you spend the majority of your time looking over your shoulder. When Officer Barnes then takes a special interest in your case, it seems too good to be true]

Tempest, by @highonmarvel ✸

→ [The storm brewing outside is nothing compared to the one in here]

Polaroids, by @highonmarvel

→ [You find out your boyfriend’s into photography]

HR, by @highonmarvel

→ [Your ex has made sure you’ll never get a job in NYC again, but you’re determined to keep your head above water. Just as things are getting too bleak to bare, you meet James Barnes]

Himalayan Salt, by @highonmarvel ✸

→ [You’re assigned to a notoriously grumpy war vet, but he’s different with you]

[From] Run All You Want, by @angrythingstarlight

→ [no description] “Where is my wife?”

Hell could freeze over, by @straywords

→ [Bucky sets out rules and you set out to break them]

[keikikait]

ᴋɴᴜᴄᴋʟᴇ ᴠᴇʟᴠᴇᴛ (ᴀ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀꜱ ᴇᴘɪʟᴏɢᴜᴇ)

this is the epilogue to my strangers story, which you can find on my masterlist

pairing: gojo x f!reader (not au, gojo is 29, reader is early-mid 20’s)

word count: 1.4k

summary: after your fight with gojo, he goes to your apartment to explain himself

warnings: TW: DEATH, talk of stalking, angst??????

a note: this is the epilogue

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

“Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch I would fall in love with you faster.”

“Fine. Go with him. See if I fucking care. You’ll come crawling back to me after you realise he isn’t any different.”

Ever since you left him, and slammed the door in his face, Gojo hasn’t stopped thinking about you.

Gojo contemplated reaching out to you. To talk to you at work instead of just ignoring you, but he can’t do it. He wants you to grovel, to beg on your knees for his forgiveness, to admit you need him to protect you. Soon enough, he realised that you weren’t coming back. You were moving on and with Nanami of all people? You were supposed to be his, the toy he abandoned when he got bored. He was always content knowing that you’d always be on the top shelf when he wanted you again, free from the reach of any other man.

Gojo's heart, a tempest of turbulent feelings, refused to relinquish its claim on you. You were his, not Nanami’s. He felt something rising within him, a possessive urge to get you back, whether you liked it or not. Yet, the ache of unreciprocated longing gnawed at his resolve, leaving him suspended in a realm of uncertainty. He decided, after a while, to begin following you.

You never noticed him. You didn’t look around much. You felt safe walking alone through the streets of Tokyo, never turning around to see if anyone was following you. You were naïve, just how he liked you. Part of him knew this was wrong, to stalk his ex and peep into her windows when she wasn’t looking, but he was just protecting you! What if you got hurt? What if Nanami decided to hurt you? You were nothing without him, you couldn’t stand up for yourself. You needed Gojo, and he needed you.

He watched from the shadows as Nanami rejected you, claiming you weren’t girlfriend material. Gojo agreed, to an extent, but it did break his heart to watch you cry as you made your way home. He was so focused on Nanami, on the way he casually went back to eating as if you never existed, that he didn’t follow you home while you cried. You were vulnerable, and he knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to start walking after you.

Gojo almost confronted Nanami. Almost. He thought it over and realised how hypocritical he would sound. He was angry at Nanami for rejecting you, yet he did the same thing. Gojo held your heart in his hands, promising he would take care of it, only to squish it under his boots when you pissed him off. He didn’t want you, not in the way you wanted him, but he hated to think about you with somebody else.

He grounded himself and began the walk to your apartment. Gojo was, although he would never admit it, miserable without you. He missed his baby, his girl, his doll, the one who would greet him eagerly in the evenings with a homecooked meal and a kiss. He missed holding you in his arms as you watched a cooking show, he missed the peaceful look on your face as you fell asleep in his arms.

Did he love you? Or did he love the idea of you in his head?

Emotions surged through Gojo’s body, filling him to the brim with a turbulent mix of longing and resentment. Suguru’s treachery had left him feeling broken and discarded, left behind to rot, and after that day he vowed to never love again. Love breeds hope, and hope breeds eternal misery. He started to resent himself, after all, he was the reason Suguru would never come back home. Gojo didn’t sleep for months after Suguru left. He waited up for him, hoping Suguru would come back and apologise, but he never did. He was so alone without Suguru, and he was so alone without you, too.

As Gojo nears your apartment building, he starts to realise that he and Suguru were always alike. They both abandoned someone they cared about, and Gojo wondered if Suguru felt as guilty as he did. Did Suguru miss him? Did Suguru ever love him the way you do?

He enters the code into the gate, pushes the door open, and walks up the stairs towards your apartment. He didn’t know what he was going to say to you. He couldn’t profess his love, it didn’t feel right, but maybe if he lied to you, you would stay. Maybe if he lied and told you he loved you, you would be naïve and gullible enough to believe him. 

He makes it up the last flight of stairs, heading down the long corridor. For the first time in a long time, he feels anxiety. He wants you to stay with him. He needs you. Did you need him anymore? He feels so powerless and weak, and he hates it. He shouldn’t be doing this, he should just move on and find another girl to toy with, but he couldn’t. Gojo, deep down, wished you two had never even met, because he was having a hard time forgetting and moving on. Or did he get you confused with Suguru? If Suguru hadn’t broken his heart, would he love you?

He turns the corner and stops in his tracks.

Your door is wide open.

Gojo knew you weren’t stupid enough to leave your door open. You were naïve, yes, but you weren’t dumb. He steps closer, and suddenly, all at once, his world comes crashing down.

You’re lying there, in your doorway, surrounded by a pool of your own blood. Your throat is slashed, practically ripped out, with claw marks decorating your legs, arms, and torso, as if you were mauled by wolves. 

For the first time since his fateful encounter with Suguru, Gojo cries. Overwhelmed by a surge of emotions, he drops to his knees, desperately reaching out to grasp you. With trembling hands, he pulls you close to his chest, clinging to the faint hope that somehow, against all odds, you might still be alive. He pushes your hair away from your face, matted with blood, and he cups your cheeks, shouting at you to wake up. To be his again.

He grabs you, holding you close, and notices that your heart is missing, ripped out of your chest, a gaping hole in its wake. 

As he holds you in his arms, fingers stained with the crimson hue of blood, fear grips his heart, a visceral reminder of the fragility of life. He holds your head up gently, terrified that if he were to let go, it would slip away and tumble off of your shoulders. His silent cries reverberate through the air, echoing the profound loss and longing that consumes him. The mere act of holding you close becomes an act of defiance against fate, a desperate attempt to defy the cruel hand that has torn you apart.

He pulls out his phone, his hands shaking as he dials 119, blood smearing on his phone and causing it to almost slip from his grasp. He holds the phone to his ear as he looks down at you, surrounded by blood, yet still so beautiful. You look almost at peace, as if in your final moments you were content with dying. Did you think of him in your final moments? 

As his gaze followed the widening circle of blood, he noticed something else in the periphery of his vision. It was a familiar sight, something akin to Megumi's Shikigami, its form wavering and shifting, almost as if it were made of smoke. It circled you, its ethereal eyes seeming to study your body intently.

In the haunting darkness, the wolves that had stalked your every step, their taunts echoing like eerie whispers, were cursed spirits, bound to the shadows. And Gojo, in all of his strength and power, had kept them at bay for so long. His mere presence was strong enough to protect you from the darkness that sought to consume you.

As he dialed another number, Nanami’s, he was certain now, he had fallen in love with you. He didn’t want to admit it then, he was too scared to fall in love, he didn’t want you to abandon him, to toss him aside as effortlessly as Suguru did. He had spent so long thinking that his fate was bound to Suguru, intertwined in the stars, that he didn't think about how he was treating you, stringing you along as he waited for Suguru to return to him.

He was so caught up in how he had failed Suguru that he didn't realise he had failed you, too.

Nanami answers the phone after the third ring, and as Gojo fumbles to get the words out, he realises he isn't the strongest after all.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

★taglist: @heijihattorisgf, @strxxberries, @sadmonke, @mo0nforme, @whereflowerswenttodie, @mwtsxri, @tuliptoot, @certainduckanchor, @softhrted, @mystarlightswiftt, @kaizestar (italics mean i couldn't tag you)

[hyvyinjie]

DESTINY.

TW! cursing, death.

angst! centric.

g. satoru x gn. reader.

DESTINY. that capricious force akin to the bittersweet conclusion of tragic fates, had long since wielded its cruel hand.

yet, amidst the delicate interplay of life and death, a singular anomaly emerged—satoru gojo—an irresistibly peculiar being adorned with gifted endowments bestowed by the very heavens themselves.

he, the self-proclaimed harbinger of destiny's blessings, carried within him a profound sense of purpose and significance.

alas, it is a lamentable truth that even the possession of such a grandiose title holds no power to rescue or shield those in need.

forlornly, we witness the bitter reality that the mere proclamation of a lofty designation cannot serve as a panacea to alleviate the trials and tribulations of others.

"don't even try closing your eyes."

young, naive and foolish. the honoured one beseeched, his countenance etched with an unmistakable worry—bereft of the customary shielding of sunglasses that customarily veiled sight of his otherworldly irises of azure.

his resplendent eyes—now bared—gleamed with a mesmerizing confluence of sentiments.

it was an unprecedented spectacle, witnessing him so palpably anxious and emotionally invested.

deep within, he harbored a profound remorse, cognizant of his inability to employ a reverse technique—that elusive skill—to aid you in this despair-induced juncture.

"shoko's on the way. she'll heal you."

"quit being so damn stubborn and listen to me."

he assured confidently, his typical arrogant utterances suffused with both conviction and hope.

yet, as he spoke—it appeared as though he inadequately grasped the gravity of your state or purposefully averted his gaze—fixating instead upon the illusory prospect of an inevitably fruitless convalescence.

no, you’re not dying.

he mindlessly repeated to himself—as if caught in an bewitching refrain that echoed ceaselessly within the chambers of his delusions.

the words—like a hypnotic melody—entwined themselves around his thoughts, weaving a tapestry of false reassurance.

in the grip of his illusions—he clung to this fragile mantra, desperately seeking solace in its rhythmic cadence.

yet, deep down, a flicker of awareness whispered of the truth obscured by his fervent repetitions.

reality—unyielding and immutable—loomed ever closer, despite his desperate attempts to stave it off with a haunting refrain.

with a blend of earnest gravity and feigned jocularity—despite the quivering timbre of his voice—he appended,

“don’t you dare die, or ill never let you live it down.”

his eyes bore into yours with an unwavering intensity that seemed to penetrate the tumult enfolding you—unveiling a vulnerability he seldom divulged to others.

in that gaze, the tenacity of his resolution and the profoundness of his connection to you became palpable—as if the burden of your well-being rested solely upon his shoulders.

“live it down, you say?..”

a desiccated chuckle escaped your lips as the wretch persisted. how imbecilic could this fool possibly become?

“satoru..”

not long after, your body convulsed with a fit of coughs triggered by the mere act of speaking, the fragility of your condition became starkly apparent.

yet, even still—it was unmistakable that he clung to denial, unabashedly rejecting the unassailable truth.

yes, you were dying—indeed, you were teetering on the precipice of demise.

there existed naught but remorse and lamentation.

"stop talking! for fucks sake, y/n—“

he inhaled a tremulous breath, as if seeking composure amidst a tempestuous tempest raging within his soul.

his eyelids clenched shut with an ardent fervor, as though he were frantically endeavoring to elude the clutches of reality in one final, desperate gambit.

“please—just..”

“just listen to me, and do as I say. please.”

with each uttered word, a sense of desolation burgeoned, casting a somber shade upon his countenance.

“y/n..”

yet, these words bore a weight surpassing mere despondency. every syllable dripped with a venomous essence, tainted by a profound self-abhorrence that seemed to turn inward.

it was as though his very voice had transformed into a conduit for self-loathing, a vessel through which frustration and disillusionment coursed.

he berated himself for completely contradicting his egoistical claims.

he despised—loathed himself.

he detested his own folly, castigating himself for what he perceived as a feeble inability to lend aid. the underlying contradiction between his self-aggrandizing proclamations and his actual capabilities stoked the fires of his self-directed animosity.

within the depths of his being, an infernal tempest raged, a battlefield of inner turmoil where he grappled with the demons of self-hate. the echoes of his own voice reverberated, seemingly magnifying the intensity of his internal strife, amplifying the magnitude of his self-loathing.

he loathed the hold you have on him, stirring up a storm of emotions within his being. the turmoil you evoked within him was a source of deep resentment.

but above all else, what he despised the most was the inexplicable extent to which he cared for you.

he despised the fact that, despite everything and anyone else, he couldn't help but like you, adore you, and ultimately choose to love you.

the intensity of his hatred stemmed from the realization that his heart had chosen a path that he had not intended to follow. he resented the vulnerability that loving you exposed within him, and the power you held over his emotions.

in the depths of his inner turmoil, he grappled with conflicting emotions. while he may have wished to resist and deny the depth of his feelings, the truth remained that his heart had made its choice, despite his best efforts to resist it.

this contradiction between his hatred for the circumstances and his genuine affection for you created a profound inner struggle, intensifying his frustrations and exacerbating the complexity of his emotions.

it frustrated him, angered him even, that his emotions had become entangled with your presence. the vulnerability that accompanied this caring, this attachment, felt like a weakness he resented.

in his innermost thoughts, he grappled with the paradox of his feelings. the profound disdain for the impact you had on him clashed with the undeniable truth that his heart held a deep and unexplainable affection for you.

it was a conflict that gnawed at his core, leaving him torn between his aversion and the undeniable pull of his care.

"oh?..what have we here...”

despite the gravity of your state, you conjured the wellsprings of fortitude to articulate phrases—effectively jolting him from his reverie, as he clung to your every word like a vital thread. each syllable echoed with a poignant cough, reverberating through the fragile contours of your agonizing form.

the inexorable verity loomed, an inescapable specter—your grievous wounds would inevitably claim your life, a harsh reality especially within the realm of sorcerers from which there was no evasion.

and so, in a hushed whisper, your voice tapering off amidst another bout of coughing, the violence of it serving as a stark reminder of your vulnerability. yet, deep within, you harbored a profound cognizance of the path that lay ahead.

"satoru gojo... of all people.”

you provocatively taunted, your words imbued with both resignation and a trace of sorrow.

in that very moment, you apprehended the cruel irony of their circumstances, the whimsical caprices of fate that had entangled their lives. the weight of your impending fate pressed upon you, and you couldn't help but ponder if it would elicit any emotions within him.

"--are you going to cry?”

with a subtle curl gracing the corner of his lips, he meticulously observed every movement, every flicker in your eyes, and every breath you took. he made a conscious effort to etch each detail into the recesses of his memory. It seemed as though you possessed an uncanny ability to perceive his emotions with remarkable clarity, despite his best efforts to conceal them.

however, as his expression shifted to one of solemnity, a faint trace of melancholy colored his features.

the question you posed had struck a deeply personal chord within him, one he never anticipated having to confront.

your words resonated within the sixteen-year old male, his unwavering gaze fixed upon yours. a sense of anguish mingled with the realization that you, y/n, had seen through him like an open book.

unable to suppress the tears that welled up in his eyes, he swiftly brushed them away, striving to maintain a composed facade.

"no, of course not.”

his response emerged, delivered with the expected composure and confidence. yet, a glimmer in his eyes betrayed the facade, hinting at an inner turmoil that consumed him.

the conflicting emotions etched upon his countenance, the raw sorrow intertwined with resolute determination, were familiar sights you had come to recognize during your time together.

at the very least, he had been stirred by the irony of the situation. but what lay beneath the surface?

his lips curved into a solemn smile, though his eyes conveyed a different tale altogether.

he couldn't help but smirk slightly in response to your teasing, his unwavering irises never once straying from your perfect ones. how dare you utter such words...

you managed to elicit a smile from him, causing his typically smug facade to momentarily contort into a faint frown, though his expression swiftly returned to its customary coolness.

the gravity of your condition had not escaped the impact it had on the sorcerer standing before you. however, it appeared that the full severity of the situation seemingly had yet to fully dawn upon his young fellow. and with mere moments remaining before your impending demise...

"me? cry—over you? what a joke.”

he retorted, pausing momentarily. his smirk faltered—as if on the precipice of speaking with a tone devoid of jest—as if the barriers he had erected had momentarily crumbled.

"do not flatter yourself. tears may suite me, but I don’t need that amplifying my perfection.”

regardless, his voice remained low and harsh, devoid of the usual playful edge and trademark amusement that characterized his interactions with you.

though the expression in his eyes remained unaltered, a certain stiffness was evident in his speech, as if he were still uncertain where else to direct his overwhelming thoughts and emotions.

as he continued to observe you, a solemnity settled over his previously neutral features. you could sense his burgeoning grief, his thoughts racing against the inexorable passage of time, yearning desperately for even the faintest glimpse of a solution.

his response was a feeble attempt to mask his emotions, his voice quivering, and his eyes still shimmering with unshed tears.

though his words denied it, his body language spoke volumes.

his pretty cerulean irises glistened with unshed tears, his heart pounding in his chest. he had anticipated her demise for far too long, believing he had grown accustomed to it, deeming it an inevitable outcome.

but now, as your final breaths escaped your lungs, the weight of your departure struck him with the force of a thousand bricks, reality seeping in for the first time. he had failed. his overwhelming pride and hubris had blinded him to the possibility of defeat. he had failed his long-time peer—his classmate, his friend.

the weight of failure bore heavily upon him, for he believed he had let down the one person who held the most profound place in his heart—the one he cherished above all others romantically, the soul he held dear.

the depth of his love for you only amplified the agony of his perceived failure. he blamed himself for not meeting the expectations he had set, for not being able to provide the happiness and fulfillment you deserved. the pain of falling short in your gaze was an unbearable burden he carried—leaving him haunted by the knowledge that he had failed the one person who truly held his heart.

"...yes, i am going to cry, you idiot."

contrary to his perception, it was not you who struggled to accept your fate, but rather, it was he who clung to seemingly everlasting denial.

while he grappled with the reality of the situation, you had long since come to terms with the inevitable outcome. you had made peace with the circumstances that destiny had dealt, finding solace in the acceptance of what lay ahead.

the dichotomy between your acceptance and his denial created a rift, deepening the emotional chasm between you.

despite your readiness to face the truth, he remained entrenched in a state of refusal, unable to confront the impending reality.

the exquisite interplay of sentiments, wherein the embrace of acceptance magnified the enigmatic dance between your emotional odysseys, illuminated the paradoxical tapestry of contradictory.

eager to traverse the expanse, he yearned to forge a bridge, yet were ensnared by the magnetic allure of diverging destinies—proximity rendered illusory, a poignant dance of nearness and seeming remoteness.

while your hearts may have harmonized in tempo, the dissonant discord into the fabric of your emotional realms served as a haunting refrain, a vivid reflection to the divergent trajectories of your conclusions.

if only the revered one possessed the authority to sculpt fate with a touch of influence, weaving threads of destiny like a master artisan shaping the sinuous hell of time.

[adracat]

GWitch: A Tale of Two Calibans

In the Tempest, there is a character called Caliban. If you've seen episode 21 then this will sound familiar to you. We're told Guston and Belmeria need Suletta to pilot this monstrous gundam and it's without a permet filter. A true cannibal. Dire stuff, and not what we want for Suletta.

Yet I'm not entirely sure she will. Though she has some characteristics of Caliban, bound in servitude to Prospero, he's a symbol of impotent wrath beneath a slaver's chains, the injustice of colonialism, and failed revolution.

He loathes Prospero and is routinely tortured by the man's magic. Yet Suletta, even while outcast by her family, never succumbs to anger. Hers is a heart filled with love even as her Miranda (Eri) and master forsake her.

Caliban by contrast is unable to forgive Prospero for his misdeeds and scorned by Miranda's harsh treatment of him after her rejection. You can interpret that his love was true and he did not intend rape, but his affection for both Miranda and Prospero has soured into hatred.

It's a bit ill-fitting to place Suletta in the Caliban machine as a monstrous gundam capable of devouring its pilot. But then if it's not her, who else?

The Tempest describes Caliban as the son of a witch whom Prospero took as his servant. 'Hag-born, not honour'd with a human shape'

Elan 5, like Suletta, is the unnatural progeny of a 'witch', in this case Belmeria. And also subject to the injustices of Peil, his Prospero. He rankles beneath his fetters and wants more than anything to gain freedom. We're told Peil steals orphans to be used as research, the effects of space colonialism. He's the closest to a true Caliban this show has.

And like Suletta. he was rejected by Miranda. Only his was an attempted violation. It's no coincidence as I see it that 5lan aggressively harasses Suletta either. They are specifically invoking the Caliban parallel. And it's the same for his sympathetic moments

5lan wants freedom from his chains, to live freely without sacrificing himself for a corporation's whims. He's sly and angry but not without cause. And there's a certain weight to how he was forced into servitude wearing another man's face. It's like Suletta, but unlike her he does not serve with love. Only discontent.

As with Caliban, who allies himself with Trinculo and Stephano in the hopes of killing Prospero, I see 5lan doing the same. Him using a brutish path to freedom because it's all he knows and throwing it all on using a gundam, even if it means his death, would be fittng. We know he wants to live but in the wake of Norea's demise I wonder if he's concluded death is inevitable so why not take Peil down with him? This is just speculating on my part, but I did find his change in attitude strange. He's weirdly calm, it reminded me of 4lan. And that's not a good thing. Most tellingly, while Caliban rails against his master, he isn't freed; a message none of us want for Suletta.

I may very well be reading into things, as is my habit, but the fact these two are juxtoposed is significant. We do have two unanswered gundams coded with a black name, one male and the other female; Calibarn and Schwarzette.

[neteyamssyulang]

Blood play

Day 1

Pairing: Adult Lo’ak x Fem tawtute reader

Warnings: Blood play (obvi), P in V, Toxic Lo’ak, Belly bulge, Dub con

Word count: 206

Translation(s): Vrrtep -> Demon.

Tagging: @teyamshuman @hidden-snow @anemonelovesfiction @ikeyniofthetayrangi @itchaboi-itchyboy @kia-wolfie @aria-tempest @loaksulluyswife

Everyone knew Toruk Makto’s youngest son was obsessed with you, but unfortunately for him you didn’t feel the same way.

Now, most people could take the rejection. In your case Lo’ak’s way of handling it was kidnapping you and taking you to a secluded cave where no one could hear your cries or pleas.

Your sobs and moans echoed throughout the cave as Lo’ak ruthlessly pounded into you, one hand kept himself up from crushing you while the other held his dagger to your neck.

“Such a pitiful sight” he chuckled darkly, pressing his dagger closer to your neck drawing blood, “All you had to do was accept me but no” he growled, each word was punctuated with a harsh thrust to your sweet spot.

“L-lo’a-“ “Shut the fuck up!” He cut you off, pulling out only to shove himself back into your pussy, coaxing out sinful squelching noises.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt your climax building up, of course Lo’ak could feel it aswell with how tight your walls were squeezing around him.

“Aw, does the little vrrtep want to cum?” He mocked, looking down to see a small but prominent bulge in your stomach.

“Such a shame she doesn’t deserve it”

[ruhjkie]

Threads of Time

Summary: In a twist of fate, after their respective deaths, Aemond and Lucerys are transported back in time to the pivotal moment in Storm's End—just before Aemond demands Lucerys' eye as payment for an old debt. Unbeknownst to each other, they are thrust into the very moment that changed their lives forever. As tensions rise and old wounds reopen, both must confront the weight of their past actions, grapple with their unresolved feelings, and decide whether to follow the course of history or forge a new path that could alter their destinies and the fate of their family.

Pairing(s): Aemond Targaryen/Lucerys Velaryon

Author's note: inspired by a lovely idea from @technicallyfriendly. Thank you for allowing me to use it <3

Also posted on AO3

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The storm raged over Storm's End with a ferocity that matched the tempest inside Lucerys Velaryon’s heart. Lightning crackled in the distance, illuminating the towering stone walls of the castle, while the wind howled like a beast hunting its prey. The sea, dark and unforgiving, crashed against the walls below, as if it too sensed the impending violence.

Lucerys stood at the hall, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body tense and trembling. His hand, still clutching his hood, fell slowly to his side as his eyes locked onto the figure coming out from the shadows. Aemond Targaryen, tall and imposing, emerged from the gloom, his silver hair glinting in the brief flashes of light. His single eye, burned with a mix of anticipation and something far darker.

Lucerys remembered a time when Aemond had been his friend, his uncle — a distant yet familiar presence in the Red Keep, a boy who shared his blood but not his heart. Now, as he stared into Aemond's unyielding gaze, he longed to see something different, something that resonated with the quiet hope stirring in his chest. But all he saw was a man warped by years of resentment, his eye heavy with the weight of an old wound that only he seemed unable to let go.

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, a force so thick it felt as though even the castle’s ancient walls could scarcely contain it. Lucerys' mind spiraled, disoriented as fragments of another life surged to the surface. Memories of dragonfire scorching the sky, the monstrous maw of a beast closing in, and the sensation of falling into darkness—a fall that should have marked his end. Yet, here he was, standing at the precise moment when everything had unraveled, as if fate had dragged him back—for redemption perhaps, but he did not yet know. The realization was dizzying and he wondered if he was caught in some cruel trick of the Gods.

Aemond’s voice sliced through the heavy silence, sharp and cold as steel. "Wait, my Lord Strong. Did you truly believe you could fly across the realm, scheming to steal my brother’s throne without consequence?" His gaze darkened, the bitterness unmistakable, and as he tossed the dagger to his feet he said. "You owe me a debt, taoba. An eye for an eye.”

The words reverberated in Lucerys' ears, sinking into him like poison. This was the moment—the one that had haunted his nightmares and his final breaths. Now, he understood why he was here: to face the mistake that had changed everything. He had longed to apologize, but after the accident, fear took place—he knew the Greens would never allow him close to Aemond again. So, he wrote letters—many more than he had ever intended—each one an attempt to make amends, to soothe his uncle's rage, and to mend the fragile connection they had once shared. Yet, no replies ever came. The silence was louder than any rejection, and over time, the guilt settled deep within him, buried like a wound left to fester.

Now, standing on the precipice of destiny, something shifted inside Lucerys. The fear that had once paralyzed him, the fear that had driven him to flee, was no longer there. He saw it all. Instead, his fear had become a blade, poised not to strike at Aemond, but at the very fabric of fate that had brought them to this moment. The storm seemed to pause, like it was holding its breath as Lucerys made his choice. His feet moved—not in a frantic attempt to flee, but with the calm certainty of a man who knew there was no other option. If Lucerys Velaryon was to prevent the fate of a war, then so be it.

Something was not right, Aemond knew as everyone too—a shift in the tides of destiny. Lucerys caught the hesitation in Aemond’s eye. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen—Lucerys was meant to beg, to run, to fall under the weight of Aemond’s long-nurtured wrath. But instead, Lucerys was moving, and he wasn’t moving away. Lucerys Velaryon had run towards the blade.

“No!” Aemond’s voice, filled with a panic he had never known, shattered his paralysis. He lunged forward, reaching out for the boy—no, not like this, not his nephew—who had once been the center of his hatred. But it was too late. 

With a shout that was equal parts defiance and despair, Lucerys raised the dagger to his own face. The world narrowed to the cold, unyielding edge of the blade, and before Aemond could react, Lucerys drove it deep into his own flesh. Pain exploded through Lucerys’ skull—a blinding, searing agony that consumed every thought, every sense. He screamed, the raw, primal sound echoing in the storm’s howling wind. Blood gushed from the wound, warm and thick, running down his face, staining his clothes and the stone beneath him.

Aemond stood frozen, his outstretched hand hovering in the air, as if time itself had stopped. Deja vu. The dagger slipped from Lucerys grasp, clattering to the stone—a sound lost to the storm. His fierce, vengeful sapphire eye now reflected only horror, as he watched Lucerys destroy himself in a desperate act neither of them had foreseen. With one final, agonizing pull, Lucerys wrenched the dagger free, his blood-soaked eye dangling grotesquely from the blade. The sight was a twisted mirror of the vengeance Aemond had sought for so long. Lucerys swayed, his strength rapidly fading as pain and blood loss overtook him. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees, the dagger falling from his fingers, the severed eye rolling across the cold, wet stone.

He looked up at Aemond, his one remaining eye filled with tears and agony, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. His voice, when it came, was broken, pleading. "Will you leave me be, qȳbor? Is the object of your torment finally settled? Am I free?"

The words, spoken through a veil of pain, shattered something deep within Aemond. This wasn’t the victory he had imagined; it wasn’t the sweet taste of revenge he had craved for so long. Again the gods were mocking him. All that remained was emptiness—a hollow void that swallowed reason and purpose. The debt that had consumed him, that had brought him to this windswept castle, had been paid—but not by his hand, and once again, Aemond was left to witness the ruin of his own blindness.

Aemond’s hand trembled as he reached out, cupping Lucerys’ bloodied face with a gentleness that felt foreign, wrong. The storm around them raged on, unnoticed by either, as they remained locked in the terrible intimacy of the moment.

“Yes,” Aemond whispered, his voice thick with a grief he did not yet understand. “Yes, taoba, you may leave.”

But even as he spoke the words, he knew there was no leaving—no escape from what they had done. The eye, the blood, the pain—these were the bonds that now tied them, forged in suffering and regret. They knelt there, two broken souls, as the storm finally began to subside outside, its fury spent. The chaos of the onlookers in the room crept in, but neither Aemond nor Lucerys noticed. The future lay before them, dark and uncertain, the weight of their choices pressing down like the very heavens. They were no longer just Aemond and Lucerys— rivals, enemies, whatever they might be called. They had become something more, something that defied the simple lines of love and hate, revenge and forgiveness.

The storm outside had passed, but it had washed over them both, leaving them tangled in the web of destiny. And now, a new beginning awaited.

[sorceresssundries]

Hello my lovely internet friends,

IF I WERE to get a cameo from Tim reading out one of Gale's poems from the little journal I made, which one would you guys like to hear?

I have listed the best options I think...

(they are here if you want to have another look)

In a week's time if there is enough interest and it's something people would like, I will book the cameo. This is something I would like to share with the people who have supported me, and genuinely seemed to enjoy what i've written.

I can't guarantee he will do it because he may reject it, but we'll see! This is very scary but also exciting but mainly scary. I'm trying to drown out the voices telling me this is arrogant and too self-indulgent.

[diavolo-is-babygirl]

DiaLuci in which the grand halls of the Demon Lord's Castle were eerily silent, save for the soft echo of Lucifer's footsteps as he made his way to Diavolo's chambers.

The weight of the day hung heavy on his shoulders; a day filled with political strife, astoundingly intricate negotiations, and burdens not even Barbatos could truly understand. As Lucifer reached the door, he could feel the strain in the air, unbearably thick and suffocating. His heart ached, knowing the toll it had taken on the prince, who so often masked his pain with a blindingly bright, exhilarating smile.

Tonight, however, Lucifer knew that mask would be cracked, if not shattered entirely.

He found Diavolo standing by the window, his broad back tense, fists clenched as he stared out into the abyss of a soundless night. Without turning, Diavolo’s voice cut through the silence, abnormally sharp and unwelcoming.

"Leave me, Lucifer. I don't need your pity."

The coldness in his tone was a stark contrast to the vibrant warmth they usually shared.

Lucifer hesitated for a moment, his heart constricting at the sight of the prince he loved so deeply, the one who now seemed more like a wounded beast than the ethereal ruler he admired.

But he would never turn away. Not from anyone. Certainly not from Diavolo.

"Diavolo," Lucifer's voice trembled slightly, but he steadied himself, "You can't carry any of this alone."

He took a step forward, but Diavolo whirled around, his eyes blazing with a fury that barely masked his anguish.

"I said leave me alone!"

Diavolo's roar shook the room, reverberating through the air like a tempest. For a moment, Lucifer faltered, stung by the rejection. His own temper flared, the stress of the day catching up to him. "Enough!" he shouted as his wings erupted, the word hanging between them like a challenge.

"You are not invincible, Diavolo! And you do not have to be!"

The room fell into an excruciatingly heavy silence, both of them breathing hard, the anger and frustration crackling in the air like a storm about to break. But then, in the midst of that tension, something softened in Diavolo’s eyes. His shoulders sagged as if the weight of the entire world had finally become too much to bear.

Without thinking, Lucifer crossed the distance between them, pulling Diavolo into a tight embrace. Like

Dia resisted for only a heartbeat before he crumbled, burying his face in the crook of Lucifer’s neck. The walls he had so painstakingly constructed finally crumbled, and in the sanctuary of Lucifer’s arms, Diavolo finally allowed himself to be vulnerable, to let the tears fall for the first time in far, far too long.

And in that moment, neither spoke, for words were unnecessary. All that mattered was the comfort of their shared silence, and the unspoken promise that bound them together.

Meanwhile the brothers and Barbatos at Diavolo's door:

[kindlythevoid]

Jason Todd’s Reading List

(bc I got tricked deceived shown a comic list of his best appearances instead of the classics that this boy would be reading)

(And then I got carried away so now it’s organized by phase)

(Enjoy and feel free to add as I haven’t read his comics nor a ton of classics~)

Jason’s Reading List:

(this is what I imagine he read as a child; books that Sheila read to him, or if he spent time in the library during story time or checked out books; pre-Robin days)

The Secret Garden

The Three Musketeers

The Wizard of Oz

Alice in Wonderland

Sherlock Holmes

Jason Todd-Wayne’s Reading List:

(so this isn’t quite what I imagine him reading for fun as Robin, so much as what I imagine he read during his school years as Bruce Wayne’s adopted son; books that he may not have picked up on his own otherwise)

To Kill a Mockingbird

Of Mice and Men

The Great Gatsby

Old Man and The Sea

Great Expectations

The Scarlett Letter

The Picture of Dorian Gray

The Tempest

Anthony and Cleopatra

The Odyssey

Gulliver’s Travels

Doctor Faustus

Robin’s Reading List:

(these are books that he definitely read in his free time, absolutely found in the Wayne Library and you cannot convince me that he and Alfred didn’t/don’t have a little book club)

Pride and Prejudice

Emma

Sense and Sensibility

Persuasion

Northanger Abbey

Mansfield Park

Jane Eyre

Romeo and Juliet

Much Ado About Nothing

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Henry V

Richard III

Red Hood’s Reading List:

(as if this man would give up his reading habit; however it is now with 250% more angst, death/revival/ghost references, and family/betrayal-related jabs)

Wuthering Heights

Frankenstein

Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

The Count of Monte Cristo

Hamlet

Macbeth

Othello

King Lear

Caesar

Moby Dick

The Iliad

Catch-22

1984

Crime and Punishment

Anyway there you go!! Feel free to add or reject any of books!! And special thanks to @animal-123-crazy who mentioned wanting to see this once (1) which gave me the courage to make this!!