#Sheltered by Darkness not yet Moths to the Flame

[soulofapatrick]

Safe in your Arms - Alec Lightwood x female reader 

Summary: You can’t sleep so you slip into bed with Alec

Words: 1.7K 

Warnings: none really 

Notes: This is written from female pov (my pov) however can be read as gender neutral so will put this story in both male and female reader 

Y/N’s POV

The darkness presses in around me, suffocating and heavy. Another sleepless night grips me tightly, refusing to release its hold. With a sigh, I rise from the bed, the covers slipping off my like unwanted shackles. 

Padding down the familiar corridors of the Institute, my footsteps echo softly against the stone floors. The hushed whispers of the night greet me, a comforting presence in the solitude. Each door I pass I hesitate, unsure who I’m looking for comfort in. 

I barely pause outside Clary’s room as we’ve never seen eye to eye so I continue on, finding myself outside Izzy’s door. The familiar, faint scent of jasmine wafting though the air. She's always been a source of strength and support, but tonight, the idea of seeking refuge in her embrace feels somehow... wrong, too intimate. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something holds me back, a silent voice urging me to continue my search elsewhere.

Jace’s door looms ahead, a silent invitation beckoning me to seek shelter within his presence. For a moment, I hesitate, my hand hovering over the door handle as memories of shared laughter and whispered secrets flood my mind. But then, with a heavy sigh, I pull away, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down upon me like a leaden cloak.

My fingers ghost over Simon's door, the thought of seeking solace in his company tempting yet ultimately unfulfilling. We may share a bond forged in battle, but there's a divide between us that I can't seem to breach. With a sigh, I move on, the ache of loneliness gnawing at my heart with each passing moment.

And then, finally, I find myself standing outside Alec’s room, the door a silent barrier between me and the solace I seek. With a hesitant hand, I push the door open, the soft creak of hinges breaking the silence like a whisper in the night. 

Inside, the room is bathed in a gentle glow, the moonlight filtering through the curtains casting shadows across the floor. Alec lies asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a moment, I simply stand there, drinking in the sight of him. Gone is the usual tension that seems to etch lines into his features during the waking hours. Instead, his face is softened by slumber, his expression serene and unguarded. The furrow of his brow, which often accompanies his deep concentration or stern demeanour, is smoothed away, replaced by an air of tranquility.

A small smile graces his lips, a sight so rare it’s almost surreal. It’s a stark contrast to the usual scowl that seems to be his default expression during the day. In this moment of vulnerability, his true essence shines through, a gentle warmth that draws me in like a moth to a flame. 

I find myself captivated by the peacefulness that radiates from him, the subtle rise and fall of his chest a soothing rhythm that lulls me into a sense of calm. It's as if all the worries and burdens of the world have been momentarily lifted from his shoulders, leaving behind only the purest essence of who he is.

In this moment, Alec is not the fierce warrior or the stoic leader. He is simply Alec, vulnerable and human, a reminder that even the strongest among us need rest and respite from the battles we face.

And as I gaze upon him, a small smile tugs at the corners of my own lips, mirroring the one that graces his face. I hesitate for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest, before I gently lift the duvet and slide into the bed beside Alec. The rustling of the sheets stir him from his slumber, his eyelids fluttering open blearily as he tries to make sense of the intrusion. 

“Wha—?" His voice is thick with sleep, the words trailing off into a soft murmur as he blinks owlishly at me. Confusion dances in the depths of his eyes, but there's also a hint of warmth, a flicker of recognition that warms my soul.

“What are you doing Birdie?" he mumbles, his words barely audible in the stillness of the room., the nickname he’s given me sending a shiver down my spine. Despite the grogginess that clouds his mind, there's a note of curiosity in his voice, a silent question hanging in the air between us. 

"I couldn't sleep," I confess quietly, my voice barely more than a whisper. "And... I needed to be near you.”

Alec’s expression softens at my words, a silent understanding passing between us. Without a word, he shifts around in the bed, making room for me to settle beside him. The duvet envelops us both in its warmth as we find our positions, his body fitting against mine like two puzzle pieces finally coming together. 

We settle into our newfound arrangement, a sense of peace washes over me, a warmth that seeps into my bones and drives away the chill of the night. In Alec's arms, I find sanctuary from the storms that rage within me, a refuge from the chaos of the world outside. And as sleep begins to claim me once more, I find solace in the knowledge that, for tonight at least, I am not alone. 

As the first rays of dawn  filter through the curtains, I gradually awaken from the depths of sleep, the heaviness of slumber clinging to my limbs like a comforting embrace. The warmth of Alec's presence envelops me, his arm draped protectively over my waist, anchoring me to the present moment.

I can feel the weight of his body pressed against mine, a comforting solidity that grounds me in reality. His unruly black hair tickles my cheek, a stark contrast to the softness of his lips pressed against my shoulder where my shirt has slipped slightly.

Alec emits a soft snuffle in his sleep as I gently begin to scratch his scalp, the motion soothing both him and me. His breath is warm against my skin, a gentle rhythm that lulls me back into a state of tranquility. 

He shuffles around as he begins to slowly slip from sleep, his brilliant blue eyes fluttering open, revealing a sleep-ridden expression that tugs at my heartstrings. There’s a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability that I've rarely seen in him before. And as his eyes meet mine, a flicker of recognition dances in their depths, as if he's just now realizing that I'm here, lying beside him. 

For a moment, we simply stare at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between us. And then, slowly but surely, a small smile tugs at the corners of Alec's lips, a gesture so tender and genuine that it sends my heart soaring. 

Alec brushes the hair out of my face, his touch gentle, his fingers singing against my skin as if committing the moment to memory. I can feel the intensity of his gaze as he studies my face, his eyes searching for something, perhaps an answer to the question that lingers between us. 

And then, without warning, he moves forward, his face hovering just inches from mine. My breath catches in my throat as anticipation coils within me, every nerve in my body on edge with anticipation. 

And then, finally, his lips crash against mine in a kiss that sends shockwaves coursing through my veins. It’s everything I've ever imagined and more, his lips soft and plump against mine, fitting together with a perfect symmetry that feels like coming home. He rolls us from our sides so he’s leaving over me, his weight above me feeling right, perfect almost, as if we were always meant to be in this position. 

His kisses are a revelation, each one tasting of warmth and longing, a tantalising blend of sweetness and desire that leaves me breathless. I can feel the heat of his body pressing against mine, his warmth seeping into my skin and sending shivers racing down my spine. 

With every touch, every caress, I lose myself in the sensation of him, the feel of his lips against mine, the brush of his fingers against my skin. He smells of sandalwood and strawberries, a heady combination that fills my senses and leaves me intoxicated with desire. 

In this moment, with Alec pressed against me, every nerve in my body tingles with anticipation. It's as if the world around us fades away, leaving only the two of us in our own little universe, bound together by the intensity of our connection.

But, just as our passion threatens to consume us, a quiet knock at the bedroom door shatters the fragile bubble we've created. Alec lets out a quiet groan, his head falling to my shoulder in frustration before he clears his throat and calls out, "One second!” 

As he climbs out of the bed to open the door slightly, I sit up, the sheets rustling around me, betraying the fact that Alec's not alone. My heart races with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, unsure of what awaits us on the other side of that door. 

And then, as Alec peers out into the hallway, his expression unreadable, I catch a glimpse of blond meaning it’s Jace standing in the corridor, his presence casting a shadow over our moment of intimacy. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I realise that our time alone together may be coming to an abrupt end.

Alec hisses something to Jace before closing the door and turning back to me, his eyes raking up my body, blue eyes darkening before he’s shaking his head and asking, “Breakfast?” 

“Clothes then breakfast?”

“You can wear some of mine, then breakfast.” 

“Deal.” 

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[sorceresssundries]

Down by the River

Summary: The brain is defeated, the absolute halted, our heroes have won, and yet... victory isn't all it's cracked up to be. One-shot.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, destroyed city, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1.4k

Looking out across the water, away from Baldur’s Gate, you could almost trick yourself into believing that the flecks of orange and red shimmering on the surface were caused solely by the sunrise—the first kiss of light from the split-lipped smile of a new, hopeful day.

Reality is a dagger, and the Chionthar reflects the flames and chaos from the burning city, spreading them over its still surface to shimmer back at you in mockery. You don’t stop looking at the river, too scared of what you will see when you turn around. 

Baldur’s Gate is a broken city. The shops you once visited, the temples where you prayed, and the homes which welcomed you had fallen. Bricks now crush the bodies they were built to shelter.

You stand on the dock with your lover, feeling as though you have been sprinting across slipping sand for countless days, and now… stopped.

You have reached the end, and there is nothing here—only calloused hands, blistered feet, and grief that stretches and settles into every part of you it can find. The nether brain is dead, the tadpole in your head has shrivelled away to nothing, the crown is discarded, and the chosen of the dead three slaughtered, yet you are numb to relief.

“It’s over” Gale’s hand is on your shoulder, trying to turn you so you can rest your weary head against him. You can’t move. You can’t turn around. He slides his hand to your waist, to wrap his arm around you. You can’t bear to have any kind of joy, or hope, or comfort offered to you. You don’t want it. Bile burns in your throat.

He is speaking to you softly, his words as delicate as moth wings. You can't hear him. Your mind is your own again, pounding with the sound of death and destruction—it's enough to make you miss the wriggling distraction of the tadpole.

“We will rebuild,” you manage to catch him saying.

For a second, you think you hear an animal screeching in the distance, but the following sobs tell you it’s a person. A mother, maybe, who has just found the body of her child. You won’t turn to find out.

“Tell that to her.” You don’t recognise your own voice. You want to bite the words at him, but your voice has no teeth, and all you hear are the hollow words of a grief-wrecked wraith. He has no answer. No quip, no lesson, no comfort. There is nothing to say, no spell to cast, no illusion strong enough to cover the sound of screams and the smell of acrid smoke.

Your gaze remains fixed on the water, your mind churning in tandem with your stomach. The Crown of Karsus is in there somewhere, broken into pieces and buried under rubble. Left to sink into the silt of the Chionthar, as was always the plan.

Unless…

Karlach and Wyll were in Avernus, bound to a life of hellscapes and blood wars. The scorch marks from the portal, from her flame-swaddled body, were burned into the wooden dock behind you.

Astarion had been banished back into the darkness he had spent centuries trying to crawl out of. He had sprinted out of the light he once basked in, and the Gods only know where he is now.

Seven thousand souls had perished in a failed ritual. The corpses of Tieflings were shadows that could not be lifted in the curse-cleansed heartlands. Shadowheart had fought with the ferocity of a wolf to cast aside her Goddess and save her parents, only to watch them die in front of her. Rolan was dead. Cal and Lia and Zevlor and Florrick. All gone.

Lae’zel

You feel the muscles in your hand flex and spasm at the thought of Lae’zel. Your heart twists.

You had tried. You had conjured up desperate deception, attempted silver-tongued persuasion, and even rage-fueled intimidation, but it had not been enough to stop Orin the Red from plunging her knives into Lae’zel's eye sockets and splitting apart her skull.

She had been twenty-two years old, and burned with more courage than anyone you had known. It had not been enough to get her to the end, to this scorched dock in the shadow of Baldur’s Gate. You were not able to save her, and the thought of it sizzles wrath through your numbness.

Is this what victory tastes like? Blood and bile and fury. If only you had done things differently. The still, flame-orange water in front of you starts to froth in the wake of your rage.

“Tav?” Gale is trying to bring you back to him. Has his voice always been so small?

You remember how he had sounded when you first discussed the crown. After finding that damned book and seeing the desperation in his eyes, hearing the soft plea of his words which soon turned petulant and sharp.

A hindrance, he had called you. He had pouted and pleaded, and any wavering uncertainty in your decision to keep the book from him had hardened to steel.

He had not learned. Ambition still trickled and hissed through his veins, pumped around by his poor, desperate heart. Mystra had been right to keep him in check, just as you were right to do the same. He could not have the book. He could not have the crown. It would drain all of his sweet, kind mortality from him until all that was left was another God to keep the wheel spinning. How many would be crushed beneath it, beneath him? You could not allow it.

Each night, the Annals of Karsus had lain heavy in your hands. The weave, usually rosewater-scented and soft as silk, was suddenly sluggish and scraped like sandpaper in the air around its blasphemous contents.

That had not stopped you. You poured over its pages in the quiet, leftover hours where night slipped into morning. The book was heavy—not just in weight, but in the burden of turning its pages and deciphering its contents. Each word felt as if it had to be pulled out and held in hard focus before you could understand any of its meaning.

It took work, but you got there. You were just as capable a wizard as Gale, after all. The weave fought you at every turn, but with dedication the riddle unravelled and the answers became clear. The crown could be reforged and reused by someone worthy enough to wear it, and you knew how to do it.

Think of what could be done…

You could cool Karlach’s engine and bring her back to the life she deserves in the city she loves.

You could shatter the iron-clad shell of Wyll’s pact as though it were made of glass.

You could grant Astarion a life of deserved sunshine.

Maybe…you could change even more.

What if you could go back? Try again? Use the power of a God to Wish for another chance. You could do things differently, leave no one behind.

You could make different decisions. You could make it so your words would be convincing enough to still Orin’s blade and save Lae’zel. You could be stronger, wiser, tougher. You could step out of that pod on the Nautiloid a different person, if you wanted.

Another attempt, a restart, a new run.

Is that too much to ask? You are not marred by towering ambition; you don't want to raise armies or infect the minds of innocents. You don't care about gods and monsters. You just want another roll of the dice.

“If I salvage the stones… I could retrieve it…” You aren’t talking to anyone in particular; you just need it said out loud. “I could change things”

Gale is in front of you now, crouching slightly so his face is level with yours, cupping your face and wiping away tears with the pads of his thumbs. His eyes are full of panic, and he is saying things, such sweet, wonderful things. He loves you as a mortal; he needs you to stay here. There is nothing that can be done, he insists, there is always another way…

“I will find you again,” you say, an oath to the man who forgot his Goddess. You will not let him forget you. “I will love you all over again, you’ll see.”

And you mean it; your love was meant to blaze across universes, you could feel it.

His voice once again quiets as all the possibilities thunder around your head with bright new clarity. Your decision is made, your path clear.

You turn to stare at the burnt-out shell of Baldur’s Gate.

Forget ambition; you would become the God of Second Chances.

[vilsoo]

୨⎯ CHAPTER ONE ⎯୧

incubus!fushiguro toji x fem!reader

꒰ ✟ ꒱ GENRE: horror, demon au, nsfw 18+, porn with plot.

꒰ ✟ ꒱ SUMMARY: Sex demons are not as provocative as you think they are. Not only do they engage in sexual acts with humans, they thrive off their flesh and haunt them in their nightmares. When an incubus disguised as a Reverend turns a hungry eye on one of the parishioners, gruesome events at the cathedral slowly unfold; blasphemy, gore, and terror…

꒰ ✟ ꒱ CHAPTER WARNINGS: sacrilege, religious slander, blasphemy, WC: 2,391

PREVIOUS • MASTERLIST • NEXT CHAPTER

written in toji's pov, narration style similar to the Netflix show, "You." this takes place in a fictional setting; St. Reze University & Cathedral. banner art made in 2021 by chosofty!

‎ ST. REZE CATHEDRAL ‎ ֺ PRESENT TIME

‎ TOJI

I was born to be an affront to God.

A cruel infernal creature like me, born and raised in Hell, until, I made the decision to leave and never return. The regrets of leaving my past life in Hell started crawling down my spine these past few weeks. I knew I wasn't going to love my new life in the human realm either, but I had no choice. I had to be ordained as a Reverend for a Catholic University, where I sustain through dreadful church hours and its absurd practices.

From what I've witnessed in the course of religious history, the people of this church have less ethics than most witchcraft practitioners I've fucked in the past.

It was a shame for a man like me indeed. Accommodating these sheepish Catholics that devote to a religion I couldn't care less about— yet here I am personified as a Reverend fool. If my demon counterparts from Hell saw me like this months ago, the humiliation would infuriate me greatly. But now that I'm "reborn," I finally stopped giving a fuck of what humans and demons think of me.

Dark grey clouds shrouded over the cathedral as I saunter down the alleyway, stopping under an arch. Gloomy weather and heavy rain filling the campus felt oddly comforting to me. I had my cigarette, perching it between my lips as the fire of my lighter meets the end of the roll. I leaned against the roughness of the arch, watching the rain and exhaling the smoke. Then I allowed my mind to fall back to its numb state, feeling indifferent about being late for Mass.

It was annoying to find out that I wasn't alone, though. Because behind me, in this pouring alleyway, you found me.

The harsh splashes from the puddles could be heard from this distance. In need of shelter from the rain, you sprinted all the way to the arch where I was and halted right beside me, catching your breath. I must admit— I was a bit irritated of your abrupt presence. Having my peace disturbed as you scrutinize me with those mysterious, prying eyes of yours.

How the Hell did you even find me? A student like you was not supposed to be here.

My nonchalant, dead gaze remained on the cobblestone pavement as I inhaled. Part of me wanted you to leave. Gone. It's rude to stare, do you not know that? I assumed that my cold, aloof behavior from a Reverend like me was rather perverse and intimidating, especially when I'm smoking on these "sacred" church grounds without giving a damn. But you... you kept your gaze onto me like a moth to a flame.

I was a total stranger. You should've known this all along. But you still chose to stay with me here, and we stood in strained silence as the rain palpitated.

"Never seen a priest smoke before," you suddenly pondered, but your voice was loud and clear enough for me to hear amid the heavy rain.

I give a furtive glance from the corner of my eyes. A beam from the glowing streetlights nearby hovered over your face, the depths of your features visible for me to see. For a minute, I was intrigued. Piercing, beautiful eyes with a lurid gaze on me, evoking such curiosity as I have right now. I am once again met with the bitter taste of arson between my lips and exhaling the grey stench to the mist.

"Not a priest. Reverend," I deadpanned.

"Oh, sorry. Have I seen you before? I don't think I've seen you around at church. Were you just recently ordained?"

I had no desire to reply because I really don't care. It was pointless of me to since I wasn't in the first place. But something clicked in my mind once I took it to all in. You, an unsullied woman— gullible of the prospecting, flagrant danger you've now encountered. A student like you was never supposed to find me, yet here you are.

I hear a sigh fall from your lips, exasperated from how awkward our encounter was. "Nevermind, then. I'll just be heading to Mass now—"

"Don't," I retorted suddenly, completely nonplussed of the words that just slipped out of me. What the hell am I doing? "The walk to the cathedral from here is… too far. There's nowhere else for you to wait ‘til the rain dies down."

You scanned the area again, rubbing your arms as the chill from the mist crawled down your skin. "Are you sure you don't want me to go? I don't wanna bother you..."

How apologetic. Just like most of the sheepish Catholics here at St. Reze that practice a religion dedicated to forgiveness. Perhaps my hint of interest for you was enough to entertain me as the storm subsides. Encountering me while I'm slightly under the influence of drugs... Usually I have no desire to associate with pesky Catholics and students, but you...

I don't know why, but hearing your voice for the first time was like dipping into radiant honey and velvet. I felt inclined to speak my mind just so I can hear it again, tossing the worn out cigarette to a puddle and making the effort to face you completely.

The sky was now melting into darkness, shadows filling the angles of my face as I turned to you. "I think it'd be dumb of you to leave when it's raining this hard. And hopefully you're not a dumb girl, are you?"

I was expecting a more sheepish response, but you chuckled instead like it was a rhetorical question. Even the subtle grin stretching across your face somehow softened my nonchalant expression.

"How are you even a Reverend? You seem more like a layman to me."

"I wish," I mumbled. "But I wouldn't be making more money if I wasn't in the clergy."

"Just in it for the money? You're not… committed to serving the church?"

Fuck no, I replied in my head. But I decided to stay silent and stare at the sky, noticing you studying my emotionless face in the corner of my eyes. Naievety and gullibility is really in your nature, just like all the pathetic Catholics and penitents here. I fucking hated it, but your curiosity was just... delectable to me for some reason. It made a wave of questions rush in my head that I was tempted to solve myself.

"Are you?" I spoke sardonically, side-eyeing you.

“Yes. I am,” you replied confidently with a smile. “Serving God and attending the church has been a big part of my life.”

How sad. How pitiful. A lost little lamb like you, blinded by the wrong truths of an absurd religion just like everyone else here. Living by this pathetic promise of an eternity without sin, pain, and fear… But such servile mannerism from you strangely amused me; I wanted to provoke it just for the fun of it. Derisively taunt your beliefs little by little and take away that religious burden; almost like corrupting you…

I need to stop.

The heavy rain had finally subsided and the puddles on the ground were now gentle and smooth that a water lily can bathe in it. There was a soft rattling sound coming from the palm of your hand that I did not notice before. Something smooth and ivory, almost like pearl beads glimmering from the dull alleyway lamp posts.

"Anyways… Aren't you supposed to be at the church early?"

“Don’t really feel like going right now,” I prompted with a small smirk. “What’cha got there?”

“This? My rosary.”

Your hand opens to a sterling silver crucifix rested on your palm attached to luminous pearls and red beads shaped like rosebuds at the “Our Father” mysteries. I didn’t know that these “sacred” objects could be customized as decorative jewelry instead.

“We like to have our own decorated rosaries here,” you suddenly explained like you’ve read my mind. “You can tell a lot about a student’s personality with how unique they are.”

My gaze suddenly wonders to your face that was emerged from the shadows. Even though my eyes were tense and my jaw was clenched, it felt as if my expression was gradually softening. Maybe it was the cigarettes slowly easing me. Who knows? But perhaps something clicked in my mind tonight; the unexpected scenario of you rather beguiling me. A woman with shameless passion for some deity capturing my attention— that's something I'll never forgive myself for doing.

"Can I see yours?" you suddenly asked, your eyes meeting mines for the first time it felt like you eroded my senses. Such an innocent and mindless question, but yet here I am; taking in your curiosity that was just as deadly as lethal drugs were to humans.

I dig into the pockets of my cassock and open my lifeless hand without a word. This was the rosary I was given when I was ordained; acrylic resin beads of black enamel and a translucent smoke color, glassy and polished like gunmetal. You scrutinized it like you were in an endless trance. I couldn't understand what a stranger like you found so fascinating about it.

“It’s so… you,” you mused.

I frowned slightly, not really understanding what that meant either. “Well if you like it so much, have it.”

But I guess I have emerged from the shadows too. Maybe the cigarette was enough to ease my palpable mood from such a fortuitous encounter with you. I didn't want our conversation to end, though. I didn’t want any of this to end so soon. I was starting to feel some sort of amusement. But it wasn’t until you looked at me, really looked at me; your sultry eyes simmering as you met with mines.

No words. No words at all. It was just the soft rain and your fingers grazing my palm ever so gently. Those lingering wet fingertips as you unravel the beads like how a god would trace the outlines of spiritual blood vessels. I look down again when my palm meets a cooler surface. Your pearl rosary was dropped right in my hand.

"Mine for yours," you muttered with a soft smile. "I'll give it back at the end of Mass."

And just like that you head down to the cathedral, leaving me alone to contemplate everything. It makes me realize how I didn't want anything to do with you at first. How I barely cared for people like you… But it wasn't until a wondering sheep like you made its way through the darkest route, like the valley of the shadow of death, encountering your sin and fate right there��

It makes me wonder. Would a stranger like you worship me like you worship your god?

When the rain had finally cleared and the light of the monochrome moon poured over, I decided to come to Mass a few minutes later. The Saturday Communion prayer was being recited as I sauntered to the pew where the rest of the clergy sat while. As much as I hate this job and find these practices meaningless to me, I needed to get paid for this shit.

"Most glorious virgin Mary, mother of god and our mother, turn thine eyes in pity upon us miserable sinners. . ."

There were different ways Catholics receive the blood and body for the Holy Sacrament. We let the devotees take the chalice by hand at the altar, store it until they get back to their seats to drink, or let us place the chalice on their lips. But such practices were painfully unappealing to me who gets bored and impatient easily.

Drifting my attention from the service, I scrutinize the gothic architecture of St. Reze. The rays of the moonshine from the mosaic suddenly coruscated the pearl rosary you gave me. The light captures my gaze as it shimmers in the palm of my hand. My thumb grazes the glassy material and the memory of us under the rain immediately lingered in the edges of my mind. I look through the crowd of heads to find your familiar face.

There you were.

I found this all so amusing of you; that redundant devotion you display so proudly for your god. When the prayer finally finished and the devotees walked out of their pew, I watched as they kneel at the altar with their elbows pressed on the mahogany bar as they await for Holy Sacrament. Majority took the chalice by hand while others took it to their seats. After giving out the elements of consecrated bread and wine, repeating the words, it was finally your turn.

You shot a quick glance at me as you kneeled at the altar and signed the cross; the pure epitome of surrender and submission. Never in my years of this life have I met a woman with this kind of sensuousness. Both of your hands laid on your thighs and your neck was arched back, lips parted like an invitation for the wine.

Titillating. The way look at me from below with a half-lidded gaze. Your eyes have betrayed your true nature, more prurient than the last time we stared at each other.

Exhilarating. The way your lips travel to the moist spout of the gold, letting the bitter wine ravish your tongue. I watched your neck, the way how you swallowed. A small drip escaped, trailing down your chin.

It was lucky for you nobody has drank from that chalice before. But nothing about this was holy. If anything, this was sacrilege. I'm not one to crave for anyone's attention, especially from one like you; but I've finally got to taste it this very fine night. If only you knew what you were doing to me right now…

No words. Just the intense undertones of temptation we have suddenly surrendered to. Because that… that felt like worship.

That was what worship feels like from a stranger like you.

Then you were gone. I couldn't recall much after that, but I do remember, how my eyes followed you the whole night, diverting my attention to you at a distance where you could never leave my sight. Only then had I come to realization of your luscious features and a savoring body, like the essence of sweet nectar and ambrosia.

I couldn’t wait to see you again at confessionals.

TAGS: @suget @azanthys @haezen @heavenlyevil @saturniac @vampnyx @emomanswhore @divinedabi @slut-manifesto

ALL WORKS BELONG TO VILSOO/POISEUNS © 2023. originally published April 10, 2021. do not steal, plagiarize, or translate without permission. do not repost/share any of my works where minors have access.

[moth-scrunk]

{ Master Post - RQ1 }

[ First Art Request - Starlight AU ] This is my first event done for the Starlight AU. I will be listing the Creators/Owners along with other details. --------------------------------------------------------- Species: Those with wings: Sky Dwellers Those with no back legs and have long tails: Cave Dwellers Those with fins but have back legs: Shore Dwellers Those with fins but no back legs: Ocean Dwellers Those with just feline-like ears/antlers: Land Dwellers Those of Hollow Heads do not apply to the species above, since they are "Creator Made" and blessed with different abilities. These Hollows have been shaped to fit the powers given to them, followed by how they act naturally. ---------------------------------------------------------

@thesecondlight-luna In depths they sing, a song to lure any who dare swim deep into where they dwell. A body so long that no one can view its end. How long have they hunted in such darkness, and how many are they willing to take to grow even more?

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@fusciaguardian Coat as hot as embers, flowing like candlelight flame. The moving mass of swirling smoke disappears into the forest like a wildfire gone rouge. Such heat catches on the grass, burning at its edges. So strange, for the dangerous beast never glows.

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@thechaoticsaisk

Over trees they fly, gathering at what fruits linger in the branches no other can reach. Oh, how they wander the endless seas of tall greens, always to feast on the brightest of fruits.

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@reptilia0freptiles In dark he stalks, for caves he dwells without worry. All hear his roar fear his wrath to follow, although they know this beast is barely their size. Size doesn't matter, only it's spirit it holds.

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@ignus-moth  In overgrown forests they roam, a coat stained with green. Moss had taken shelter along their strands of pink, but would it aid them both? Indeed, it would, for such a color brings a new form of hunting prey.

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@filiadraws

In depths I linger, I lure, I feast. Will you ever view my sight, or will you meet my jaws as so many brave preys had so mindlessly wandered into? How naive of you to think you can ever view such a sight as I.

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@sketchingstuff0

In shallows others wallow as all the food has been swallowed. Fat and happy lay a seal of a stick, joyful with their hunt that has left all others saddened. Suppose they should have hunted just a little faster!

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@multifanforever The caves creak, the sky roars, the rain pours down below and drowns the cold stone. Yet as the clouds cry, two rest alone in dens below. Warmed only by their love and calming purrs among the thunder... and along with them, rests a lesser kin. Soft breaths and shut eyes, a simple born pup among a warm, protected den.

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@s0lie

Shallow shores I bathe in light, but upon danger I flee as if flight. Waves they crash, yet I only crave the trees. The packs call to me, the herds swarm near my body of water. Shall I follow, or wallow away within the safety?

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@shoechomper

Terror of storms, nightmare in daylight. We beware the skies and fear the beast it holds, for the hunter who lingers in the blue is unlike any foretold. For at least those of fire make their presence known to all with calls of embers, unlike this silent hawk of hunger.

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@armiaochima

In meadows of lavender, I lurk. In day so bright, I bask. My clan they wander with, but yet we rest more then we feast. Such as life for that of careless minds. Plenty of food, surely, we can hunt later.

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@lunacelestite

Night falls upon the land, so too its dangers. Faced with the task of gathering once more, or see they think. Friendly faces swarm with, lesser birds who follow you close. They sing in warning and tell you of the dangers, for the crows know best to keep their protector alive. You share the spoils, the best to keep your extra eyes happy.

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@opearle

Blossoms fall with the season, but all they do is fall with them. Follow the petals into the valleys of colors, lingering where trees are most in bloom. Oh, the scents and creatures who flourish, a wonderous place to play.

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@flairya

One little step, one large leap. A trap set now sprung, how many shall meet this same faint as one who starves? Thought it snake, but it was hunter, lurking the same as other. Poor soul so hungry, now feeding another.

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@0gingerflake0 

Bound by grace, a stance of stone, mind to ease, eyes to guard. The protector feels no rest, sleep being nothing but myth. The herd that gathers under their wings of might shelter them from such cold predators who stalk too close for their comforts. Dangerous however is no true fear, so long as their angel sent by stars stands with them.

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@flowerbarrel

River o river, love me so. River o river, protect me so. River o river, give me food, for in return you get my ever-loving protection and care. The creatures take your homes rocks and tear at your soils, but I shall not allow it. My home is you, and you will provide for me as I do you.

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@small-sparkofhope

The one of winters coat snarled a nasty hiss, "Leave me be" they spoke. Their voice stung of annoyance, their gaze to match their anger. The smaller flowery stripped beast only laughed, "And leave you to wander alone? You think yourself strong in these parts, but this isn't no mountain!". With that, the white creature huffed. Turning their gaze away, I suppose they would have to tolerate this little thing longer then thought.

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@itsthedemontamer367

The dark sky rips apart into a flurry of glowing fire lights. The eyes of dark green are first seen, then a burning roar screams out. Cold brushed over the land despite the heat from such a being. The Creators had made yet another god, but to what cost but their view of the skies?

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@thechaoticsaisk

Where now will we wander? Now where will we run? Will the sky still shine as bright with us gone, or should we linger longer? I desire the night as you desire the light, but I wonder if we are even meant to wander so close to the sunsets? Suppose we will see...

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@sushiree

Desert rattles with twisting blizzards of sand and rock, tornados of wild winds that tear up the earth and rip at the brush that grows. The perfect conditions to feast on what poor souls are ripped from their dens. Only the keenest can survive in the wilds of the sands.

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@violetthunderstorm

Thunder roars and night turns to day. The strings of light touch the trees and set the world a'light. Fleeing below can't even escape the thunderous roars of the monster who hunts above.

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@leilanising Long calls echo out into the tall grasses. The herd carries on, their leader strong and carrying on. Their tail leads only prints in the clay and mud, for the strong storms shall guide them.

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@theofficalrocketcorp

A friend, or foe. They look as I but are far from. How strange a sight, but welcomed as so. Shall you follow me or will I follow you?

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@hellnahimout

A call, a wonder. A thought, a action. I see the world new in colors, but yet its not new. Why does everyone look at me so differently, is it my coat? I am not truly an eyesore, am I?

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@jayden-for-now

"Rude of you to fall into my swarm of fish. I was hunting." The fish spoke to the bird. The bird only blew out bubbles in confusion. Sighing, the fish scooped up the bird back to the water's surface. Perhaps this one is a baby fallen from clouds? Who knows, only that it sucks at swimming.

--------------------------------------------------------- I'd like to again thank you all for the requests. The next one will be up in the future. Keep those sticks ready to be thrown my way! <3

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

Magical charms under the moon

Magical charms under the moon

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Kicho x OC (Juliet)                                                                   

Prompt : Festival After Dark

Part of : Sunshine and Starlight hosted by @violettduchess and @lorei-writes

Tag: Platonic Love Festival Dancing

Word Count : 1.261

Author’s Note: A festival turn into so much more, love spurt under the stars as destiny meddle with two people seemingly at odds but more similar than what they thought, bringing them closer into a relationship created to change the world and themselves in unpredictable way, powerful and weird like the emotion binding them together. 🤩

Side Note: All the images were found on Pinterest-Google and I was unable to find the source, please if any of you know the owner tell me and I will provide to give the artist the credit for the image.

Tag list

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @aquagirl1978 

@william-rex @writingwhimsey

@fang-and-feather @moonstruckmelancholic

@rjthirsty @ike-garden2024 @lichtluv

@jollibeeshappiness @starzyquee              

@maeko-kun @oda-princess @rkmaru

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it😊

He was a yaksha. She was a yōsei.

They should never have met.

But they did.

That meeting was only the beginning of something that was destined to change them.

Moonless curls cascaded over her shoulder, scattered in the wind adorning a gorgeous visage, big and round tourmaline eyes, a canvas of emotions, glimmering just like the gem itself as the light flickered and swam in them sheltering under the feeble shadow of her long and graceful eyelashes, her lips a rose bud curled in gentle, albeit shy, half-confident, ever kind, smiles.

She alone shone bright in the night like a star with her fair complexion and her emerald kimono, that hugged luscious feminine curves he was unused to, moving so gracefully as she walked with a touch of innocent sensuality that it was hard to tame and impossible to resist, bewitching him to get closer and get burn in her light.

Like a moth was drawn to a flame even though it hurt its wings, he was drawn to her irresistibly because he didn't know any other way to live.

A mad desire burned in him to know more about that mermaid, that enchantress that put a spell on him bewitching his every sense against any rationality.

In what maybe everyone else would have seen the bud of love he saw his ruin, and yet this too was not enough to pull him away from her.

Her quick wits and curious nature luring him in to discover more of her, to ask, to seek, to understand that entrancing mystery she was to him, forbidden desires kept him awake until late at night, picturing all that could have been between them.

He was defenseless caught in strange ideas in a daze between dreams and reality, until Morphoeus coaxed him to sleep dreaming of her in vivid real dreams he woke up from sweating, shook to the core with an inexplicable yearn to make them real, to have her in his house as she was in his heart.

The only thing preventing him from pursuing his dreams was the fact that his plan, inevitably, would have upset her.

But this too was not enough to pull him away from her, unconsciously scanning the crowd looking for her like a man gone mad with love.

And maybe he was.

Little did he care about that, even though his business partner couldn’t say the same, but nothing ever stopped his determination.

Or so he thought.

Deep down he knew that if she had said so much of a word against his plan he would have tried to listen, that's how much of a fool love made of him.

In the end he was no better than his sister, damning himself for love.

His past self would have mocked such a thing, but he was no longer the man he was before meeting her and he surely couldn’t go back to being.

Their meeting was a chance.

Their love destiny.

It happened on a visit to a nearby village, way too close to Azuchi for his liking, but business was like that and he had no intention to let anything stop that trip from going on smoothly.

But he hadn’t taken her into account.

It was sunset, the meeting had just ended and he really couldn’t wait to go home at once but the roads were stuck for a festival.

He frowned in annoyance, deeming better to walk by foot than to wait for who knows how long to cross the city on horseback thus he gave up on the idea of borrowing one, grateful for the fact his loyal white mane stayed at the inn while he reached the merchant’s house by rickshaw.

It was then he saw her, standing like the sun at the center of everything.

“It must be a festival, what a bother they are holding it today of all days.”

His companion rebuffed annoyed but he couldn’t hear him bewitched as he was from that sight.

Beautiful like the moon, and as much as unreachable, was her dancing with a man with rosy hair, who judging by his expression, was coaxed in the dance by her.

And in the moment she smiled he knew exactly why.

There was no doubt any man would have fallen on his knees giving up all for her if she smiled, he knew because he felt the same way, fact soon proved as he looked around seeing women and men alike enraptured by her.

A yōsei casting her good grace and kindness like a rain of cherry blossom petals in spring, her laugh tingling like the rain caressing the trees’ leaves during a warm summer storm.

As long as she allowed him, he would have bathed in her light.

The moment their eyes met he felt destiny had been set in motion and there would have been no going back.

Shining like the star she was, she beckoned him to come closer, an invitation to share, be it for a fleeting moment, the warmth of what could have been.

Of what could still be if he was brave enough to pursue it.

A spell he could not resist, and a part of him did not want to.

He took her hand in his, letting her smile seep into him, allowing himself, for that night alone, to be happy, not caring nor thinking about anything but that moment.

He let her guide him in a frenetic dance, enraptured by the carefree happiness of the festival, switching position at every turn giving him a better view of each facet of her.

The music gets louder in time with his heartbeats as they spin around faster, in a frenzy of motion that leaves no space to think, to breath, to see, anything but her.

To think a yaksha would have been enchanted by a yōsei was laughable in itself but he didn’t care if this was what happiness felt like that so be it.

He would have done everything he could have to stay with her, and even though he knew it was forbidden and maybe wrong, all that mattered to him was getting to know her better, doing his best to protect her all the same.

A contradiction he would have done his best to resolve.

In an instant their gazes met and held, tourmaline meeting chartreuse glimmering with the same warm light of the lanterns and something dangerously akin to curiosity that set his heart ablaze.

Their lips were close, Oh so close it could have been sinful.

And in a way it was.

Ever gallant he pulled back bowing to her as she did the same, reluctant to step back from the sun, he bought himself time taking her hand in his only to leave a gentlemanly kiss on its back, revelling, for a minute longer, in the adorable rosy blush that spread on her fairy cheeks, already reddened from the dance so much to resemble a strawberry, one he wouldn’t have minded kissing to savour its sweetness.

“I hope we will meet again.”

“Me too.”

Her voice sweet as a persimmon and as much as refreshing to his heart, accompanied him all the way back to their inn.

Upon their return to Sakai her memory was all but vanished from his mind, more determined than ever he went to work to find more about that peculiar westerner girl that awakened his every sense as nothing ever did, a strange sensation, but not unwanted, spread in his heart as he greeted the morning with a smile.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 13, MDNI

Over the course of two gruelling, intense days, Simon teaches you how to use a pistol. Each morning, while the first rays of the sun are just beginning to kiss the horizon, you and he would rouse yourselves from sleep and make the short trek to a nearby neighbourhood. He deems the backyard of your house not an appropriate location for your makeshift shooting range. The loud gunshots, combined with all the noise you and he makes, draw the attention of the dead. More often than not, your rigorous training sessions are abruptly interrupted. You are forced to desert the front yard of yet another desolate home since the biters, lured to the clamour like moths to a flame, start circling you.

Simon also takes it upon himself to provide some rudimentary hand-to-hand combat drills, teaching you a selection of basic yet effective moves to defend yourself should you end up in a situation where you need to spar with someone. His goal is to equip you with enough skills to protect yourself.

Despite being a novice, you surprise yourself with your shooting skills. The accuracy you show is staggering, like a seasoned marksman honed by years of experience. You manage to hit nearly every target that is placed in your line of sight. Each bullet finds its mark with the precision of a hawk swooping down on its prey. Yet, when it comes to sparring with Simon, success eludes you. No matter how hard you try to win, wrestling with Simon is like trying to overpower a mountain. Every practice session, without fail, ends with you pinned to the ground, gasping for breath like a fish out of water, defeated and humbled; Simon looms over you, a smirk spread wide across his face.

On the morning of your departure, you both wake up at dawn. The tension of the upcoming journey is palpable. Simon decides against bringing his duffel bag. Instead, he fills your backpack with essentials: food, several water bottles, and other useful items he thinks might come in handy.

The first day unfolds like a calm before the storm, unremarkable and serene. It's filled with endless hours of walking under the all-seeing gaze of Simon, who urges you onward like a relentless drumbeat. Throughout the initial day, you are fortunate enough to avoid any encounters with the dead. As the sun begins to set and the darkness cloaks the world in its inky shroud, you and Simon find a secure and suitable place to rest for the night, a small respite from the looming threats outside. Simon is firm in his stand against exploring the shadowy, dangerous streets in the dark, citing the increased risk of encountering biters. He believes in preserving strength and avoiding unnecessary battles that could lead to dire consequences. But, by the third day, the circumstances around you shift as dramatically as a calm sea turning into a tempest. The dangers you could once sidestep now stand defiantly in your path, leaving you with no choice but to engage in a fight...

With each step you take, your feet seem to drag reluctantly against the rough, uneven ground beneath you. You find your gaze fixated on the concrete, unable to muster the energy to lift your eyes and take in your surroundings. Exhaustion is seeping into your bones, making your every movement feel heavy and laborious. The muscles in your legs scream out in protest, begging you for a moment of respite, for a chance to rest, if only for a short while. However, Simon is insistent on pressing ahead, urging you both to cover just a little more ground before you allow yourselves to stop.

The sun has already set, casting long, dark shadows across the small town that you find yourselves in the centre of. The pressing need to find shelter for the night has driven both of you into this unfamiliar territory. Yet, despite your best efforts, neither of you managed to spot anything that looked safe enough to provide refuge for the night. Every potential haven seems to be fraught with danger or uncertainty, making the task all the more daunting. Tired and on the brink of despair, you suggest to Simon that perhaps you should simply settle in a random house or the smallest shop and clear out any biters that might be lurking within. Rather than continuing your fruitless search, it would make more sense to fortify a chosen spot, but Simon merely shakes his head in response. His determination is unwavering, and so you continue on, hoping that safety lies just around the corner.

Suddenly, like a snake striking its prey, Simon's iron-strong grip seizes your arm. He yanks you down with brute force, forcing you to dive behind the rusted car. Your body crashes into the unforgiving concrete, the shock reverberating through your bones. You are bewildered, your eyes darting to Simon, desperate for an explanation for the sudden chaos. However, before you can formulate a question, Simon presses his index finger to your lips. He gives his head a vigorous shake, his eyes wide with a fear that mirrors your own, and gestures for you to cast your gaze towards the other side of the desolate road.

At that moment, a weight of dread, as heavy as an anchor, pulls your heart into the pit of your stomach, making it feel as though it has descended to your knees. A cold sweat, chilling in its suddenness, breaks out on your brow, a tangible manifestation of your terror. A swarm of the dead, their groans echoing eerily in silence, is steadily advancing in your direction.

Simon, normally so composed, appears to be as horrified as you are. His face is ashen, his eyes wide with the same primal fear that has seized you. Yet, while you are rooted in place by your terror, he is already springing into action. He scans the surroundings, his mind working in overdrive as he attempts to devise a strategy to extricate both of you from this deadly trap.

"Do you see that tiny shop just across the street?" Simon speaks into your ear. You give a slight nod. "We need to run. As quickly and quietly as we can. If we're lucky, we'll sneak in before the biters notice us. Once inside, we'll lay low and wait for them to pass. Wait—take this," he rummages through the backpack that's slung over his shoulder and pulls out a black pistol. "Don't lose it. And don't shoot unless it's absolutely necessary."

You nod again. You understand the gravity of the situation, yet fear has frozen you in place, like a deer caught in the glaring headlights. Seeing no other option, Simon takes the lead and pulls you along with him.

As you begin to sprint, your heart hammers against your chest, its pounding rhythm echoing the surge of adrenaline that courses through your veins like a rushing river. Simon releases your arm, but remains close behind, a steadfast shadow in your peripheral vision. Your eyes remain fixated on the shop as you force your mind to block out the ominous thuds of nearing footsteps and the chilling groans of the dead. A quick, terror-laden glance over your shoulder confirms that the biters have yet to notice you. But just as you lurch forward again, the pistol Simon gave to you slips from your clammy, trembling palm. It clatters onto the concrete, sliding a few feet away like a discarded toy.

You skid to a halt, your eyes darting around in panic. The horde is getting too close for your comfort, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. But you can't just leave the pistol behind; Simon has made it clear you need to keep it safe.

"Damn it." Taking a deep, shaky breath, you spin around and dash towards the fallen gun.

You pick it up. But before you can dash back, you get caught. A dead man's fingers coil around your arm, drawing you into his deathly embrace. He growls into your face, his breath reeking of decay. You choke down a scream, swallowing it like a bitter pill as you kick at him. Your foot connecting with the hollow thud of his flesh. But once you dodge him, two others approach with unsteady, lumbering steps. Panic seizes you, hot and overwhelming, and this time you can't contain the frantic whimper that rises in your throat. You want to shoot them, to defend yourself and drive them back, but when you lift your hand, the pistol slides out of your trembling grip again, clattering to the ground.

Another scream, louder this time and laced with pleading, eludes you when another cold, lifeless hand grabs your shoulder. The horde, who were previously as scattered as leaves in the wind, suddenly converges, their focus sharpening on you like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. They close in, their menacing presence growing, looming over you like an ominous storm cloud getting closer and closer. Your body is teetering on the brink of collapsing. You draw out a knife from your belt, but it does little good, and eventually gets stuck in the skull of a biter, who attempts to bite your leg.

The shattering roar of a gun firing punctuates the air, a thunderclap that sends a frigid chill coursing through your veins. The scent of freshly spent gunpowder, pungent and dizzying, invades your nostrils - a harsh, metallic perfume that fills your senses until it's all you can perceive. Four bullets. That's how many it takes for Simon to close the distance between you two. With each gunshot, he moves closer, until finally, you are within arm's reach. He grabs your hand and hauls you after him. There's a certain desperation in the way he grasps your fingers — he is terrified of losing you again.

In a swift and forceful push, Simon thrusts you into the shop. He barricades the entrance and then makes you both advance further inside the building. The noise of the horde outside is deafening. Fear is paralysing you, but Simon's presence acts as a grounding force. Eventually, the pair of you stumble upon a dark, desolate room, a stark contrast to the pandemonium just on the other side of the wall. You both stagger in and, after ensuring the door is securely closed, collapse onto the ground, gasping for air amidst the adrenaline rush.

Simon shatters the silence, his voice a ghostly whisper that dances above the echoes of your laboured breaths. Yet, beneath his hushed tone, a current of anxiety rushes. "What the hell happened?"

"I went back for the pistol," you say, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue as the harsh reality of your reckless actions unfurls before you. You risked your life, throwing yourself into the jaws of danger for a mere gun.

Simon's eyes widen in shock, his mouth falling open in disbelief. It appears as if he's teetering on the edge of harsh reprimand, but he ultimately seals his lips and rubs his face in frustration. He recognises the remorse etched across your face and understands that you're already punishing yourself for your impulsive decisions, absolving him of the need to add to your self-inflicted guilt.

"We escaped the biters this time. So, all's well that ends well, isn't it?" He murmurs, stepping close to you. The relief of your shared survival is as palpable as the thick, humid air before a storm. Taking a deep breath, he leans in, pressing his lips softly against yours.

After the short kiss ends, he retreats to the shadowy corner of the room, sinking onto the floor and leaning his back against the wall. He pulls the backpack onto his lap, his fingers deftly working the zipper open before he starts rummaging through its contents. The soft rustling sounds fill the otherwise quiet space.

Feeling a sudden need for some space, you move to the opposite side of the room. You need a moment alone to collect your scattered thoughts and calm your racing heart. The room, as if mirroring your emotions, seems to shrink, its walls inching closer. Curling into yourself, you hug your knees, pulling them to your chest. For a long time, neither of you speak. The silence is thick, and heavy with the unspoken words and emotions that hang in the air. You're both still trying to process what has just transpired, the danger you faced together.

The persistent throbbing in your shoulder is becoming increasingly unbearable. You've been trying to suppress the pain, hoping it would fade away. However, as you glide your fingers over the skin in a futile attempt to massage it, you feel a sticky substance coating your fingertips. When you bring your hand into the dim light, you're taken aback by the sight of your blood. An icy shiver, far colder than any winter breeze, ran down the length of your spine, inducing a sense of dread deep within you.

Simon doesn't seem to notice your fiddling. His focus is on his hands, which are working to revive the flashlight that seems to have run out of batteries. While he's preoccupied, you seize the opportunity to further inspect your wound without drawing too much attention to yourself. Squinting through the darkness, you make a chilling discovery - you have been bitten. It wasn't the fingers that wrapped around your shoulder, but the teeth.

You know, you must tell Simon about the bite. However, the words feel like jagged stones lodged in your throat. All you manage to utter is, "I think we should go home. It's far too dangerous. We're chasing shadows... my brother may not even be alive. I don't want to go looking for him anymore."

It kills you to say this. But the bleak reality stands before you like a grim reaper, its chilling presence whispering that the sickness will seize your life in mere days. The last thing you want is for Simon to risk his life for you. You are a walking time bomb, and you can't let Simon be caught in the eventual explosion.

"What?!" Simon's voice reverberates like a shockwave, echoing his disbelief as he struggles to comprehend your words. "We can't turn back now. Not when we've come this far," he says, his voice a symphony of emotional turmoil. "I know you're scared, but we... I... We're against the clock here, and we've already walked more than half the distance."

You stay silent. Your hand is still clutching your shoulder. You know that without a solid reason, Simon will not turn and go back. But you can't admit to him that you are dying. Because the moment you utter the words, the moment you confess to having been bitten, it becomes your reality—an irrevocable truth that can never be unsaid.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69 , @browtfyoudoing , @yelenassafeplace, @itsthealice, @naxxsstuff, @lotionlamp If you want to be added, let me know!

[lostinlewis]

Are you in the mood for angst/cheating tonight?? 😭

Im currently listening to moth to a flame and the lyrics “does he know you call me when he sleeps, does he know the pictures that you keep..” is so stuck on my head. Could you try to base something on that.. lmao?😭

Baby, you know I am always in the mood for angst hehe...I wanted to make this toxic but instead it is just filled with angst.

Mature.

Words: 2.2k

It had become quite the ritual that as you sat across the dining room table from a man you considered to be the great love of your life, the man who brought you peace in a life built from chaos, a man who let you escape from it all and gave you the shelter to really be you, that your phone would be a distraction that neither one of you could ignore; your husband had a knack for knowing when to ruin the mood. 

“Answer it, it might be important…” 

There was an annoyance in Lewis’ voice that you couldn’t ignore, a tone that was quite the contradiction to his words. Sure, he was telling you to answer your husband's call but he was also telling you that if you did, it would come at the cost of his happiness. The great battle you fought constantly, keeping your lover happy whilst also playing the role of someone's wife too. 

“Sorry, I’ll make it quick I promise.” 

You left your seat in a hurry, waiting until you left the room before you answered what was now the fifth call of the hour, careful to not let your husband even so much hear Lewis’ breath in the same room as you, should it raise suspicions. 

“What’s wrong?” 

It was silent in the background of the call and for a moment you wondered if you had been caught, if he was calling to confront you about your illicit affair, or even if the man you were legally tied to was doing the same as you, standing in the house that wasn’t his own as his lover sat in a room nearby, not that you even cared. 

“The babysitter called, she has to leave in an hour, can you make it home in time?” 

You felt a sunken feeling in the pit of your stomach, you had been so looking forward to this night having not been able to get away for close to a month now, the need to be alone with Lewis for the night, for the whole night, had become quite overwhelming recently. 

“I don’t know, can’t you?” 

Your words were pathetic really, of course you could make it home in time but you didn’t want to, not a single part of you wanted to go home, to go back to your normal life, you had only just gotten a taste of freedom, a reminder of who you were when you weren’t mum and when you weren’t someones wife, surely you deserved a night off too?

“Babe I am at a work function you know how important my job is-” 

Your husband hadn’t stopped his sentence short, Lewis’ hands on your hips from behind forced you to stop listening. As you held the phone loosely to your ear now, you felt his lips tease the nape of your neck, ever so softly placing kisses on every inch of your bare skin whilst his hands began to roam across the material of your dress, cupping a breast with one hand as the other drew lines of seduction across your midriff. 

“Hello? Are you still there?” 

It was your husband's voice that brought you back to reality harshly, no longer had the touch from the man standing behind you kept you hostage in his world, you were given such a harsh reminder of the world in which you actually resided, a world in which you had grown to resent. 

“Sorry, yes…The signal is bad I think…Do I really need to go home?” 

There was an element of desperation in your voice now, pleading with him to grant you permission to escape for just a little longer despite how awful what you were doing was, you felt it was the least you deserved. 

“Tell him you’re not leaving…” 

Lewis whispered the words into your free ear, barely audible yet it scared you all of the same. Pulling away from him, you turned to face him instead and saw the look of darkness in his eyes, he wasn’t going to let you leave easily. 

“Okay fine, I will say my goodbyes and head home…yeah sure, see you tomorrow.” 

There were no niceties, no signs of affection when it came to your husband, that had long since disappeared if it was ever really there at all. 

“I’m sorry Lewis, I-I-” 

Not allowing you to finish the sentence, he pulled you to him once more, resting both hands on your hips as he kissed you with a passion you had only ever felt with him. 

“Do you want to go?” 

His words tickled against your lips as he dared you to leave him when he could taste how desperately you wanted to be with him. 

“No, but-” 

“Baby we don’t do buts around here, come with me…” 

Lewis took you by the hand and gave you no option but to follow him down his seemingly never ending hallway, a silence only broken by your footsteps and weighted with anticipation breaths. 

“Sit with me.” 

Inviting you into his body with an outstretched arm, Lewis laid back on the corner of his sofa, space enough for two. 

“But I have to go…” 

His smile was unwavered by your admission, still he asked you to join him on the sofa with his open body, how could you ever refuse?

“When you are here with me there is nothing you have to do, everything is a choice baby…” 

Lewis welcomed your body against his warmly, wrapping his arms around your entirety, he pulled you closer to him somehow. 

“...Give me ten more minutes with you and then I will drive you home myself.” 

He wasn’t waiting for permission, not now that his time with you had been cut so short. Lewis unwrapped his arms from you as his lips met your neck once more, his hand dancing down the inside of your thigh to so carefully pull them apart. 

“I hate that I have to share you with him…” 

Your eyes were closed and your breath was laboured as you felt every single nerve in your body stand on edge, your senses driven mad by the touch of his soft lips against your neck and his fingers gently stroking the outside of your panties. 

“I hate that I only ever get to love you in secret…” 

A gasp left your lips as you felt the pad of his finger tease through your folds with the aim to find the spot that always made you putty in his hands, and he found it with ease. Your head fell back against his shoulder as he stroked circles that told of how much of an expert he was in your pleasure, no longer could he multitask with kisses, he could now only watch your face contort with deep satisfaction, he looked on with pride mixed with love, knowing that in that very moment in time you were his, only his. 

“You know I will wait for you as long as it takes…look at you, so beautiful…I will wait for you always.”

His words felt like a soft poem being read to keep you teetering on earth whilst his touch dared you to rise above it. You were never one to care for religion, nor were you particularly spiritual, but in that moment, when you were at your most vulnerable with Lewis, you felt he was a God, it was the only way to explain how a man could know your body and know how to make you feel better than even you could. 

“I don’t want to let you cum baby, I want to keep you here for as long as possible…” 

It still amazed you that he knew when orgasm was close without you ever telling him, but he knew, he always knew. 

“Please…please…oh my-please…” 

You begged him for release, you begged him to make you feel like only he could, but at the same time you were begging him to let you go. 

“I want to let you baby, I really do…but I don’t want you to go, I want you here with me…always.” 

The moan you let out as you felt his words penetrate your skin was born from pleasure but mostly frustration. You needed a release, sure, but most of all you needed him to know that there was not a single part of you that wanted to leave him too. 

“Please…” 

It was that plea that did it, the singular plea that was more of a whimper than a word. Neither one of you were sure who exactly you were asking for more, the orgasm or the permission to go home, but either way, Lewis knew he could keep you no longer. 

“There you go baby, there you fucking go…” 

His voice was husk with admiration now, the weight of his desire to be inside you made the words catch in his throat as he watched you fall apart right there in his lap, the ability to both make you lose control and to provide you shelter to do so unabashed made him burst with pride. 

“Thank you, Lewis.” 

Your voice was nothing more than a tired whisper now, words you forced yourself to speak through sheer emotional exhaustion as you stayed wrapped in the loving arms of the man who promised you a world you would never be able to live in. 

-

Lewis had given you a moment to freshen up alone, allowing you to fix your hair and your dress in the bathroom shielded from his view, knowing that you always took a while to readjust to the ‘other’ you once you had been with him but also knowing how crucial it was that you did. 

It took you by surprise that he was still sitting in the state you had left him in, typing away on his phone, not in any way looking like he was ready to leave the house. 

“Did you change your mind? Should I call a cab?” 

It was then that Lewis stood, it was then that you noticed it was your phone he had in your hand not his, and there was a look of intent on his face as he handed it to you. 

“No need, I spoke with your husband, you’re not leaving.” 

You felt your world crash down around you as his words registered. What had he done? 

“You what? Lewis, fuck…why would you do this?” 

You saw the look in his eyes that told you he was toying with the idea of letting you stew a little longer, like there was a little part of him that enjoyed your distress, as if it was akin to revenge for how often you put him last.

“Relax, I messaged him as if I was you. I told him you had car trouble and that the mechanic wasn’t going to be able to get to you until morning and so you had to stay the night with a friend…” 

The smile on his face was smug, like he was ahead in a competition and the prize, you, was closer than ever to being his. 

“You have no right to do that.”

Shocked by the annoyance in your voice, Lewis screwed up his face as he looked at you. 

“Well it was the only way I could get you to stay here, I thought you’d be happy, I thought you wanted to be here?” 

“I do…of course I do…just, you’re not like him, you don’t try to control me, what if he guessed that it wasn’t me that was messaging him? What if he found out about you?” 

Lewis rolled his eyes ever so slightly as he took you by your waist once more. 

“Then I guess I would finally have you all to myself…” 

“It’s not as easy as that, you know it isn’t. I have a life, I have kids…I can’t just leave that all behind because I am in love with the man who I happened to meet last.” 

“I would never ask you to leave any of that behind baby, what you have is what you are and I would love and accept your life and your kids as if they were my own.” 

“I can’t leave him, Lewis…I can’t…” 

Pulling you into a hug the very moment he saw the upset on your face, not allowing the tear that slid down your cheek to land anywhere but on his shirt, Lewis held you as if the words you had not yet spoken weighed you down terribly. 

“I know you are not ready to leave him, I know. I told you I would wait for you and I will, I will wait for you forever if that is what it takes, but just know the moment you are ready, this…all of this…” 

He signalled to the house that you were both standing in as he spoke, a symbol of all that his world really was.

“...will be ready to welcome you home. I have so much space for you, for your kids…I have so much love to give too. And maybe you will never be ready to leave him, maybe the thought of it is a little too scary, but I will wait for you nevertheless. I will wait for you right here, ready for the chance to love you how you truly deserve, finally.” 

[divineordiabolical]

⋆˚࿔ Anastasia Salvador— Ramshackle OC 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

ramshackle oc, roleplay blog 🤍🪽— penned by s.

“In the hallowed halls of the Holy Order, bathed in golden light filtering through stained glass— exclusive to the Church and otherwise kept from the city of Ramshackle, sunken in filth and depravity, illuminating sacred texts and the whispered grievances of the citizens knelt in sorrow, resides Anastasia Nikolai Salvador—a name exalted in reverence and appraisal, yet laden with an unspoken suffering. Anastasia, a vision of adolescent ideal and promising youth untarnished, is not merely a member of this divine congregation; she is its beating heart, its most precious gem. Glorified, she stands as a testament to the potential of her tender age, yet beneath the gilded exterior lies a soul caught in the crucible of expectation and sacrifice.”

Anastasia's world shattered with the sudden departure of her parents, leaving her an orphan and a wanderer in the cruel streets. Cast out from her home, deemed unworthy of even the basic provisions, she roamed as a specter amidst countless other forgotten souls.

In a twist of fate akin to a dark fairy tale, Anastasia found her way to the Ramshackle's ancient Church, its walls steeped in whispers of both salvation and damnation. Her presence, a haunting echo among the pews, caught the eye of the Church's enigmatic leader, drawing his interest like a moth to flame. Without hesitation, she was taken under his wing, a prized possession in his collection of lost souls.

Yet, with this newfound shelter came a heavy price. The Church showered her with gifts—scholarships, privileges, a semblance of security—but each offering felt like chains binding her to an unattainable ideal. They demanded perfection, a flawless facade to mask the darkness within.

Anastasia, now known as Asya in the Church's hallowed halls, became a living enigma—a haunting beauty with eyes that mirrored ancient sorrow. She danced on the edge of perfection, her every move a calculated performance to appease her benefactors. Her days were a calculated trajectory of meticulous actions, each note a plea for acceptance in a world that demanded nothing short of perfection.

Behind the veil of her immaculate facade, however, lay a soul drowning in melancholy. The weight of expectations bore down on her like a leaden cloak, suffocating her true self beneath layers of artifice. Asya's smile became a mask, hiding the cracks in her fragile psyche, a testament to the high price of perfection in a world where darkness lurked just beneath the surface.

p.s/mod’s note: omg omg hiii first post !! i hope to make some good friends and possible roleplaying buddies 🥹🫶 about the mod here:

[little-diable]

Addicted to You - Tommy Shelby (smut)

Somwhat inspired by the song and music video "Addicted to You" by Avicii, it fits just perfectly. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader and Tommy have shared a few intimate nights, he doesn't ask any questions and she doesn't speak much. At least till Sergeant Moss consults Tommy about a woman causing trouble in the Blinder's area.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, typical Peaky Blinders crime, somewhat of an open end

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (2k words)

Divider by @firefly-graphics

I don't know just how it happened, I let down my guard, swore I'd never fall in love again, but I fell hard

“You don’t know where she’s from? Are you out of your mind?” Polly’s voice echoed through the room, loud and clear like a shot ringing in one’s ears, and yet the woman was by far more dangerous than any bullet piercing one's skin, leaving behind scars that may eventually fade with time. It took a few moments before a reply was heard, spoken softer than Polly’s words, and yet the reply carried more meaning than one could have ever imagined when listening from afar. 

“No, and I won’t ask. We need help around here, she fits right in. That’s all we need for now.” (Y/n) wished to see the expression tugging on Polly’s features, wondering how she’d react to Tommy’s reply, and yet all (y/n) could do was stare at the door leading to his office, no longer paying attention to her task at hand. 

She had weasled her way into Tommy’s life weeks ago, finding shelter in the Garrison when the sky had opened up, making rain pour from the sky like blood being shed on the streets of Birmingham. How ironic that the place owned by the Peaky Blinders had appeared safer than the darkness lingering in the streets outside. 

It had only taken the two of them a few days to find their way back to one another, still remembering the words they’ve shared, the intrigue that had burned in Tommy’s pupils and the smile that had tugged on (y/n)’s lips. He had fallen for her the second she had looked at him for the first time, like a siren luring him into the soaring waves of the cold ocean, forcing him to give into death’s call without asking for any help. 

The two had shared a few nights with their limbs quivering, their hearts racing and their thoughts drowned out by the pleasure thumping through their veins. He hadn’t asked any questions and she hadn’t said much – besides the sweet nothings overcoming her painted lips like a song echoing through the Garrison. It had been easy, almost too easy, and yet Tommy Shelby had been desperate for this kind of distraction, something he could drown himself in for a few hours, not having to worry about the blood clinging to his hands and the list of sinners he’d eventually work on, taking lives like chess figures taken from a chessboard. 

“Don’t tell me you’re fucking her. You men are all the same, thinking with your cocks rather than your brains. By now I’m no longer sure you’re even capable of forming a proper thought.” The door to his office fell open, exposing Polly’s frame storming out of the room. She didn’t spare (y/n) a glance, leaving the building with hurried steps as if God himself was calling her home. A home she had fled from decades ago, welcomed in the home down below with open arms. 

Lost in your eyes, drowning in blue, out of control, what can I do?

His eyes met hers, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, wordlessly calling her into his office. No words were shared as he pulled her in for a kiss, not giving (y/n) the chance to ask any questions, to share the confessions lingering on the tips of their tongues. Both were more similar than one could guess, and yet Tommy was oblivious to the darkness of her soul, distracted by the features he’d see the second he closed his eyes, forced to think of her – like a parasite nestling inside his system, not letting him rest. 

“Fuck, here?” Tommy didn’t reply, gave her a push to press her front against his table, forced to spread her legs for the man desperate to claim her. (Y/n) didn’t fight his rough touches, allowing Tommy to push into her without another warning spoken. He fucked her ruthlessly, making bruises form on her hips, pushed against the strong wood of his table with every ferocious thrust. 

The sound of their bodies meeting reverberated through the office, echoing off the walls as if to taint Polly, proving his point to the woman that hadn’t listened to him. There was nothing to worry about, Tommy knew how to separate the good ones from the bad ones – at least that’s what he was convinced of, the one thing he could trust on, his gut. 

Her walls clamped down around his cock, begging him to push her over the edge without speaking another word. He groaned for her, set on marking the woman he selfishly wanted to own, not daring to even think of sharing her with those staring for a few moments too long. Tommy Shelby had rarely felt this possessive, he wasn’t used to chasing people, wasn’t used to having to fight for somebody’s attention, and yet he was awfully aware of the possibility of (y/n) eventually leaving him before he could bind her to him. 

“Cum, let go for me, love.” His raspy voice made goosebumps appear on her skin, eyes fluttering shut as her orgasm clashed through her. Tommy fucked her through her high, pulling out seconds before his release could rip him down the stream, leaving his stain on her bare behind. Both were heavily panting, giving into the silence that was once again lingering in his office, a silence Tommy was all too used to by now.

And yet, before either one of them could speak up, the sound of somebody calling Tommy’s name rang in their ears. But while he reached for a cigarette, patiently waiting for Sergeant Moss to find his way to the office, (y/n) froze, darting out of the office before Tommy could inhale another breath.  His piercing eyes were focused on the spot where she had been standing moments ago, wondering where she had just disappeared to, without speaking another word. 

“Please, come in.” Tommy watched the sergeant step into the office, eyes hooked onto Tommy’s as he stepped closer and shut the door. The man neared the table Tommy had fucked (y/n) against moments ago, mind still focused on her, the way she had moaned for him, making him feel like an ethereal being. 

“We’re looking for somebody; somebody who may have tried to blend in with the ones cherishing the Garrison.” The sergeant watched the smoke leave Tommy’s nostrils, like a river of blood he’d leave behind after doing deals with those no sane man nor woman would even dare to speak of. “A woman,” the man kept describing the one they were looking for, a woman just like (y/n). 

“We’ve been looking for her for a while, she keeps on making trouble, robbing places and stealing too many things. If you hear something, I’d appreciate you telling me.” 

I couldn't live without you now, I know I'd go insane

It had been days since the day where Moss had found his way to Tommy, days where he hadn’t seen her face – only in his dreams. Ever since he had heard of the things a woman like her had done, Tommy had started paying more attention to the crimes he normally wouldn’t focus on, robberies he found himself bored by. 

“It’s her, right?” Polly’s eyes were zoning in on Tommy’s emotionless features, scoffing at the man that barely spoke a word, too deep in thought. Arthur’s chuckles filled the office, forcing all eyes towards him. 

“It’s almost ironic, isn’t it? She played with you, while you were oblivious to the things she’s doing. I doubt we’ll see her again.” With a sigh spilling from his lips, Tommy closed his eyes, sorting through his thoughts. He wouldn’t be able to rest, not until he spoke to her again, asking the questions keeping him awake for the past days.

Why hadn’t she put her trust in him? She knew of the things he was doing, knew of the blood clinging to his hands, why not share the crimes tainting her life? 

“Tell me if you hear anything, I don’t think she’ll leave yet.” Something dripped from his voice, something neither Arthur nor Polly could decipher, not able to see through his facade. His heart clenched in his chest, forced to accept that he may never see her again, that he may never get to stare into the eyes he’d search from afar, telling secrets to the night only those willing to listen would pick up on.

I wouldn't last one night alone, baby, I couldn't stand the pain

The night was dark as Tommy and a few of his men made their way through the streets, eyes focused ahead, inhaling the smoke of their cigarettes. No words were spoken as they moved ahead, eyes set on the bank, hands placed on their revolvers. Light was illuminating the bank, the big windows gave a clear view of a few people crouching on the ground and a woman standing on a desk, holding a gun in her hand. A woman with the same hair as (y/n), a woman with the same height as (y/n), a woman with the same dark smirk as (y/n) once wore around him. 

“Don’t kill her,” was the only thing Tommy said as they stepped into the bank, eyes finding hers before they could even try to focus on the crying men and women on the ground. It took Tommy a few moments to speak up, not trusting his voice just yet. 

“Drop the gun, (y/n).” He spoke calmly, softer than ever before, at least with his men surrounding them. She tried to wordlessly communicate with him, hoping that he’ll guide her through this situation, clinging to the man she had lured into her trap weeks ago. 

“I can’t, you’ll shoot me.” Tommy’s gaze wandered down to her hand, clinging to the bag filled with money. A sigh left him, not sparing his men and how they guided the other people into safety any attention. She grew nervous, gaze flickering to the door, wondering how long it would take the police to turn up. Time was running out, and her only hope was the reaper of Small Health. 

“How much’s in the bag?” The amount rolled off her tongue without thinking twice, praying that he’ll make a deal with her – money for her freedom. “You know how I deal with those causing trouble in my area, don’t you?” 

(Y/n) couldn’t reply, mouth dry as she watched him alight a new cigarette, “You lied to me, you played a game with me. A game you’re losing just now. How much is your freedom worth to you, (y/n)?” 

“Everything.” And with a hum rumbling through Tommy, he reached out his hand, helping her down from the table. Their eyes didn’t break contact once, making a small smile tug on her lips as she followed him out into the night, exhaling the air she had been holding. Darkness engulfed them, wrapping her in a blanket of false comfort, mind hooked onto the past moments, how her life could have ended right there and then. 

“You see,” Tommy wrapped an arm around her, mouth pressed against her ear. “Everything isn’t good enough, (y/n). Not in my game.” 

And with the sound of a gun being cocked, she was forced to freeze in his grasp, cursing herself for being addicted to the man that had no mercy lingering in his system.

Lost in your eyes, drowning in blue Out of control, what can I do? I'm addicted to you

[desires-of-chain]

So I have been lurking and a post grabbed me at the depth of three am. Since I was not able to get rid of the brain rot, you must suffer with me. > Original idea was Wizard Anon <

Fair waring, this is not edited and the first one of these I've ever written. Magic Spar - Fierce Deity x Reader 

Part of you wondered how it was possible to be that powerful. To have magic coursing through every vein, rippling under every layer of skin, radiating from your body in intoxicating waves that consumed everything around them. It took everything you had to keep your prying eyes away from each adornment carved into his silver armor and the stained markings that framed his face. A man- no- a deity that shined best under the dark slivers of moonlight that encased him beautifully. You were never sure if he caught your staring, those pure white, shining eyes never betraying his next more. Never giving an inkling to the mysteries that swirled in the war god’s mind.

It hadn’t been long since your party stopped for the night, the cold getting to be a bit too much for their youngest member. You were thankful to sit by the blazing fire with a warm bowl of soup since, though you didn’t admit it, you had been chilled to the bone by the late autumn weather. The perk of Wild’s Hyrule was the abundance of abandoned shelter littered from the aftermath of the calamity. Most of the other heroes had already retired for the night yet you couldn’t help but pick at your soup under the weight of that ever consuming presence. Only you and your wordless tormentor remained illuminated by the soft flickers of the fire. Just having him nearby was a sensory overload, those tantalizing waves crushing you under their iron grip.

And you couldn’t help but revel silently in his presence.

Your eyes roamed over to him before you could realize it, drinking in the precise movements of the cloth he held running over the seamless cure of his blade. Part of you wondered if he ever slept. Could he even feel tired? You mindlessly lifted the warm soup to your lips. Part of you wondered if you could convince him to give you his hat. Just to borrow for a few minutes. Would his magic still dance in between the threads or would it just be a normal hat when you put it on? Despite your efforts of getting closer, part of you couldn’t seem to bring yourself too close to him. Every time you grew to close you could feel your breath grow short, choking on the sheer thickness of his power. Your eyes couldn’t move higher than your boots and a soft quiver jolted through your body with every neuron flaring in warning. 

His voice was the deep, dangerous lull of a beast that wished to tempt you close with sweet words. Dressing up sharp teeth with sweet nothings that drifted through your ears like rich velvet. Drifted down your spine like blue fire, burning with a haunted chill. As a mage, you were drawn to magic like a moth to a flame, drawn to the wildfire seering in front of you despite every part of your body warning you to flee. It was a miracle he found you pitiful enough to talk to at all, although your conversations were brief. And yet you still wanted more.

Perhaps you could ask him to hold his sword- Could you even hold his sword? 

“You have quite the thing for staring, little mage.”

Your blood ran cold. His whisper ran through your body like molten gold. His movements paused, ears perking up as your panic slowly began to seep deep into the marrow wells of your bones. Even with his back turned, he could feel your stare. A god conditioned by war, conditioned to handle hordes of enemies, conditioned to feel the eyes of a threat even when unseen. You were such an idiot.

“Was there something you’ve been meaning to ask?” White eyes turned to capture your own, “Perhaps a private question you’ve had for a while?”

Your mind was reeling, lips parting to speak yet you found yourself unable to find the right words. The seconds ticked like minutes, his hot gaze burning through your deepest thoughts and rooting your heart in place. The deity dropped the cleaning cloth to the side, returning his blade to its holder as he stood. He stepped towards you, the chains of his magic latching onto you. Step, they snaked up your appendages and danced ruthlessly against your skin. Step, you could feel their strength constricting around your throat, your breath seizing at the deity that towered over you with hand outstretched. And yet in a string of courage you found your hand sliding seamlessly into his. Your bowl half-eaten and forgotten at your side as he pulled you to your feet. 

The delicacy of his hold deeply contrasted with the way the air around him seemed to increase in gravity with just being in his presence. How every shift of his hand sent shocks up your arm. How you wished to know what the power that devoured you was truly capable of. He whisked you away from the others, the light that illuminated his back growing more and more faint as he led you wordlessly through the thicket. Perhaps you offended him and he wanted to tear into you for your disrespect. Maybe he thought the walk would ease your heightened nerves.

But it only served to crush you more.

The silence between you was maddening.

And yet your curiosity won against your better, sane judgment.

“Would you be open to a magic spar?” Your voice was strained yet you did your best to keep it level, normal.

The deity was unpredictable, the muscles in his back stiffening in the slightest at the sound of your voice, “you’ve wanted to spar?”

He sounded surprised, face turning to yours with a slightly raised brow. You weren’t sure if you could see light strings of amusement beneath the evident confusion. His towering height held you to the spot, unmoving under that moon blinked gaze. And yet you couldn't get enough of the soft glow that radiated off him in the moonlight. A soft nod was more than enough to confirm his question, bemusement clear and yet he obliged your request.

And now that you stood far from the others, alone on the other side of another patch of ruins did you begin to question your decision. 

The cold ripped into your skin, your breath fogging in the dim light that snaked through the relic of buildings you stood between. A simple cloaking spell has bought you a few seconds of time, different enchantments wordlessly racing under your breath as you tried to get eyes on the war god. Your heart thrummed against your ribcage, unsteady eyes peering through each crack of the building you passed for the chance at an upperhand. You couldn’t even begin to try to pinpoint the source of his magic, the very essence of it flowing through the area like his very breathing ricocheting against every part of your body. Whether your trembling was from cold or thrill, you couldn’t decide. 

It had been far too silent for too long. You ducked into one of the smaller, more intact buildings for a bit more cover, peering through a gap in the bricks. For a giant man in heavy armor, you felt like you should have been able to keep better track of him…

The air grew stale, constricting, heavy…

You whipped around, thin coils of your magic snaking from your arms and striking forwards towards the stalking figure behind you only for a blur of white to come crashing into you. Gauntlets crunched through the crumbing stone floor beneath you, the sound ringing through your ears as you crashed harshly against the ground. That dark force that shrouded the deity seized every muscle in your body, constricting your body like a snake’s deadly grasp. Your legs scuffed uselessly against the ground, panic fueling you to gain even a shred of distance between you and the omnipotent force that loomed over your trembling body. Massive hands gripped your shoulders, slamming you back to the ground as an unconscious scream ripped from your body. His burning glare bored through your eyes, hot breath fanned against your cold-nipped face. His power mangling you into a tiny, pathetic, shaking mess as it coursed through every part of your body.

It would be a lie not to admit to the momental terror that chained you, choked you.

Soft white hair slid from his shoulders as he leaned mere inches from your face, lips brushing against your ear as a new kind of shiver rippled down your spine.

“I’ve been watching you as well, little doll,” his scorching words fanned against your neck, “though I must admit, sparring was never on my mind.”

Your heart fluttered against your ribcage, wide eyes peering back at his half-lidded ones. Timid voice cracking under the weight of his body, of his power, “-What do you mean?”

His hands trailed down your pinned arms, head tilting to take in your quivering body before flickering back to your parted lips.

“You've been haunting me every waking moment,” one hand trailed back up your arm, your skin ignited with thousands of tiny shocks where his skin met yours, “such a delicate, stunning little goddess.”

His hand pressed against your cheek as you unconsciously leaned into his firm hand. His magic pressed into your skin, unraveling your fear with something that called from much deeper. Even if you wanted to squirm, his intensity held you still. Calling for your aura. Surrounding and cradling it in its unyielding hold much how he had you now. And this perfect, powerful god thought you were stunning.

“I’ve been dying to get you alone,” his melodic voice purred against your skin, “I want to feel your magic from the inside, don’t I get a prize for winning, my dear? ”

A squeak left your lips as you could feel his body press closer to your own, fingers burying themselves in your hair while his face buried into the crook of your neck, “What do you say?”

The hand on your cheek slowly drifted down, pressing comfortably against your nape as his fingers tangled into your hair. His other hand slid to your waist, fingers digging into the previously unmarred skin underneath through the fabric. Just the lightest pressure earned a soft whimper from your now parted lips, “yes, please.”

That was all the deity needed to crash your hips into his own, desperate whines echoing from your squirming body as he left peppered kisses behind your ear. His hands gripped into you as if you would try to slip away at any moment, the bruising pressure earning a small cry paired with his teeth sinking down onto your collarbone, sucking at your delicate skin as you craned into his intoxicating form. One new mark after another littered your collarbone, trailing up to your throat as he nipped at the gentle flesh. The hand on your hip began to pull at your shirt, ravenous eyes peering up at you once more. A single nod was all it took for the god to rip your top away from your body, his lips attacking your smooth skin with the fervor of a starving beast. Soft moans echoed the suffocating space, his power raining down on your bare skin as he attacked your breasts. Massive hands pressed you against his freezing armor while the other teased and twisted your nipple in sync with the gentle swirls of his tongue on the other. 

It was mere seconds before he seized your bottom clothing and tore them away from your body, pulling away to stare down at you while either hand held your arms in place. You felt so small under his scrutinizing gaze, each ticing moment thumping against your chest as he drank in every part of your body beneath his eyes. You felt insecure under the massive god, his towering form only contributing to your want to hide your body from him but each squirm only made him press your arms down harder, “you’re even more beautiful than I could have imagined.”

His assault on your body with his lips returned full force, each press of his lips traveling lower than the last as he harshly gripped into the skin under his hands. Soft whimpering under his crushing strength quickly turned to a sharp gasp as his tongue ran through your gentle folds. His tongue was soft yet forceful, his hunger devouring into you as he slipped his tongue deeper, deeper, deeper into a place that sent tiny explosions rippling through your body. Gasps sharply transitioned into sharp moans that echoed throughout the shoddy shelter that hid them away. He was ruthless, each press with more intensity than the last all of those sparks built themselves together in your body. Higher, his tongue thrust deep into you once more, Higher, your head flew back, fingers desperately digging into the small bits of dirt in the cracks of the concrete. Higher- a jolt ripped through your body as your body shocked against his grip. Your mind fizzled into no more than pleasurable fuzz that guided your hands to pulling him closer. Tangling in his hair as he sloppily lapped up every drop of your high that flowed out of you. Every move, every twitch sent your mind reeling. Every kiss he placed on your thighs caused you to fight from the stimulation taking over, sucking at the searing skin as you desperately tried to claw away from him for a moment to breathe. But your struggling only led to his teeth sinking into your skin, his hands crushing you in place yet you didn’t feel anything but the firing shutters of your body.

“Very good my dear, you did so well for me,” you felt a heat flash through your body with every shift of his hands on your body, “such a good little mage.”

His velvety voice purred gentle praises as he admired the way your chest heaved from your climax, his own hands retreating from your body for just a moment to pull away the heavy armor he donned. And then his tunic. And then- You couldn’t help but stare. Even stripped bare he was intimidating.

“Do you still want to reward me, little one?”

Your eyes flickered up to his lustful gaze, “Yes.”

“If I am hurting you at all, you will tell me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

A yelp escaped you as he descended upon you, pressing your body against him almost painfully as his hands tanged and tugged at your hair once again. His lips sloppily crashed to your own before devouring any part of his body he could get his lips on. Soft growls pressed into your skin as your left whimpering against him, arms sliding behind your neck and pulling yourself closer. You could feel him pressing against your sensitive opening. Teasing you as his hands roamed your body. A gentle shush was all the warning he gave you before grabbing your hips and gently easing himself into you the smallest bit. 

“Ahhh-” your cry rang through the room as his gentle affirmations sang against your skin. You could feel yourself stretch around him as he slowly sunk into you, squeezing against him as you writhed against the stone wall that pinned you hard to the ground. Your body was buzzing, each further press rippling through your body with the suffocating swirl of his power taking hold over you. You could feel that knee-bending magic that poured off him in waves ripple through your body and slip into your already fuzzy mind, lighting up your brain with every further inch that sunk deep inside you. His touch made you nuts already, but this. Having him inside you sent his crushing power through your power, pressing and straining against the seams of your skin. 

“You really are amazing, taking all of me like that,” You felt so full with him, eyes fluttering as you struggled to fight against the sheer power that radiated inside of you, “now let’s see how much you can really take”

He pulled away from your desperate hole only to thrust hard into tiny body, a sharp gasp leaving your lips each time he rammed his hips hard against your body. Gasps that molded into deep moans with every thrust he laid into you. Your breathing grew heavy, desperate as gentle tears ran down your eyes and saliva dribbled from your mouth. You tried to grab onto anything, fingers digging against the concrete as he slammed into you again and again and again. That familiar rise kicked in on overdrive, his intense magic coursing through your every brain- your every cell. You felt drunk with each course of his body, his heartbeat against yours in perfect harmony. It built up without remorse, hitting its peak as husky moans fell barely audible against your ears from the deity as your strangled screams echoed throughout more than just this tiny building. God you were so full, nearly leaking but he held you up against him so not a drop could drip out of you. 

You were shaking, his hands running through your body once he set your hips down. His soft coos echoed upon deaf ears, all you could comprehend was the thick gravity still coiling around your body and squeezing the life out of you. Gentle brushes were all you knew for a moment, delicate butterfly kisses littering your skin. You could still feel that unbelievable power echoing throughout your body, buzzing in your every vein, swirling through your drifting mind. 

When Fierce finally began to come back into focus, you tried to pick yourself up off the ground into a sitting position.

Tried.

Instead his rough hand gripped your ankle and yanked you back beneath his hovering form.

“Oh no, goddess. We’ve just started,” that ruthless, lustful face consumed you with that dark growl of his voice. And you couldn’t be more delighted to get just a taste of that power again.

This. Is. a got damn, hearty ass meal. I need a nap adsnweifncvijasds

[soullessfawn]

Witness

Grian wasn’t a good person.

He helps at the bird shelter, throws dollar bills into hats for street performers, is a shoulder to cry on for his friends, tutors teenagers in the art of sculpture and inner expression at the local high school, but that didn’t make Grian a good person.

A good person would speak up about the things that go bump in the night, wouldn’t let it stand, yet he was too afraid to, knowing that for some reason his quiet mouth was the only reason he hasn’t been one of the taken.

Grian lives in an old house at the edge of town, passed down through his mothers bloodline, but because his parents never had a girl before there… Turns out he was the only relative that could take the house, and so he became its prisoner.

When the sun meets the horizon, all of Grian’s window shutters would pop up, no matter what he did they’d stay open until the sunrise the next morning. Bolting them, gorilla glue, staples, prayers, nothing worked to keep the things closed.

Grian was just thankful that the windows themselves listened to him. Once all the light from the sun is shadowed, the night actually begins.

Grian could always tell when the sun had fully set, even if he was in the bathroom, which had no windows. The feeling of eyes on his back turned its ugly head, the prickling up his neck telling him that he was being watched would crawl up his spine, settling between his shoulder blades and reminding him what he was about to witness.

No matter how hard he tried to keep his eyes away from the dark spots in his house, it only took a passing glance to see them.

They didn’t have a physical form, more like a mental one, Grian if he had to describe them would say they looked like the biblical description of angels, but slightly off. With eyes, wings and body parts twisted and wrong, the darkness would show him the creatures from his nightmares.

Grian started calling them Watchers after a month into owning the house.

The Watchers loved it when he spotted them, seeming to get more rowdy and productive if he caught their eyes. The lights flickered when the night started and so Grian started using candles to light up the place, he kept himself either in his room or in the study, making mad dashes to the bathroom if needed.

The Watchers weren’t the worst part, it was what they did that's disturbing. Grian would glance out his bedroom window, eyes drawn to the darkness of his street, a moth to a burning flame, you could say.

The street had terrible lighting, and maybe that’s why no one else ever saw anything, but the reason never mattered, because soon enough a man would be walking towards the house, luggage behind him in a red suitcase, charms attached to the zippers.

Grian would watch as a Watcher peeks out from behind a tall lamp poll, its eyes strictly on the man who’s walking down the street. Grian would get up, move closer towards the window, because this was his punishment for never speaking up, for never banging on the window, his punishment was watching, witnessing, the man.

The man wore a red jumper, jeers and had light brown borderline blonde hair, like his own. The man would get about halfway before looking up, freezing at the sight of Grian in the window, not noticing the eyes and wings creeping up behind him.

Grian forced himself to stay silent as his eyes met with his own, watched as the other him went through confusion, then fear.

The Watchers struck then, jumping out of the shadows as an ear piercing scream filled the air, cries and pleads for help ringing in his ears. Grian would place a single hand on the window, the other him being dragged blood and screaming into the darkness towards his house.

Grian’s front door would slam open and shut in quick succession, the screaming continuing through his house until his basement door was opened and the screaming descended the stairs.

One time Grian didn’t go upstairs in time, and was forced to sit in the kitchen as the other him was dragged down the hallway by what first seemed to be an invisible force. Grian, the other one, reached out to him, despite the fact they shared the same face. “Help me!” The other one screamed. “Please!”

Grian had only blinked, hand clutching his hot chocolate in fear, as the other him was thrown down the stairs and the door was shut, sealing in his screams.

The silence was more unsettling, because Grian knew the other wasn’t done calling for help, yet he couldn’t hear a thing.

Grian would go to sleep after that, and magically any blood that was left would be gone, leaving him as the only witness to his own murder.

So Grian was a bad person, horrible, to watch himself die over and over again every night, but the fear of being the one to go next always stops him from asking for help. Grian knows he was singled out from the beginning, having walked that same street in the middle of the night when he moved in the first night.

Grian had seen himself in the window that night, all those months ago, banging on the glass, screaming at him to turn and run, Grian watched as the Watchers descended on the other him in the window, all because the other tried to warn him.

Grian wouldn’t make the mistake of being a hero.

[prettty-lies]

Moths to a flame In the stillness of the night   When the moon and stars are dim   The Moths begin their silent fight   As the sun isn't there to orient their flight   Artificial light sources now dominate the night sky   Eyes on the pole with a glowing light.   They circle closer to it, mesmerized,   By the false sun, in the darkened skies.   The light shines bright, they found it as thier beacon of hope  in the endless night While trying to cope with the darkness they forget their nightly quest,   To find food and shelter and to take some rest.   They dance around in a fake embrace   Fluttering in their own deceptive grace   Their false sun slowly takes their life   Yet they stay with false happiness, for which their hearts still sway.   In that light, they see their sun,   A lost hope, a battle they think they’ve won   Addicted to its warmth and glow,   Their hearts believe in what they used to know Even when their fragile wings start to burn   They are drawn to the flame   Knowingly playing a dangerous game.   They fall to the ground, their journey complete,   Victims of a light, they could never defeat.   The world around them goes unnoticed, unseen,   The grass, the flowers, the trees which were so green.   Yet in its grasp, their heart are intertwined.   Holding on to what once was real,   Trying to ignore the wounds that never heal.    Even while Knowing the end, they are unable to part,   They stay, trapped in a hopeless heart.

[nwqueenwrites]

Halsin x f/OC (Human Sorceress)

{ Just the realisation that the woman he loves is doomed to disappear in the blink of an eye }

🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖

How is it she unravels my defenses with only a glance? Those fathomless dark eyes pierce my guarded façade to bare all vulnerabilities within. Yet her gaze never judges, only accepts what she finds with empathy beyond her years.

She sees beyond the beast, beyond the surface of magic and ritual to confront larger truths. Walking at her side grants me new sight as well - to appreciate small beauties unnoticed before her arrival. Her wisdom reshapes all.

When melancholia tightens its grasp, as it often does in sunless seasons, her subtle kindnesses sweep some of the shadows back. A cup of mulled wine, a moonflower bundled on my pillow, a steadying hand when weariness weighs.

Is it selfish to crave more from one whose days are so fleeting? I swore never again to lose myself so utterly in another. And yet here she dwells, occupying my every thought, an undeniable presence.

Perhaps these fears shield me from accepting a greater truth - that I am already irreversibly bound to her light. The time we share, however brief, must be cherished, not squandered in hesitation. Before the hourglass empties, I should tell her.....

How can I confess what dwells in my heart without also revealing the dread? That even as I long to bask in her light, I cannot silence the clock counting down against us.

Perhaps the very fleetingness of our time together should spur me to action, rather than restrain. Would I later regret a lifetime of suppressed feelings to shield against the inevitable? Still, apprehension stagnates my tongue.

I watch how she moves with predatory grace, how her marked skin gleams in the glow of fungi - at once lethal and ethereal. I am at once drawn to her and wary of getting burned. A moth circling her flame, knowing its beauty and peril.

She stirs longings I thought my heart guarded against after past sorrows. I wish to shelter her, walk at her side, lay the world at her feet to erase the sadness in her eyes. But I also wish to flee the intensity of my own resurgent emotions.

How does one pledge their heart wholly, knowing loss lies ahead? I waver on the edge, unsure whether the bliss of reciprocation outweighs the anguish of our looming parting. For now I remain silent, fighting a losing battle within my conflicted soul.

[prismaiden]

⚘ @through-fire-and-flame // cont.

He lingered on her lips, a taste of smoke and water, an ember refusing to cool.  Anri had expected many things – silence awkward and heavy, perhaps even crushing disappointment – but not this.  Certainly not the flood of words that followed her kiss, spilling out in hushed reverence, a litany of sentiments so tender they struck her like arrows, each one lodging deeper than the last.  

For a moment, she could only stare, her breath snared in her throat.  His face was so close it filled her vision – he was all she could see, all she wanted to see.  The rough stubble of his jaw scraped softly against her skin, the faint scent of soot and damp earth clinging to him, rooting her in this impossible moment.  His lips brushed hers with every word, each syllable as soft as a moth’s wing, yet she felt their weight, their heat, as though he spoke not to her, but into her.  

Sobbing around a smile, tremulous and sweet, Anri’s hands rose to cup his bearded jaw, fingertips threading into the roots of his hair.  In Laurentius, she had seen the face of courage:  to thrive in the half-light of the swamp, to endure hardship, to leave home behind.  But this courage – his unflinching vulnerability, his immeasurable capacity for kindness – left her unmoored.  His voice was no louder than a whisper, but it resonated within her like the great bell that once tolled across Lordran, a sound carrying endlessly, reverberating in places she had not realised were hollow until now.  

Over cracks she had painted the veneer of a knight, remaking herself into the image of a hero she longed to be:  a figure to storm the cathedral, to shelter the frightened children in her shadow, to stand unyielding against the dark and the Deep.  Lifetimes spent playing at honour, a clumsy mimicry of the ideals she envied, and yet here he was, looking at her as though she embodied them.  

Another sob shook her, delirious and joyful.  Tears welled in her eyes unbidden, falling like tiny stars.

“Laurentius,” she murmured breathlessly.  “I – ”  

What could she possibly say?  That his voice, his warmth, the fierce kindness in his hazel eyes – all of it felt more like safety than anything she had ever known?  That she had never felt so seen, so known, so heard, so accepted?  The words lodged in her throat, too raw to release.

Instead, she reached for his hand and guided it to her cheek.  She nosed against his palm, breathing in the scent of him, the soot baked into every crease – the hands that cradled flame now stippled with her tears, her joy, her relief.  Let them hold her, as they held so much else besides.

“If I am home,” Anri whispered, her voice gentle and low, “it is because you are my hearth, Laurentius.”

And then she kissed him again.

[teine-mallaichte]

Prompt: pining.

Set about a week after “first kiss” and a part of my Campfire Snippets Series

Fenris lingered at the back of the group, he wasn't sure why he was even here. He had no interest in going to Sundermount, no interest in helping the witch with whatever nonsense she was involved in. But when hawke had asked, he had not really thought about the implications - about the fact that he might be coming too.

A week of avoidance... Ruined.

It wasn't as if he could just leave when he saw the mage job them - well, alright maybe he could have done. Somehow this trip to Sundermount seemed to have turned into some sort of group outing with Varric and Isabela insisting on coming along to support Merrill with whatever the nonsense was - perhaps he should have been paying more attention rather than getting distracted by Anders. They really didn't need six people for whatever this was. But... Simply leaving would have drawn attention. And that was the last thing he needed right now.

His gaze flickered forward again, unbidden, landing on Anders’ back. He took in the way Anders’ coat billowed slightly as he walked, the messy strands of hair catching the light. There was an ease to the mage, a natural warmth in the way he moved and spoke, that set Fenris on edge. It wasn’t just Anders’ charm or the effortless way he drew others in; it was the way he carried a sense of passion, of life, a spark of rebellion and belief, that Fenris felt he could never touch. It drew him in like a moth to a flame. And Fenris knew better than to let himself get burned.

The kiss had been a mistake.

He knew that. Told himself that every night since. Was it born from a foolish impulse, a fleeting moment of weakness? The thought gnawed at him, twisting his frustration inward. Getting closer to anyone was dangerous; he’d learned that lesson in blood. The Fog Warriors had taken him in, sheltered him when he was lost and left behind in Seheron, and he’d repaid their kindness by spilling their blood under Danarius’ command. The memory haunted him, a sharp reminder of what closeness could cost. Until Danarius was dead or had given up his hunt, it was safer—for everyone—if Fenris maintained his distance. And yet, his mind kept returning to it—the softness of Anders’ lips, the way his breath had hitched, the surprise that gave way to something deeper, something terrifying.

Watching Anders… hurt. It was a sharp, twisting pain that reminded him of everything he couldn’t have—the warmth Anders carried so effortlessly, the compassion that seemed to seep from his every action.

He eyes looked on Anders again, watching him walk ahead, beside Hawke. The two were deep in conversation, their voices too low for Fenris to make out the words. Hawke gesturing animatedly, his hands moving to punctuate his point, while Anders tilted his head, listening with that easy attentiveness that seemed so natural to him. A moment later, Anders threw his head back and laughed—a bright, unguarded sound that caught Fenris completely off guard.

The laugh twisted something inside him, sharp and painful. Anders had moved on, hadn’t he? The kiss hadn’t affected him the way it had Fenris. Anders didn’t look haunted by it, didn’t seem burdened by the same thoughts that kept Fenris awake at night. No, Anders was laughing, chatting easily with Hawke, as if the world hadn’t shifted beneath Fenris’ feet just days ago.

And yet, deep down, Fenris knew better. He had seen it before—the way Anders deflected with humor, the way he hid behind laughter to keep others at a distance. The mage was no stranger to overthinking; Fenris had caught glimpses of that in the small moments when Anders thought no one was watching. But none of that mattered. It was better this way. It had to be.

Even if it hurt.

He forced his eyes away.

But somehow that felt worse, like severing the only thread of light in a world that was far too dark. Anders was a beacon, a painful reminder of a life Fenris didn’t dare reach for, yet couldn’t bear to let go of.

There was a quiet goggle beside him. He silently barrated himself as his body flinched. Merrill hummed softly, her staff resting against her shoulder as she fell into step with him.

“What?” he demanded, shooting her a sideways glare. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Merrill covered her mouth with her free hand, stifling another laugh. Her tone was teasing, light. “You’re in love.”

Fenris faltered mid-step, his head snapping toward her. “What?”

She grinned impishly, her voice lilting with amusement. “You keep looking at Anders with puppy dog eyes whenever you think no one's watching.”

Fenris felt a sharp jolt in his chest at her words. Heat crept up his neck, and his hands clenched at his sides as he fought to keep his expression neutral. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Was his internal dilemma really that obvious?

“I—” Fenris scowled, his could feel his ears turning faintly red. “There are no... puppy dog eyes.”

“Oh, there are definitely puppy dog eyes,” Merrill said, fiddling with her staff as if oblivious to his irritation. “Every time he turns his back, you look like you want to run after him but can’t decide if you’re too proud or too scared.”

Fenris glared at her, his jaw tightening. “You are mistaken.”

Merrill’s grin only widened. “Am I?” she asked, her tone sing-song. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Anders is…” She trailed off, her brow furrowing slightly as she searched for the right words. “Nice. A bit grumpy sometimes, but he’s got a good heart.”

“This conversation is over,” Fenris muttered, his voice low and tight. He quickened his pace, his shoulders stiff and his hands clenched at his sides. The ground beneath his feet felt uneven, the crunch of frosty leaves loud in the strained silence as if the landscape itself was conspiring to echo his discomfort. He kept his gaze on the horizon, refusing to look at Merrill, refusing to look at Anders, refusing to look at the ground. He'd given too much away already. His thoughts churned, however, refusing to be silenced so easily.

Nice. A good heart. Words that only added fuel to the fire of his frustration. Did she not see how dangerous it was? The thought made his stomach twist, resentment and longing warring within him.

“You look even broodier than usual Broody,” Varric’s voice cut through the quiet, pulling Fenris from his thoughts. Fenris tensed, his shoulders stiffening as if caught doing something he shouldn’t. How had he let two people sneek up on him in the space of ten minutes?

“I am not brooding,” Fenris said, sharp, but quiet.

“Sure you’re not,” Varric replied, smirking as he took a swig from his waterskin. “And I’m not the best storyteller this side of Thedas.”

Fenris glared at him, but Varric only chuckled.

“So,” Varric said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, “are you planning on talking to Blondie anytime soon, or are you just going to keep staring at him as if you're willing him to burst into flames?"

Fenris' scowl deepened, but he didn’t respond right away. His jaw tightened as the words struck a nerve, he didn’t need this - didn’t need Varric poking at the raw, exposed edge of his thoughts. The dwarf always had a way of seeing too much, of pressing buttons Fenris didn’t want pressed.

“Is everyone determined to meddle in my affairs today?” Fenris asked finally, his voice clipped.

Varric smirked, unbothered by the sharpness in Fenris’ tone. “Only when your affairs are so entertaining.”

Fenris shot him a glare but said nothing, his jaw working as if he were biting back a retort. He focused on the path ahead, the uneven terrain giving him an excuse to look anywhere but at Varric, or Merrill - or Anders.

“You’re wasting your energy, you know,” Varric continued, undeterred. “Blondie’s not exactly subtle when he’s got feelings for someone. Trust me.”

Fenris’ steps faltered, just slightly, but enough for Varric to notice. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he muttered, looking away.

“Oh, I think you do.” Varric’s tone was maddeningly casual, like he was discussing the weather. “But keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night.”

Fenris exhaled sharply through his nose, his hands tightening into fists. “I am not interested in Anders.”

“Sure you’re not,” Varric said with a shrug. “And that’s why you’ve been staring at him like he’s going to disappear any second. Look, Broody, all I’m saying is maybe stop torturing yourself for five minutes and just talk to the guy.”

Fenris didn’t respond. He didn’t trust himself to. The words lodged in his throat, heavy and unspoken, as he forced his feet to keep moving. The distant sound of Anders’ laugh carried back to him, light and carefree, and Fenris’ chest tightened. No, he couldn’t talk to him - not now, not ever.

Some things were better left unsaid.

[zetaaa]

I want to know more about OLDSTONES (for the WIP meme!)

The monster hiding in my folder 😅 the first thing I wrote, so naif and drafted but still, maybe one day I'll post it, for all the idea and feelings I had about ASOIAF and J/B are its core.

As the title suggests, Oldstones is the key of this fic, the place where Littlefinger played the Prince of Dragonstone for Catelyn, where Brienne seeks shelter with Jaime just after having left Pennytree together. Not a fluffy fic, I'm afraid. Angst, Hurt/Comfort... and crows.

Here's a snippet, from Brienne's POV:

" “Quork”, said again the crow. Quork to you, too.

“You bloody bird, I’d kill you”, Jaime snapped, his voice darker than his face, beautifully gnarled in the full light of the morning.

“As if you could”, she sighed. All the warmth had gone from the chamber and everything regained quickly its usual colour. Even the bandage on her palm was white now, no more rosey. No petal, no jellyfishes of salt and spring. A fool, I’m only a fool, she brooded from under the furs, tucking two huge knees to her chest, so grateful the Crone had sent the crow to save her, once more. Her feathered friend chose to stop right on her left leg, looking straight into her homely face with its little, perfectly round eyes. If they weren't that arresting ember-red, they would seem almost human, after all.

“Brienne, I…”

“Jaime, this is Crow. Crow, this is Jaime, the knight we talked about”, she said, caressing with one finger the coil hair on the sharp beak. It was really soft, there, the realization making her smile. The crow quorked its appreciation.

“Have you completely lost your mind, wench? Was the stone floor too hard?", Jaime sounded exasperated. "And yet such a thick head like yours should bear better the blows.”

The heir to Evenfall Fall deliberately ignored him and the Lannister man glared again at the poor bird, opened his arms, then let them fall and closed his mouth, blessedly. A snort was all Brienne heard, as he crouched in front of the hearth to light the fire. Now that he had turned, she dared a glimpse at him. Even in plain wool smallclothes, with his bare feet arched unnaturally tense and the hairs comically risen up for the chill on the neck and the muscular back contracted for the anger, Jaime Lannister remained undeniably the handsomest man she had ever stumbled in. She wished to come back to the time in which he was to her just a name, often heard on the the dust of Storm's End training yards. A name, a sobriquet, a tale only partially told, which is no different from a lie. The memory embittered her. Not that the truth she was currrently forced to face was more comfortable. No, it wasn't soft like the pillow on which Brienne's shoulders sank. Truth was neat, sharp and troublesome like the scent Jaime had left on the cotton. He was a flame in the dark. A golden, bright, deadly flame - and she was the moth."