#Soul crash comic

[tokachithewarrior2]

Luciel: Tokachi! al fin te encontré!

Luciel: !!! Herma.. que Te-

-Mira la cara y la marca de la cachetada enrojecendose-

Tokachi: No.. pude salvarla

-Tokachi se pone a llorar en el hombro de Luciel y no para de llorar fuerte diciendo la misma frase-

Tokachi: No pude salvarla.. No pude salvarla..

Luciel: Te llevaré a casa.. Resiste

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Fin del capítulo 3

Anterior || capitulo 1 - 2

-de su mano aún sostiene los pétalos, teniendo la culpa de no haber llegado a arrebatar a la niña de este camino de su perdida-

@soutenir-les-artistes

[theunconcernedembalmer]

Aesop, have you seen that new Hunter? Fool’s Gold, I think he’s called? Thoughts about him?

Can't put my finger on it...

[crashcoral]

anyone a fan of soul glo?

[diejager]

The writing where reader died, what happens if they were revived as a wraith like Ghost? There's probs going to have a lot of fluff and a small angst here and there. But I mostly wanna read your writings!! It's cus' I can't get enough, and kept rereading it all the time

Cw: pain, death, turning, cannibalism, implied torture, implied blood and gore, angst, fluff, hunger, tell me if I missed any. We’re going to forget how you previously died, cuz @bluegiragi gave us more info about wraiths and I just love where the comic is going.

What a cruel joke, irony hitting him in the face the same way his abrupt shift hurt him, an apathetic slap to the face that left him bloody and in shock the way he left Roba on his dying breath. Simon didn’t know what was crueler, the knowledge that you were tortured and buried alive, left to die alone for the sins of his own making and the wrath of another, or that you were left to die a slow and excruciating death after being beaten half to death, expected to lose your resolve solely on the fact that you were a medic, and turned into the monster he was.

Neither your captor nor death had been merciful, much less the reaper, a collector of wandering souls and lost ghosts, waiting their turn to cross the river with a small token for the afterlife. Be it Hermes, the messenger and the carrier of souls, Thanatos the reaper and collector, Anubis - or Inpu, however people called him - the guide, Ankou the shadow, Sgàthach the warrior, or Freyja and Fólkvangr; you weren’t granted the soft embrace of a calm death, but the cruel rejection of it, forced back into life and abandoned by sweet sleep.

He remembered his own, the painful pull of his back, the crazed smoke that filled his mind with a thirst for blood and revenge, the crack and ugly break of his bode, reshaping his body and organs dyed dark, dying and pained. He remembered well the pain of it like it was yesterday, having to crawl out of the shallow grave on his own and discover the carnage he left behind, stained in his and Price’s blood. He was reborn.

And so were you, crying and sobbing, your skin scarred beyond thinking and mind in shambles of broken faith and abandoned affection. He knew first hand how it felt, the burn and agony of it, the hunger and ache that plagued you like an undying pestilence, darker than the one that ripped through Europe in the fourteenth century and more devastating than the Justinian’s. He’d been too late, too slow to help you through the first ripple of shock and fear once you’d quenched your thirst, staunching it like you would a wound. He let you fester in your sorrow and hunger, left you without a guide or caretaker until you ravaged the area, leaving only blood and rubble in your devastation. 

But he’s here now, picking you up from the mess you found yourself in, a storm of smoke and thick black that you hid yourself in, to hide the monster you had become. He might not be proud of who he’s become - much like you - but he grew into it, lived his life as one, and he would be here to help you through the process of it. Where he wished he had a helping hand, you would have his. He would help you with your hunger, the famine that grew the more you left it alone, filling your being with bodies he’d gather up for you to absorb. He would teach you how to control the smoke - the sinews of your being, the consistence of it forming your figure - and build from it, stopping yourself from phasing to and from it, staying as a physical manifestation of it rather than darkness itself. 

Where he felt lost and confused, alone and wishing for a swift end, you wouldn’t, he made sure to stay, to be the pillar of support for you whenever you crashed, his body covering yours to stop you from vanishing in a fit of tears. Where he spent time hating himself, demeaning the cannibalism he became, you wouldn’t, he’d rather send himself to hell than let you think you were the lowest of the low, a human eating another. And where he was cruel to himself when death had renounced him, you wouldn’t, he’d whisper the sweetest words, praises, compliments, affection and guidance, he would make sure you wouldn’t drown alone like he did years ago. He loved you too much to let that happen.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[demilypyro]

Hello, who are you??? You popped up on my feed and now you're all I see (may or may not be my own fault). You seem really cool but ya, I'm curious!

My name is Emily, I'm a trans woman from the Netherlands. I'm in my 20s and I like videogames, manga and comic books.

I studied game design in college and I'm now working as a self-employed Twitch streamer. Over there I'm a vtuber under the name Demily Pyro; you'll often see me post clips and links related to streams.

I'm 186 cm tall, I like rock music, I'm part Persian on my dad's side, my favorite colour is red, I'm a cat person, I like to ride my bicycle, and I can't swim because of a leg disability.

As far as I can tell I'm biromantic and demisexual, but I'm still kinda figuring that stuff out as I go. I started my transition in 2018, I'm now on my fourth year of hormone therapy, and I recently underwent bottom surgery. I was also diagnosed with autism and ADHD at an early age.

My favorite game franchises are Monster Hunter, Crash Bandicoot, Pokémon and Dark Souls. My Twitch viewers know me as a completionist with a strong understanding of game mechanics, and I like to sing, though I'm kind of insecure about my voice.

I hope that's enough info.

[chaosheadspace]

For the kiss prompts: 20 or 22 for Dreamling please?

Thank you! Those are on a scar / in arush of adrenaline.

Under a cut bc spoilers for TKO. I'm afraid if you haven't read the comics, this won't make a lot of sense, I apologise.

It's raining heavily, the wind howling and trying to knock him off balance. There's lightning and fire in the sky of the landscape Hob somehow knows, although he could swear he's never been here before.

“You can't have him!” He shouts through the icy prickle of rain, against the storm, against the shadows. “If you want him, you have to go through me first! And I won't let you! He's my friend!”

Disembodied laughter before him, behind him, around him, three-toned, malicious, gleeful.

“Please, Hob,” Dream says from behind him, calm, defeated. It nauseates Hob to his bones. “You need not be caught in this. This is not your fight. Please.”

“Like hell it isn't!” Hob screams, his fingers clutching the roughly hewn spear cold, numb. He will not back down, not from this. He won't let them.

A figure before him, sudden, without warning. She is dark, beautiful. She fills Hob's heart with dread, because he knows her without ever having seen her, like the land, like his heart.

She walks past him unharmed, unopposed, because Hob knows he cannot touch her, just like she cannot touch him. His insides burn, agonising grief scorching his soul.

“Please,” he begs. “Please, no. No.”

“This ends here and now,” she says, authority dripping from every word like tar. “I won't let this go on. Shame on you,” she shakes her head at Dream. “And shame on you,” she points at the sky. “This is over now.”

“No,” Hob whispers, powerless, sinking to his knees. His vision swims, his heart beating faster than any heart ever ought to be inside any living thing.

“I am tired, my sister,” he can hear Dream say. Hob cannot see him. Not anymore. Blackness shrouds him, muffles his senses. Hob cannot feel his body. He desperately wants to scream, to thrash, to do something, anything, but everything is so heavy—

Hob wakes with a gasp, mid-struggle with his blanket, a confused yell ripping out of his lungs. Before he can even catch his breath, he can hear a crash from his living room.

Hob vaults out of bed, needing no light after seven years in the same flat, adrenaline pumping through his veins, hammering through his heart. This is a nightmare, an endless series of nightmares—

A figure on his couch. A person. A familiar person.

It all crashes down on Hob at once, a sudden halt to his system, the fight, the hopelessness, the fear. The comedown is brutal, the residual rush in his blood making him shake, tremble, pausing for long seconds.

“Dream?” he whispers, disbelieving. It is Dream, unmistakably, in the faint, slated streetlamp light coming through the window.

In two strides he's over by the sofa, at Dream's side who's crumpled half on it, half off it.

Dream just groans in answer, pale, boneless, as Hob clumsily hauls him up into the cushions, into his lap. He is warm. He is breathing, heavily so, his chest heaving against Hob’s body. He is barely conscious when Hob takes a closer look.

There's a red scar marring Dream's cheek, and Hob takes his face into his hands, planting a relieved kiss on it before drawing Dream tightly against his chest, tears streaming down his face. “Dream,” he sobs, rocking him. “Oh, Dream.”

He gets no answer, but slowly, surely, he can feel Dream's arms sneak around his waist.

Send me a kissy prompt or grad the other ones here

[thatawkwardmoth]

Emma and Scott both having shitty parents (not Katherine Summers, I'm never talking shit about her) is just another reason they make a good couple.

Let me explain:

Scott is raised military before he's even a soldier for Xavier. It's little things that show it but, as someone who's dad was raised by a military man, sometimes it's hard for parents to leave the army for Base only. Scott, in the meager amount of scenes we get of his childhood, has almost the same mindest of Dean Winchester in a way. His father gives an order, he might protest but eventually, he always complies. Number one example being the plane crash and the one parachute thing. But also that he spends so much time worrying over Alex. Even after being forced to forget about him, he still remembers parts of him. And yes, it is because that's his little brother and he loves him so much. But it could also be because the phrases: 'look out for your brother', 'Keep your brother safe', 'Watch out for Alex', have been said to him since the day he met Alex in the hospital, newborn and fragile enough that Scott, even at two years old, knew not to be rough.

And it doesn't change, even on the Krakoa arc, he is angry over Alex being placed on Sinister's team. (And sinister referring to the brothers as 'his boys' gives me the ick. They Not Like Us vibes from his character in general when it comes to the Summers brothers…) He can't take care of Alex, make sure he's safe and sound, if he's on the same team as the guy who experimented on a preteen Scott for funsies and genetic testing.

Now, Katherine Summers, we don't have a lot of comics with her. But she's shown as the perfect mother figure, raising two rowdy boys mostly on her own with how busy Christopher is. And Scott and Alex remember her fondly. So no fault to her. But Christopher fucking Summers, every fault to him.

I'm not demonizing him, I need that known. I'm not saying that he's the next John Winchester (because at least he came back to check on his kids, unlike Corsair), I'm just saying that he raised Scott to be the perfect solider for Xavier and the perfect experiment for Sinister. Because he followed orders and he didn't argue back to adults (eventually he did, but you get the point).

Scott has so much unpacked trauma from his childhood and that small series where deplaced Scott is with Corsair doesn't really cover any of it. Neither do modern comics.

Emma, on the other hand, was raised in high society. Has always known the rich life and the challenges and difficulties that come with it. Mainly, her father's goals for her and her mother's long broken soul.

She grew up trying to be the perfect daughter despite being the black sheep. She couldn't meet his goals and faced his wrath for having dreams about being a teacher. His rage followed her into training the Hellions and it led to their deaths.

Now, it's not just her father's temper that is the reason she's got shitty parents. He's a cheater, a manipulator and discards his children like broken toys when they don't follow his strict guidelines of life, ex. Chrisitan being a drug addict, the older sister doing modeling, his younger being more goth and alternative for 'attention' as Emma puts it. Leaving him to pick Emma to continue his company because she's like him, a fact he learns after she blackmails and exposes his affair to his wife. He's willing to let Emma be given a pass on things purely because of his money and only stops her from hooking up with her teacher because it's not who he wants her with. No mind to the fact that he's an adult and she was a child. I hate the teacher thing. Can we tell?

He's a shit father but Hazel Frost is not exempt from my shit talking. She is not Katherine Summers. She's absent most of the time. Being the perfect socialite wife. She doesn't have a life outside of her husband's money and the parties she throws (more garden parties, not Tony Stark rager parties). She cares about her children, yes. But the tiniest amount. She can't bring herself to be there for them when they're going through difficult times. She's been broken by the expectations on her, to be the traditional wife, that she can't be bothered when the affair is revealed to her. It's heartbreaking and it makes me sad but it doesn't excuse the way she ignored her son's drug habit or her daughter's crisis with new powers and bullies at school.

Now Jean Grey has shitty parents but only after she is revealed to be a mutant to them. They sent her to Xavier's school to help her through the grief of her friend's accident and the issues she'd been having recently, not because anyone told them about her mutation. Now them rejecting her did hurt and they played a giant part in her turning into Dark Phoniex. But that happened when she was an adult. For her formative years as a child, they were present and lovely. Even as a teenager, it's shown that she calls them and writes letters and visits them on holidays. So, as much as I am a Jott and Scemma shipper alike, she can't relate to Scott's trauma and parent issues until she herself is burned and abandoned by her own. Emma, on the hand, can. She's had a shitty dad and Scott's had two and one creep that is obessed with him. She's had to mature faster because of her father not paying her ransom and making her rescue herself and decide to run away. Scott can relate to her running away, seeing as it is his favorite thing to do. Ex, the orphanage, Xavier's, Alaska, so on and so on.

Emma has even lost loves before! She was geuinely in love with the guy waiter from the comic series about her life. Was distraught when he died. She's been scorned by lovers before as well. Her teacher that she had a crush on and sabatoged a few friendships in college for (stupid plotline. stupid. stupid.) eventually reveals that he hates mutants and sees them as freaks, making Emma leave him and never look back (finally, my girl was free).

Jean hasn't. She's never lost Scott except when he cheated. She's never had to grieve him or bury him as many times as he has had to for her. Even Madelyne, who scorned Scott for reasons purely blamed on the absolute worst comic book misunderstanding and miscommunication ever, has never related to Scott on those levels. Emma has buried him and been scorned by him and still loves him, is the one he trusts with his resurrections in the Arbor Magna. It really speaks volumes.

And I'm not pitting the two ships against each other. I'm not. I'm pointing out the differences in the way they can relate to each others' pasts.

[tokachithewarrior2]

....

...?...

-El llanto se hacía mucho más fuerte, deste el momento que ella logró más que solo quitarla del trance-

Tokachi: Eso...fue un llanto?

.

.

-Tokachi se adentra en el bosque cortando todo las ramas y evitando las criaturas peligrosas, que no se da cuenta de lo espeso y frondoso se volvió-

Tokachi: Estará.. porque..

Aquí es...

-Llegan a un cráter dónde detecto el llanto, se decide en acercase-

...

"No me falles.. Tu eres mi alumna.. Tu me lo debes Yo te ayude y tú me lo cumples"

-Las voces y los reclamos hacen muy difícil para que ella pueda proceder en encontrar en los llantos-

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Capitulo 1 2

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Advertencia ⚠️⬇️

La siguientes páginas van a ser del tema del abuso infantil, si eres sensible de este tema o as sufrido de este trauma, no lo leas o mires no quiero que te sientas presionado/a a ver el contenido

@soutenir-les-artistes

[diwatopia]

★ cruel ; neteyam

synopsis. as of recently, neteyam's been slipping away. attempting to get to the bottom of his negligence towards you, he spews harsh words that begin to form cracks within your relationship. will neteyam be able to fix this despite being the cause of your pain?

info. angst / no comfort, gn!na'vi!reader, 1135 words

warnings. arguing, yelling, outta pocket teyam (boo 🍅), one use of y/n, crying, grammatical errors, based off "queen elizabeth" fight scene :P

neteyam has been distant.

physically, he's there, but mentally — he's lightyears away from you.

it hasn't always been like this though. during the beginning of your courtship, neteyam was nothing short of attentive and caring. he was everything you wanted in a lover but as of recently, he slowly began drifting away from you. at this point, he's been more of an acquaintance than a mate.

and if you were being honest, you couldn't help but find the situation slightly comical. your mind fills itself to the brim with memories of falling so deeply in love with one another, but now — now, he's just gone.

"you never have to hide from me," he told you.

his words were doused in honey, every single insecurity that plague your mind began melting away. he wanted to know the real you. not the village's tskarem, not the "golden child" title that the elders bestowed upon you.

he wanted to know you.

he wanted to drown himself in your scent, burn the feeling of your body next to his, he wanted to know the ins and outs of your soul.

"i am just neteyam when we are together. not the clan's future olo'ekytan, not the successor of my father. i am simple and plain neteyam."

the memory brings the smallest of smiles to your lips, yet it does nothing to ease the surge of loneliness that consumes you, your heart. it keeps you up at night, eyes wide open as you replay everything that had let up to this point of your relationship. you were beyond tired having to play this game with him, so you decided to bite the bullet and ask him.

"neteyam are you here — oh, kiri!" you speak out, sending her a sweet smile her way. she returns the gesture, "hi, y/n! he's near the shooting range." she states simply, going back to her weaving.

you thank her before scurrying away. luckily, he wasn't too far and you were able to catch up with him. your hands nervously tremble, wringing themselves out in hopes to stop the shakiness. your strides are slow, but with a few encouraging words, you will yourself to walk up to him.

as if on cue, he turns around and catches you staring. his eyes catch you off guard, sunflower-hued orbs swirling with something you can't seem to put your finger on.

"hey..." you say, tone unsure. the sunlight sparkles, flashing through tiny openings of leaves as they sway in the wind. the mossy floor quiets your footsteps as you get closer, standing next to him wordlessly.

he parrots your greeting before going back to his previous task. he draws his bow, eyeing the target that stares back at him. "have you been well?" you ask hopefully. he shrugs, muttering something about being busy and that he's fine. your lips purse at the lack of communication on his end.

"okay, stop. what is wrong with you?" you ask sternly. your eyebrows scrunch in displeasure, subtly creating space between you and him by taking a step sideways. he looks back at you, surprised at the sudden fierceness to your voice.

he sends you a quizzical look as if he genuinely had no clue what you were hinting at, "i do not know what you are talking about." he states it as if it were a fact.

you roll your eyes at his deflection, crossing your arms irritably. "do not play this game with me," you scoff, sounding like a parent scolding their child. neteyam's eyes downcast shamefully towards the bow in his hands, the seriousness of the situation beginning to crash down on him.

"look, i know you have been having a hard time with your duties, but 'teyam, i'm here for you. there is no need to run away from me, from us —"

"there is no 'us'," he cuts you off, not sparing you a single glance. "there is nothing here. you have absolutely no knowledge of what it takes, what is thrust upon me as the next olo'ekytan. i am forced to love you, a simple clans person who does not contribute a single thing to this village," he grunts out, nostrils flaring in irritation.

"yes, i have my duties but i will not be forced to go through yet another day where you think we are true lovers. so back off." his voice grows angrier with each word. his words resemble a whip, every word that tumbles past his lips begins to hit you again, and again, and again. his breath gets caught in his throat as his face flushes a darker plum color.

your jaw drops slightly, an instant gasp leaving your lips. the tiny noise knocks neteyam out of his defensive state and with every passing second, regret begins to consume him whole.

both of you stay silent for second, just staring at each other in search of how to respond, to no avail. he watches your face morph into one that is more closed off, walls building themselves high as you straighten out your posture before responding.

"my mistake," you swallow thickly, voice almost mocking him in a sense. "i apologize for thinking there was an us. i thought i was speaking to just neteyam, not the chief's son. forgive me for thinking otherwise." your tone is monotonous, gaze meeting his in an intense staring match.

his brows drop, eyes widening as his frown begins to grow deeper. "y/n..." he tries to take a step closer to you, in return you take a step back. you cut off his advances before they can even start. "i am truly sorry for the fact that our entire relationship was a mere inconvenience for you."

neteyam hisses as if you had slapped him across his face, and after everything he had just spilt, he wouldn't be surprised if you actually did so. but there you stand, the sparkle in your eyes dimming. his mouth open and closes, trying to muster up enough words to form a proper sentence. and to rub salt into his freshly cut wound, "was there anything else the chief's son needed to say to me or am i free to leave?" you ask calmly, eyes never leaving his.

his hands twitch nervously, biting the inside of his cheek as he contemplates his next move. "there's nothing else to say on this matter," he mutters.

you nod affirmatively before turning your back towards him. as you begin walking away, neteyam's hands instinctively reach for you, calling your name desperately as the space between you and him grows bigger.

he knew he had messed up, big time.

"that's enough, neteyam." your voice stern, pointing an accusatory finger his way. he continues to watch your retreating form, heart willing him to run after you, yet his brain forces his body to remain deathly still.

⋆ ˚｡ ୨୧ reblogs / feedback are highly appreciated. thank you!

★ diwa's notes. i always write fluff n shit so i decided to change that LOL there might b a pt 2, not sure tho :P

© ilupearls 2023.

[bigbadvoxbox]

AHHH, oh my god those Lucifer pegging headcanons were absolutely SCRUMPTIOUS (Same anon btw, hi!!) absolutely adored them. He’s been rotting in my brain since he first showed up on screen my goodness, anyway!! I have so many dirty thoughts about him, how about Lucifer smut with reader who’s been edging the poor baby for hours and he’s all whiny and needy and pathetic and begging for his mommy to let him cum like the needy little slut he is :(, thank youuu!! - 🪲

Lucifer x Transmasc reader

warnings: edging. degradation + praise. lucifer is a sub, power bottom at best. he's a whiny baby (but we love it). pegging. mention of selling his soul.

Here he was, the big bad King of Hell himself, writhing beneath you, his chest arching up against yours as he whined pitifully.

"Awh. Poor baby." you feigned pity at the state Lucifer was currently in, pouting mockingly.

It had been hours. So many long, excruciating hours, of being brought right up to that edge, right on the precipice of ecstasy, only for all of the sensations to stop and send Lucifer tumbling back down the way he came. Each time he was brought back down from his near-release, his body began to ache more and more. His nerves were on fire, aching, begging, screaming for the orgasm he craved so badly. His eyes bubbled with tears as his lower lip trembled, whining and groaning about how "Please, please I can't- I need you to- fuck, please."

His tip was beginning to blush slightly red as drops of precum began to dribble down the length of his dick, not only was his body being stimulated by your hand around his cock, but also by your strap inside him, your hips alternating back and forth between a rough, quick pace that knocked the breath from his lungs, and an oh so slow pace that had him squirming with the need for more.

His pale skin was now marked with hickeys and bites, not only an expression of love, but a display of dominance, of possessiveness. Each kiss you pressed gently to his skin had him pulling such a sweet face for you, an expression so fucking pathetic yet so cute, like a puppy begging for a treat. You knew exactly what he wanted, and would you give it to him? That was for you to know and him to find out.

"Does it feel good?" You asked. He nodded frantically, failing to even speak through his pants and cries of pleasure. That wasn't good enough for you. Your pace became agonisingly slow, and he could feel your strap slowly caressing every sensitive spot inside of him. It was practically torture. "I need words, Luci." you said, your voice softening to a whisper as you used the sweet nickname you knew he loved, even if he wouldn't admit it. "Come on. Be a good boy for me, yeah?" you coaxed him, enough for him to force out the words you were looking for.

"Yes! Fuck- it- it feels good." He answered. He was almost immediately met with a harsh slam of your hips against his ass, your strap filling him so deliciously that it had him clawing at the sheets beneath him. As you began to fuck into him fast enough to leave him breathless, your hand matched its speed, jerking him off with a somewhat sadistic grin across your face.

Your lips crashed together, with you feeling the vibrations of his desperate voice against your skin. The kiss was fuelled by passion, and lust. This kind of affection was enough to have Lucifer melting beneath you, whining against your lips.

"So whiny, baby. Whats'a matter? Wanna cum, is that it?" you grinned like a cheshire cat at your question, hearing him cry out in response.

"Yes! Please!"

"Hm... I dunno, sweetheart. How about we make a deal?" You asked, before your voice dropped to a sinister whisper as you leaned in, close enough for him to feel your breath on his ear. "For your soul." you said. The gasp you pulled from his lips was almost comical, and you couldn't help but chuckle meanly as you caressed his cheek. "I was only joking, sweet face, but... do you like the sound of that? Me owning your soul? You being my pretty toy for all eternity? Hm?" Your teasing was no doubt getting him riled up, evident in the look in his eyes - that look of arousal on his face.

You then noticed something, the way he gripped the sheets slightly tighter, his breath hitching in his throat, and the way his legs began to tighten around your waist. He was getting close. Again.

"Beg." you commanded.

Almost immediately, Lucifer began to cry out, his voice frantic with desperation.

"Please! I need you to- keep going! I'll be a good boy, so please!- Fuck! Don't stop!"

His begging seemed to appease your inner sadist, especially seeing the tears in his eyes, that rolled down his previously pale cheeks, now turned red with the heat of your passion.

"Suuuuch a good boy." you praised as your hips kept their brutal speed, pushing him closer and closer to his long-awaited orgasm.

When it finally came, when he finally came, it was almost like he was seeing Heaven. (pun intended)

His body trembled as his jaw dropped, an unholy wail of a moan leaving his lips at the pure bliss that was like lightning, striking across every nerve in his body. His back arched as his cum squirted into a mess over his stomach, poor baby definitely was denied so much, but now he was getting exactly what he wanted. A string of blasphemous curses followed his orgasm, as his eyes screwed shut tight. His voice was loud and unashamed, just the way you wanted it to be. His aching cock was finally getting relief, as you used your hand to milk it of all he had.

The aftershocks of his orgasm left Lucifer quaking beneath you, his mouth hanging open, not only in awe, but also out of exhaustion. You couldn't help but chuckle as you placed gentle kisses over his neck, and jaw.

"You did so good for me, sweetheart. You're my good boy, aren't you?" You praised him, receiving only a soft whine in reply as you pulled your strap from inside him.

"My poor good boy just be so tired out after that. Let's get you all cleaned up." you told him, voice now losing all of its sadism as you carefully held his cheek in your hand, caressing it with your thumb.

You knew this would definitely become a more regular occurrence, the look on his face driving you wild, it was too good to give up any time soon. Lucifer seemed to notice this, and honestly? He couldn't say he was opposed to the idea. After being edged for so long, his orgasm had felt 10 times more powerful than any regular orgasm, and he knew it would become a feeling he'd be craving again very soon.

-

AND THATS IT

(that was hot if i do say so myself)

I HOPE THIS WAS OKAY FOR YOU ANON TY FOR THE REQUEST

[venus-haze]

Got No Reason To Run (Homelander x Supervillain!Reader)

Summary: Homelander fantasizes about you, his supervillain arch-enemy, and getting the revenge he so desperately craves.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on some of the headcanons I wrote here. I’m definitely open to writing more of a supervillain!Reader with Homelander. This is short because it's PWP, honestly. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content which includes masturbation. Non-con, violence, intentional scarring, mild bloodplay, and dacryphilia in the context of a fantasy. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Homelander’s eyes were glued to the television as soon as the story about you began to run. Rosethorn. More like a thorn in his fucking side. Ever since Vought decided to let you wreak havoc on the streets of New York because having an arch-enemy was good marketing, you were inescapable. Every interview inevitably derailed into questions about you, the Homelander Vs. Rosethorn comic series was almost out-selling his solo ones, and to make matters worse, half of the internet seemed to ship you, the marketing team bafflingly thrilled the first time #Roselander trended on Twitter.

All of those things he could reasonably deal with, but among the people who regarded you as an anti-hero rather than a supervillain, they’d developed a conspiracy theory of sorts that you were somehow as powerful as, if not more so than, him. He often seethed in rage over it. You were only alive because you were useful to Vought. At least, that’s what he told himself after the first time the two of you were face-to-face, and you spit your venom at him, burning through his costume and blistering his skin, to both of your shock. The faint scar on his arm became a point of sensitivity for him, few people had ever seen it. To him, it was a symbol of failure, but even worse, it fed into the paranoia that what your handful of supporters were saying was true.

He watched the news replay the security footage of you and your accomplices, a rotation of other, less powerful supes, robbing a bank. You could secrete incredibly potent, acidic poison through your saliva and breath at will, though most people were too scared to put up a fight and see what damage you could do to the human body. You practically skipped over to the vault, spitting on the metal door which quickly melted into twisted scrap. Your goons wasted no time in collecting the money and valuables that were then ripe for the taking.

Your gaze landed on the security camera that had caught the whole crime in action, and you grinned, staring directly at it—eyes crystal clear and haunting, as if you were looking into his soul as you stalked over like a tiger waiting to strike. 

“Homelander, you can come and get me,” you said with a playful wink at the camera before disappearing in a toxic haze.

Something stirred in him at that. He grabbed the remote, playing the clip back over and over until his cock was half-hard. If he were there, that bank robbery would have gone a hell of a lot differently. He licked his lips as he thought about how he would have made his appearance, crash through the ceiling or laser through the wall—no, he would’ve walked through the doors like he owned the damn place.

He had a firm grip on his cock as he pumped the length, imagining the bank was empty and dark, after hours with no hostages in sight. You grinned at him from inside the bank vault you’d just half-obliterated. It was all a game, as usual, playing cat and mouse until you’d make your escape. Not this time. 

Vought’s orders to avoid grievously harming you were endlessly frustrating, but in this instance, he was the one calling the shots. If he had his way, he’d make sure you faced the specific brand of justice a supervillain like you deserved after years of getting away with countless crimes with little more than bruises and scratches. You were too cocky, too smug. He’d be more than happy to knock you down a few notches and remind you who exactly your arch-enemy was and what he was capable of.

“Homelander, come and get me,” you repeated, voice light and airy, clueless as to what his true intentions were.

He strode across the threshold of the bank, his steps strong and purposeful as he closed the distance between you. The ensuing fight was laughably easy since he was actually trying to cause some damage, and from your place on the floor, disheveled with blood trickling from the corner of your mouth, you looked betrayed. 

You attempted to push yourself off the ground, only to be met with his boot on your chest, his gaze nothing short of mean.

“Do you have any idea who the fuck I am?”

Your confused silence infuriated him.

“Answer me!” he shouted, his eyes glowing red.

“You’re—you’re The Homelander.”

“That’s right. So I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, Rosethorn, but injuring me? Scarring me? I don’t bleed. I don’t break. I sure as hell don’t scar,” he raged, droplets of spit flying in your face. “I can’t let that stand.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered pathetically.

He scoffed. “You can do better than that.”

“Homelander, please, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scar you. Forgive me.”

His silence was accented with the sound of your racing heart, the blood rushing through your veins. You were terrified. Good. 

“We both know you’re not sorry. You loved every second of it, didn’t you?”

“No, Homelander I didn’t–”

“I think I should return the favor.” 

Your eyes widened, and you began shaking your head frantically upon realizing what he intended to do. He grabbed your arm, and his teeth broke the skin with ease, just a bit of pressure from his razor blade smile to cut you open. Your blood on his lips almost tasted sweet, at least, he imagined it would. 

"Scream all you want, there’s no one to hear you," he would snarl at your weeping figure. Now you had matching scars, now you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror without being reminded of him too. In a disturbing display of dominance and possession, he licked your open wound. You wailed. He squeezed your arm tighter. You should have been grateful he didn’t try to cauterize it himself. Finally, he released you, but this temporary freedom wouldn’t last.

“You’re a monster,” you sobbed, clutching your injured arm.

“Me? No, I’m The Homelander. I might as well be god. You? You’re only around to make me look good.”

Then he heard it, the way only he can, the sound of your spit collecting in your mouth. He grabbed you by the throat, hauling you to your feet. “Try it, and I promise I’ll take all the time in the world to kill you.”

Teary-eyed, you nodded. When he released your throat, he heard you swallow. 

“Now, how to properly serve you justice for being caught red-handed robbing a bank," he mused.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s not a bad idea at all.”

The fear that would glaze over those eyes that he couldn’t get out of his mind made him jerk his hips, and he slowed how quickly he was pumping his leaking cock. He didn’t want to cum, not yet. Digging his teeth into his bottom lip, he exhaled through his nostrils, trying to ground himself.

Where was he? Fear. You were afraid of him, of what he’d do to you, as you should be. You weren’t rivals, the implication that you were as powerful as him was outright offensive. His lip curled in disdain. 

He pushed you against the wall, tearing off your clothing with little effort, reveling in the way your body shook against his as it was suddenly exposed to the cool air in the vault. He reached from behind, his gloved hands feeling how wet you’d gotten. The squelch of leather squeezing into your wet pussy made him moan out loud, but in his fantasy he was in control, mocking you for being turned on and how easily he was able to fit two–no, now it was three fingers inside you.

Tears streamed down your face as you begged him to be gentle, to slow down. Your legs were shaking as you tried to stay standing despite the overstimulation from his strong fingers curling inside you and pumping in and out. He wouldn’t get exhausted, not from brutally fingering you until you were little more than a blubbering mess. You begged him to stop, to at least have some mercy and give you a break.

“What’s the matter? You told me to come and get you, and here I am,” he taunted. “Don’t think I’m even close to being done with you.”

You cried out in response, or maybe you’d just cum. It didn’t matter, this was about his pleasure. In that moment, watching you sob and struggle got his proverbial rocks off, and he turned your head to capture your lips in a messy kiss. Your mouth stayed open as your desperate protests disappeared down his throat. His tongue curled. He wanted to swallow the noise, digest it, let it sit in his stomach. A wave of pleasure rocked through him. He was close, dangerously so.

He pulled his hand from your cunt, soaked and stretched out for him. Your juices glistened on his gloves, and he broke the kiss to suck each of his fingers as you utilized the time to catch your breath, or at least try to while he gave you this short break. You’d taste perfect, and he’d lick his fingers clean, his mind almost wandering to what it’d be like to eat you out.

Instead, he unbuckled his belt, observing the way you clenched your thighs at the sound of the metal hitting the floor as he rid himself of his spandex bottoms. His hands gripped your hips tightly, and you gasped as he pulled your ass to press against his hard cock. You tried wiggling out of his grasp, and he almost laughed. Stupid girl.

“Beg me not to break you in half right now,” he ordered, his voice low and husky.

You choked out your plea through sobs. “Homelander—don’t do this—don’t—please don’t break me in half.”

“No promises.”

With that, he slammed his cock into your wet cunt, grinning to himself as your eyes squeezed shut and you clawed at the wall, a near-animalistic howl tearing from your throat. He kept a steady, unforgiving pace that made your legs finally give out on you, relying on him wrapping a strong arm around your middle to keep you up. He dipped his head down to press a kiss to your temple.

“C’mon baby, you’ve made it this far,” he purred. “Why not see this thing out to the end?”

He kissed down the side of your face, his lips lingering along your cheek and jaw, covering them in open-mouthed kisses as he moaned into your skin. Your pussy clenched around his cock, and when he glanced at the wound he’d inflicted on your arm, he gave a forceful thrust that had you reaching back to grab some part of him to hold onto. 

You were his. You wanted to be his. You wouldn’t have permanently marked his skin if you didn’t. You laid claim to him first. It was only a matter of time before he reciprocated, showing you what you were really in for. Part of him wanted so badly to just kill you, but the part of him that was winning out was buried deep inside your cunt with the intention of filling you with his cum.

Briefly, his mind wandered to keeping you in the tower, maybe in his own suite, tied up pretty like a present for him to come home to at the end of each day, or maybe isolated in one of the supe containment cells where through time and pressure you’d be begging for him to use you, just to get some physical contact.

As much as he could dream, the main event beckoned him back to that bank vault he’d conjured up, his thrusts into you still strong, but more erratic, and he felt your pussy milking his cock as you came, your voice strained as you cried out his name.

Homelander, you can come and get me.

He orgasmed, and you were gone. Back to reality, just him, his hand, and the remote control he’d accidentally crushed. Fuck. He ran his clean hand through his hair, taking another look at the paused frame of you smiling in the security footage. 

Maybe he would come and get you.

[starflungwaddledee]

Do all of the knights have names in your au? And how did you decide on them?

hello there, thank you so much for the message! correct me if I misunderstand, but I think this is about a panel from my galacta knight vs meta knight comic:

where Galacta Knight uses the word Vaýtita. it's not a name, it's a... actually you know what, it's so much more embarrassing! it's a term of endearment/a relationship designator from my unnecessarily complex whole entire sci-fi language i built for them, lmao 💦

here's the note at the beginning of my personal dictionary as a quick crash course:

Ei Vaýtita in particular means "my gravity". it's akin to words like beloved, my heart, or soulmate- an irresistible force in one's own life. it's usually used romantically, but it doesn't have to be. Galacta Knight says it here to be cruel, though i do think he means it quite wholly

when I go in for making languages, especially sci-fi or high-fantasy ones, i like to consider the alien culture that the language is formed in. for these guys, everything was star and space coded; they had no reason to care about "hearts" or "souls". they considered themselves star-like, and so gravity as a term was most important; it's the only thing that can really move them.

praise is about being bright or shiny or having strong gravitational pull; and insults, accordingly, tend to revolve around being dim/lightless or stuck in orbit around someone greater

(translation under the cut because this is already getting long, sorry... i love to talk about this... thank you for asking 😭💝)

phrase // literal translation (from starspeak) // english localisation or meaning

kalimépos // welcome first light // good morning astéskotei // dim star // derogatory but not blindingly so; you could use it pityingly or fondly in a pinch ei épios // me see // wake up ei Vaýtita // my gravity // term of endearment and a relationship designator used within a star-system, usually for equal partners eu desai Ílioz ai ei // you (are not) the Sun of me // this is basically just a rejection from Meta Knight. the Sun serves an important role in star-systems, and he's simply telling Galacta Knight to shove it. he doesn't say it very well, but he refuses to say Ílioz-ei and so turns to a slightly clunky workaround.

[caramelteaa]

Qsmp but it's the owl house au art/doodle dump

Welcome to the Crow House!

Philza the Crow Man. A powerful witch that lives in the forest. Seldom appears in public except when he's in town to sell potions and interesting nick-nacks.

(does not have a permit to sell stuff)

Has made peace with his curse and can turn into crow mode on command. Still pretty powerful just not as he used to.

Is not in any coven.

Had two kids before Chay and Lullah

Techno and Ghastly(oc)

(old assigned name was Blade and Phantom)

Orphans that Phil found in the forest. They were not born hybrids. First batch of the only survivors from the Federation experiment in creating powerful hybrids when back then normal demon-witch hybrids were rare.

Self proclaimed twins, they agreed on Techno being older by 5 minutes.

Their souls were linked :)

Design wise Techno was a hybrid with some sort of boar demon, physically he was very strong for his age.

Ghastly was a hybrid I took inspiration from Phantom and Ghostbur(my oc now bitch)

They both went under a lot of growing pain. Magic wise they were powerful but had difficulty controlling them, especially Techno, Phil helped a lot.

Inspired by toh episode promo arts

Chayanne was found by Missa during his stay at Quesadilla Island, and decided to stay for longer to raise him. At some point Chayanne got very sick and Missa cannot heal him, leading him to search for the mysterious Crow Man from the forest.

Lullah was separated from her siblings during "the crash". She lived on her own in the wild for two months, until she was lead to the Crow House by a ghost in mirrors and puddles when she ask them to take her home.

Dapper I haven't got to into details, but they might be the source where the Federation got their hands on genes of shape shifting. He was kept with the other hybrid witches so she would learn their behaviors and grew along side them.

This is purely for fun and might not be super fleshed out. Feel free to ask questions, I may have answers or have to think of one(which is good!)

No this would not be a comic or fic I'm sorry these are like for me to have them rotating in me brain :)

[bluecatwriter]

There's a long history of Dracula adaptations clearly made by people who have never read the book.

I think in this fine tradition you specifically should adapt the Beetle without reading it

You are SO right, anon. I am going to direct the movie version of The Beetle upon which all other adaptations will be based! It will full of iconic quotes that are not in the book and I will butcher all the themes and characters!

Initial thoughts:

-Robert Holt will be played by some no-name actor who is putting his entire heart, soul and mind into the performance. The Brick Guy is also played by this guy. The first part of the movie is filmed in a very straightforward period-drama style, with the exception of a Carpet Scene, which is filmed in soft focus like a "flashback to dead wife" scene.

-Robert will also of course be referred to as "Bobert" and wear jorts. Alas, he does not get a GAP sweatshirt or a slushie in this version because there are no Ordinary Solicitors to save him.

-The Beetle will be portrayed as just a beetle of varying sizes, and they will be CGI. Specifically the really low-budget bad CGI of the early 2000s. This is very important for my artistic vision.

-Paul Lessingham will also be CGI.

-The cat will be a real cat, and will be voiced by the guy who voiced Garfield from the 1990s Garfield and Friends cartoon.

-I am open to casting suggestions for Sydney Atherton, although again, I suspect that it would be best to forgo celebrities and cast a guy who has played the comic-relief guy in Oklahoma at community theater one too many times. I will change nothing about Sydney Atherton's atrocities, and will in fact probably add a few more, but all the other characters will say how manly and wonderful he is while he's like beating someone to death with a cricket bat in the background. The movie critics will read a lot into this directing choice.

-I will make Marjorie and Dora both girlbosses™ by giving each of them a sword and a multi-level marketing business. They will contribute nothing to the plot and I will be offended if people think they are bland characters.

-I don't really know the other characters, so they will be played by a gender-inclusive rotating cast, and everyone will keep mixing up their names. The goal is for it to be impossible to keep track of who's doing what at all times.

-The cat still dies but goes to Cat Heaven and there's a whole musical dream sequence (inspired by 1930s cartoons and musical numbers from Gene Kelly movies) about the cat having a really great time in Cat Heaven.

-During some mundane scene with this rotating cast of characters and CGI Paul Lessingham, Bobert will dramatically die of starvation in the background. Nobody notices.

-The train crash will be on-screen instead of off, and there will be a very long monologue from the train themself as they dramatically fall off a broken bridge (this will be a practical effect with a full-sized train). This monologue will be delivered by the same guy who plays the cat, and if the actor isn't crying real tears by the end, we will redo the take until we get it. There will be a lot of montaging and soft focus. We will give the train a tragic backstory, but the train is also kind of accepting of their fate, you know? The book of Ecclesiastes will probably be mentioned somewhere in here.

-I will be diverging from canon by having Sydney Atherton die in the train crash. Not from the train, though, he chokes on a shrimp cocktail moments before the train hits the ground.

-Credits roll

-Epilogue scene: Sydney Atherton ends up in Cat Heaven and all the cats jump on him like the hyenas at the end of Lion King and there's just a giant wriggling ball of cats. Bobert is there too, drinking a slushie in the background. Hard cut to black.

[quetzalpapalotl]

For my like 10 followers that aren't into Transformers, here is a list of things that are totally canon for the IDW Transformers comics (2005-2018):

Two guys had a meetcute in the morgue of an euthanasia clinic because one guy wanted to kill himself and the other was looking for his dissappeared husband among the corpses. They get married. They seemingly don't talk about what they're going to do once they find the second guy's husband that they're still looking for. The suicidal guy has had other 3 husbands but he erased his memory of that because he's bad at dealing with grief.

The suicidal guy's ex (not one of his dead husbands) is the Autobot second-in-command and had a pet mad scientists that made him war crime machines. They ended up invented the concept of having a child, but then the Autobot SIC had the scientist thrown into the torment nexus because he felt bad about doing war crimes and wahted to stop. He didn't actually stop doing war crimes.

Optimus Prime annexes Earth.

A guy invents time travel to save his unrequited crush's life

God is a real person but he's not actually a deity and is currently a therapist whose license was revoked for getting unprofessionally close to his patients. Everyone who knew his license was revoked died so he just kept on practicing.

Optimus Prime pretends to be havig divinely-inspired visions to get out of situations.

Tumblr exists in-universe.

There's a guy named Centurion who was made to think he's Bumblebee because when his ship crashed a scientist brainwashed them into thinking they were classic Transformers characters to see what happens. Thousands of years later he gets involved in human wars and remembers he's not Bumblebee. He develops a self hatred so great he lets a G.I. Joe villian use him for his schemes. Centurion then has his consciousness fused with a human named Mike Power and lives perpetually with the biggest identity crisis of history.

Another guy also had his memories messed with and has lived multiple human lives (he may be Gilgamesh) when he's actually a Transformer secret agent. He's overcoming his own identity crisis through the power of sheer vanity. He also owns the in-universe equivalent of Facebook and Apple.

On at least 3 occasions Transformers used another Transformer's corpse as a vehicle. And on 1 occasion they used a corpse as a replacement limb (the guys alternate mode was a leg)

The Transformers on planet Cybertron at some point forgot that gender is a thing. There are lost colonies from before this so gender is still a thing in those.

One of those cybertronian colonies sends a delegate after millennia of absence and her bodyguard hates the place so much she causes a terrorist attack just as an excuse to go home, people die. The delegate was like "that was bad but we can move past this" and forgives her.

The Decepticons rewired their own soldiers into bombs and dropped them on people.

The Decepticons also rewired Autobots into anti-personnel live mines that would explode when they good too stressed and needed to be handled by people that could defuse them while keeping them calm.

Transformers are allergic to magic.

A guy has a fanzine dedicated to the Autobot Black-ops where he writes fanfiction. It's so popular multiple people are on a mailing list to have it downloaded directly to their brains when a new issue comes out.

A Decepticon's plan to deal with population decline is to make a bunch of organic babies, have them grow up and make more babies and then transplant their souls to Transformers bodies. He got as far as growing one (1) baby. Tbh, you could erase this whole plot and the story wouldn't suffer much.

Starscream who is a backstabbing liar who cares only for himself becomes president. He routinely neglects and endangers the population for his own ends. He was the best leader Cybertron ever had at the time.

[teyums]

can you write neteyam x reader you spend a night together at the tree of souls before he leaves with his family and he wants you come with him?🫶

“Come With Me.”

a/n: a little something bc it’s been a while <3 wc: 769

pairing: neteyam x fem! na’vi reader

warnings: none

News hadn’t been the only thing broken the day Neteyam confessed a fate you never thought he’d be bound to. Him and his family were to embark on a journey to a different clan, far away from home, and far away from you.

It felt as if the weight of the world had come crashing down in a matter of minutes, and the only thing able to keep you up on your feet that moment had been your strong grip on his forearms while you crumbled in his hold.

“What are you thinking about?”

Neteyam’s silky voice draws you out of your rumination, his gaze more than gentle when your head moves to look up at him.

“Nothing, ‘Teyam.” You hum, returning your cheek to its former position on his chest, pressed against the rhythmic thrum of his heart.

The two of you have been stuck to the other like glue for the past week, insistent on not wasting a single second of the time you have left together. And just like yesterday, and the day before that, you’re intwined in each other’s embrace, laid underneath the soft glow emitting from the tree of souls. A sacred place to your people, the same sacred place you both would have sealed the bond, deeming you mate’s for life, if the threat of impending war hadn’t completely destroyed your plans.

You inhale a longing breath as the length of his arm wraps around your frame to bring you closer, the rough pad of his thumb circling the round of your shoulder, and his voice rumbles in his chest as he speaks.

“You know I know you’re lying, right?”

A rugged sigh leaves your lips and you gently pull away from him, and his eyelids lift, eyes widening slightly at the unexpected movement. The familiar sting of tears bubbles against your waterline, and you drop your gaze to focus on the ticklish blades of grass below your bodies that have surprisingly become much more interesting than the conversation at hand.

Neteyam is quick to prop himself up on an elbow, his entire body shifting towards you as well as his attention. Your head flinches away after he delicately lifts your chin with his finger and a frown takes over his lips at your sudden detached state, as well as the sight of amber glossing over with moisture.

“My love, why are you crying?” He breathes out, his face shadowed with concern.

His thumb swipes a stray tear from your cheek before you can even realize it’s escaped, and your lip trembles as you try to form words. What you settle on has his shoulders drooping as well as his moods.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Neteyam.” You murmur.

And he knows it was a stupid question. Him and the rest of the Sullys are set to leave in two days, first thing in the morning with a grueling flight ahead of them, and all you can think about is his safety. The fear that you may never get to see him again is overbearing, making itself known in your head with a haunting echo. And even louder is the fear that he’ll become betrothed to another, his memory of you long forgotten.

He pauses for a beat, and his eyes flit to where yours are locked on the ground, as if he too is thinking of what to say, before they raise to meet your face again.

“Come with me.”

Your head snaps up at that, and you stare at him incredulously, lips parting and eyes darting between his own as you search them. Surely he must be joking, but as that same determined look remains on his expression, you can’t help the way your jaw drops.

“Oh, you’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious.” The roll of his eyes is comical and he reaches to take your hands in his, pulling you up into a seated position with him. “Will you?”

“I-“ You’re at a loss for words, your lungs left breathless as your mind races over all the details regarding his invitation. He can almost see the apprehensive thoughts written on your face. “I don’t know, Neteyam. What about my Mom? She’d be heartbroken… And my Dad, oh gosh, there’s no way he’ll agree-“

His braids move with the action of him shaking his head, and a chuckle that wafts through your ears is enough to halt your rambling. “Just breathe, yawne. I know, it’s a lot. But you don’t have to say yes, the choice is entirely up to you. I just wanted you to know that you have one.” He assures you with a gentle stroke of your cheek and his heart flutters at the way you lean into his hand.

A soft hold circles around his wrist as you peer up at him, up into those warm eyes that never fail to convince you. But before you can say anything, before another doubt can manifest from your lips, he speaks again— a promise sincere enough to wither away your worries.

“I won’t be upset with you if you say no. But just know that wherever I go, my love for you will always follow.”

Likes + Comments + Reblogs are much appreciated! 💗

©teyums 2023