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tarotsoul · 2 days ago

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ghost in the wind — part five

summary: harnessing your power is growing easier by the day, and madja finds out some interesting things about witches souls.

warnings: swearing, mentions of torture, kissing, teasing, fingering, handjob, oral (female receiving—all of this is somewhat public), mentions of death

word count: 6.4k

series masterlist

Cassian struggled against the vines that wrapped tight across his midriff, his muscles flexing with power but nothing shifted as they tightened with his every move. His golden skin was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his shoulder-length hair damp with excursion.

You were no better. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your skin flushed as your knees began to buckle. Hold it. Rhysand’s voice had continued to purr into your mind throughout the session, guiding and commanding every step of the way. He worked you from sunrise to breakfast, then again from dusk until nightfall.

It had been your routine for the past two weeks, and with every session, your power and control grew stronger. You could now detain a being with nothing but your mind, could bound and gag with vines and soil. This session, however, was different. Because it wasn’t just vines that wrapped across Cassian’s arms and legs and torso.

This time, the vines had thorns. And they pierced his skin deeper with every movement he made.

It had taken an additional two weeks to get to this point. Two weeks of introducing the Inner Circle to your magic, of slowly allowing them past the protective walls your abilities offered. You no longer had to keep your distance from your friends and family. It appeared the only time your magic attacked on its own was when you were startled or afraid.

You’d been at it for sixty minutes already, your brows dotted with sweat. Rhysand continued to slowly pace the training ring atop the House of Wind. Feyre stood off to the side, a towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Nesta watched from beside her, arms crossed against her generous chest as she squinted at the way her mate seethed in discomfort.

So far, Cassian had not been able to break free from your bindings, nor had he been able to move a single muscle more than an itch. And Rhysand was more than impressed.

“Good,” he complimented, a noticeably proud smile on his face. At that, you slowly released your power and took a heaving breath of relief. The vines lazily slithered from Cassian’s body, the thorns leaving scratches in their wake that healed almost immediately.

“You’re presenting incredible control. Tomorrow, I’d like for you to make those thorns bigger. And by next week, I’d like to see if you can implement a slow releasing toxin or poison.”

Cassian widened his eyes at his High Lord. “I’m not volunteering for that.”

A smile found your lips as you took a few breaths to settle your lungs again. You had never expected training to be this rewarding. Rhysand was nothing but attentive to your powers and how they worked. He made sure you felt comfortable with everything you tried and he never once tried to push you beyond your limits.

When you expressed you first wished to harness your power in a defensive way, he was more than happy to oblige. He agreed that perhaps it would be the best way to learn control, and then you could go down the route of healing, learning how to harness it for remediation, too.

And Cassian… well you were unsure if you would ever be able to thank Cassian for the trust he had for you. To allow your wild magic to bind and hurt him, not knowing if you could reign it back if it got too much.

Rhysand chuckled at his brother. “We’ll work something out.”

If it were Rhys, he’d practice on one of Azriel’s prisoners—draw out their pain and suffering with toxins and thorns. It would make a great interrogation tactic. But it wasn’t him. It was you. And Rhysand was not prepared to present that situation or idea to you. Not unless you came to him and it was exclusively your suggestion.

For now, he would figure out another way.

And Elain had told him as much before she and Lucien left just a week ago, claiming she had to reason to remain. You were safe, you would learn control. And she would visit after her and Lucien’s travels.

Feyre approached with a glass of water, handing it to you and dabbing your damp skin with the towel. From his seat across from you, Cassian gawked and scoffed playfully. “I didn’t realise Y/N was the one to be bound and pricked for an hour.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Illyrian baby. As if you haven’t endured worse.”

Despite the chuckle leaving your lips, you still offered him the rest of your water, which he happily took with a cheeky wink. You returned the sentiment with a half-smile, your body still struggling to recover from the energy the session took from you.

As much as you were enjoying it—honing your power and taking control—you couldn’t help but yearn for more. You understood the strength of your mothers magic was enhanced by your fathers Fae heritage, and you had been practicing winnowing with Mor whenever she had the time to spare…but your mother…

“I’d like to learn more about witchcraft.”

All eyes turned to you, some wide, some weary. You cleared your throat, shifted your weight from one foot to another. “As thankful as I am for this—and as much as I am enjoying it—I’d like to learn the other side, too. Rituals, spells…”

No one spoke. You met Rhysand’s eyes and something akin to regret was lit. Your shoulders slacked at the sight. “None of us are exactly versed in witchcraft. And it has been a long while since I’ve met a witch who doesn’t feel inclined to eat me.”

An attempt at a joke, you understood, but it did not relieve any of your disappointment. Three weeks ago, Madja had confirmed that out of all of your cousins, Elain was the only one to share similar markers in her hair and blood as you. Markers of wiccan ancestry. Rhysand had been the one to suggest Elain’s presence and similar magic may have been what awoke you.

It had been known that when she was tossed into that Cauldron, it took something from her. Through Madja’s research, she was led to believe it had taken that power and replaced it with her Fae abilities—keeping that nature element but changing its course completely.

Which meant you were alone. With barely any clue where your ancestry stemmed from, it was useless to even ask. But your mother had been a healing earth witch, that much you were certain of. Surely there had to be books somewhere, even if just to intrigue you until Madja concluded the rest of her research.

“Gwyn may be able to help,” Nesta spoke.

You turned to her. Yes, you’d heard of the young priestess, a fellow Valkyrie of Nesta’s. Your cousin had told you much about her position in the library within the House. Yet that was as far as your knowledge on her went.

Still, it awoke that small shred of hope within you. Hope that one day you could feel close to your mother again.

Azriel took a sip of his tea, lounging back at the dining table as he watched Cassian shovel heaps of eggs and bacon into his mouth. The shadowsinger couldn’t help but quirk a brow at his brother. Cassian had always eaten like a starved male, but this… Azriel was certain it had been minutes since he stopped to take a breath.

“It’s not going anywhere,” Azriel quipped above the rim of his mug but Cassian did not slow. He chewed as his gaze met his brothers and spoke through a mouthful of his breakfast. “You let Y/N bind you with her vines and prick thorns into your skin for a solid hour, then you can comment on my eating habits.”

A smirk kissed at the corners of Azriel’s lips at the thought. He would be more than willing to allow his body to you for practice. Though he wasn’t sure he’d want an audience. Especially not with how his scent was already beginning to shift at the thought alone.

Gods, after four weeks of tasting you and touching you, he should have his hormones under control by now. But he was no better than any other Illyrian brute. He was starved for you all hours of the day—completely insatiable. He had never experienced such hunger before. It was completely overpowering.

The sound of Cassian’s plate sliding across the table broke him from the sinful thoughts, and he looked at his brother who now seethed. “Really, Az? While I’m eating my breakfast?”

Azriel’s smirk faded as his brows rose, taking a sip of his tea. “Are you forgetting about the time Nesta was choking on your cock, right before I was about to eat my dinner?”

Heat rushed to the apples of Cassian’s cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from the thought of his brother seeing his mate in such a compromising position. And not because he did not trust Azriel, but because he knew that at one point, Nesta had considered the shadowsinger for herself.

The general cleared his throat and shifted, attempting to reign in that mated protectiveness. “What’s the deal with you and Y/N anyways?”

Azriel took another sip of his tea. “What do you mean?”

Cassian scoffed. Azriel always did that. Played dumb or completely ignored any conversation when it came to his love life or bedroom habits. “I hear you both, going into each other's rooms at night,” Cassian admitted, “you’re not sneaky.”

Azriel hid his smirk behind his mug. “Not trying to be.”

The general's eyes squinted. He was used to his brother deflecting, ignoring. He was not used to him being so truthful and open, despite him only saying four words in response, Azriel did not deny his involvement with you.

“You like her?”

Azriel remained quiet, watching Cassian with a blank expression.

“She’s been through a lot,” Cassian probed, noting the way Az’s grip on the mug tightened.

“I know,” he got out.

“And this is all pretty new to her… I imagine it's very overwhelming, too.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”

Cassian shrugged, slouching back in his chair as he crossed thick arms over his muscular chest. “Nothing. She’s grown a lot since coming here, and she’s growing more every day. I wouldn’t want her to feel like she’s just a secret to you.”

Raw pain sliced through Azriel’s chest at his words. He knew you did not feel that way, knew you were always so open and honest and comfortable with him. Yet Cassian’s words still stung. He could have brushed his brother off, claiming he didn’t know what he was talking about. But that would mean downplaying what he felt for you.

And he was not prepared to even entertain the idea of that.

“We’re not keeping anything a secret.”

Cassian smirked. “So there is something going on.”

Azriel finished the rest of his tea, set it on the table and a scarred finger traced the rim of the mug as he considered his next words. He did not have words to describe what continued to bloom between the two of you. Longing stares, subtle touches, heavy kisses and passionate intimacy until the early hours of the morning.

And yet you had not crossed that line, not with him. He would not rush you, would not pressure you. Azriel accepted anything you offered and gave back everything in return.

“She’s been through a lot,” he repeated Cassian’s earlier words, “I want her to understand that she’ll never have to experience that type of control ever again.”

Cassian did not need to ask anything further. Partly because he understood what Azriel was insinuating—that he was allowing you to set the pace and decide whatever you were—and the other part because it was not his place to press for more information. It was your life, your story and your trauma. He would not invade your privacy like that.

Cassian respected you far too much.

So, he nodded his head, pulled back his plate of breakfast and heaped another spoonful of eggs into his mouth. He would not push on the matter, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t toy with his brother a little.

“Y/N mentioned she wanted to learn some witchcraft. You know, spells and rituals that her mother might’ve used.” Azriel hummed, gaze fixed on the table. Cassian bit back his smirk. “Nesta suggested taking a look in the library for some old books. Gwyn’s going to help.”

Azriel’s eyes snapped to Cassian’s, his face paling just slightly. Bingo.

The shadowsinger swallowed. “When?”

Cassian ate another spoonful. “They’re already down there now.”

Azriel did not bid his brother a goodbye before his shadows guided him to the library doors within the House. His heart was thumping against his chest, an anxiety like no other streaming through his veins. He was yet to tell you about his infatuation with Mor, his brief involvement with Elain, and he had not yet disclosed the same about Gwyn.

The last thing he wanted was for you to hear anything outside of anyone else’s mouths. It was for him to explain. No one else.

He entered the library quietly, dismissing his shadows so as to not fright the priestesses. He passed Clotho first, offering a subtle nod in greeting before sauntering further into the dim library.

Perhaps Azriel should have mentioned this place to you sooner. Despite your love for books, maybe knowing this place was available could have helped with your healing. But you had done so well without it, and Azriel had very selfishly enjoyed every moment of your presence.

It did not take long to find you, your scent still lingering in the air and he followed that trail to one of the higher levels. There was where he found you. Alone, eyes gleaming in happiness as you looked through the archives of rituals and witchcraft. You already had two books in your arms and Azriel did not hesitate to take them from you as he approached.

His presence took you by surprise, only for a moment and you offered a wide smile, your chest feeling warm. As it often did when you spent time with the shadowsinger.

“Az… what are you doing here?” you asked in a way of greeting.

He held booth books in one arm and offered a grin at the nickname you’d taken to calling him. Gods, he had only seen you yesterday evening and yet it felt as if it had been days. You looked even more beautiful today, the gentle glow of Fae lights casting over your skin. Though he could notice a hint of exhaustion in your eyes, likely from your training with Cassian and Rhysand.

Az stepped closer. “Cass mentioned you were down here looking for some grimoires. Thought I’d offer some help.”

You squinted your eyes at him playfully, cocking your head to the side. “Didn’t Cassian tell you that Nesta was with me? And Gwyn?”

Colour stained his cheeks. “Yes. But an extra set of eyes and hands never hurt.” He looked around then, in search of his brother's mate and the young priestess that he had saved those few years ago. “Where are they anyway? Nesta and Gwyn.”

You shrugged, returning to look at the bookcase before you. “Nesta wanted to look at some romance novels, Gwyn mentioned she saved a secret stash of the smutty ones for her.”

You did not mention the way the priestess had looked at you with guilt or embarrassment when Nesta told her Azriel was quite fond of you. Your cousin did not need to say anything for you to understand. There had clearly been something there in the past, something Gwyn felt wrong for. She had no reason to.

But you did not speak those thoughts to her. Instead, you offered a beaming genuine smile and thanked her for offering her assistance. You had promised to come and visit the library again, and had suggested bringing lunch next time.

It was clear to her that her past involvement with the shadowsinger did nothing to sour your current one. And she was more than thankful for it.

“And you’re not interested? In the smutty novels, I mean.”

You turned to Azriel with a smirk, a knowing gaze in your eyes. He mirrored it, cheekily. Gods, he would never fail to make you melt beneath that hungry stare. “Something else has been keeping my interest instead.”

A grin, and then, “I’d like to keep your interest tonight, if you’ll let me?”

You quirked a brow, the books long forgotten as you faced the handsome male before you. “Oh? And what did you have in mind?”

Everything with Azriel had felt so easy in the past weeks. Even this, the flirty… it seemed to fall naturally between you both. Never once had you experienced an uncomfortable silence or nervous pause.

It felt right.

Az closed the distance between you, reaching a gloved hand for your waist as he leaned down to brush his nose against yours. “I was thinking of taking you to the Rainbow… more specifically, to the theatre.”

A grin spread across your full lips. “Really?” Your excitement was palpable, and Azriel had no doubt that if his shadows were here now, they’d buzz around your small frame with adoration.

He nodded, planting a slow kiss to your mouth. Your lips puckered against his, following his lead. There had been more of this since that fruitful night he touched you at the townhouse.

Kisses and touches when you were alone, lingering glances when in the presence of others. Often, your nights were spent with him, in his bed or yours, in the private library or in the gardens.

You had allowed him to touch you, taste you… he had allowed you to do the same. Azriel had given you full control over every situation, every interaction. Whatever this was between you, you could not get enough.

“I’d like that,” you whispered into the kiss, feeling his mouth stretch into a smile before he kissed you once more.

You leaned into him, melting under his attentive touch when someone cleared their throat and he gently broke his mouth from yours. Nesta stood to the side, a pile of books in her arms and a brow quirked.

But Gwyn… she did nothing to hide her grin, the flush of her cheeks or the happiness that glimmered in her teal eyes. You knew she knew of your story, your trauma. And you knew her happiness came from a place of understanding.

Understanding what it took to break through the past and live in the present. To move on. To heal.

“Need I remind you that this is a library, not a brothel.”

You rolled your eyes at your cousin. “You best scamper off with those books then, Ness.”

She scowled at you playfully when Gywn breathed a choked laugh. Azriel watched her then, his body stiffening just slightly before you. But enough for you to notice, to feel it.

“It’s good to see you, Azriel.” She offered politely.

He dipped his head. “And you, Gwyn. Thank you for helping Y/N with the grimoires.” She brushed him off with a waving hand and turned her bright attention to you with a smile.

Azriel felt his tension slowly dissipate, watching the way you both seemed to communicate with your eyes alone. You knew, he could tell. And you did not think of him any differently.

Not one bit.

The play was wonderful. Well, as much of the first half that you had seen. By the time the curtain pulled for a short break, Azriel’s hands had begun to wander. Beginning on your knee and ending between your thighs.

He had gotten you seats in Rhysand’s private booth. And when darkness shrouded the theater during the interval, his shadows encompassed you both to hide you away from the public.

His lips were hot on yours, his tongue licking sensually against your own. Your small hand had wrapped around his thick shaft, pumping the way you had grown to know he liked. And his fingers curled deliciously at that spongy spot within you.

You did not stop when the curtain opened and the play resumed. Neither did he. Azriel had instead lowered to his knees and pried you thighs open, rolling up the fabric of your dress as he stared into your soul.

Then his mouth was on your aching cunt and your head was rolling back against your seat. His tongue worked meticulously, licking and swirling, his mouth closing to create suction on your throbbing clit.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging at the roots and fingernails scratching at his scalp. The first time Azriel had tasted you, he had you reach that high three times before stopping. And every time since, he had done the same.

Though this time, you knew you had to keep quiet. Your spare hand covered your mouth, your teeth biting at the palm of your hand to stifle the moans and whines that threatened to escape.

Your hips bucked into his face, his guttural hum sending vibrations through your veins. He was a starved male when it came to you, and you feared you would never get used to that hunger.

His fingers continued to pummel into your cunt, curling and scissoring to stretch you deliciously. The sounds were obscene, wet and quiet but everything was far too amplified. You only hoped his shadows could also offer some form of soundproofing, too.

“Az…” you barely managed to whisper, forcing your eyes open to watch him.

He was already looking at you, his pupils so blown in arousal that you could sparsely see the honey you loved so much. You had never experienced such desire before. Even in the other times you had been intimate with him, it never felt as strong or as dire as this.

Because this had you wanting to damn any consequences. Damn any trauma you had once experienced. You wanted him, every part of his body and mind and soul. You wanted to feel his thick cock stretch you out, fill you until you were crying and pleading for him to ravage you.

You’d never once felt such primal need, and Azriel noticed the shift in your scent. Noticed how it changed from arousal to a diabolical sense of unravelling. You’d never looked at him with such ferocity before.

And Azriel feared he would lay down his life in that moment, if you so asked.

You tightened around his fingers, your legs trembled. You bit down harder on your palm as undiluted pleasure seized your body. As you cried silently, as your thighs shut tight around his head. As he sucked on your clit at the same time his tongue rubbed against it.

You came harder than you ever had before. And by the way you heaved a breath through your nose, you knew Azriel had reached his high with you.

With his hand fisting his long cock and his pleasure dripped down his scarred fingers. Perhaps it was that hunger that remained that had you reaching for him… that had you guiding those fingers to your mouth as you cleaned his come with your tongue.

He mirrored your actions, removing his digits from your cunt and stuffing them into his own mouth to suck them clean. You watched one another, chests heaving as your pussy throbbed and Azriel’s cock twitched.

You’d go again, you’d force him into that chair and straddle him, sink down on him until he was buried so deep within you, you didn’t know where you ended and he began.

And Azriel appeared to have sensed your thoughts and shook his head. He pulled his fingers from his mouth, but you kept his in yours. “Not here. I won’t take you for the first time in the fucking theatre.”

A grin spread across your lips and you released his fingers, now clean as the faint salty taste of him stained your tongue.

You batted your lashes down at him. “What if I asked nicely?”

He huffed through his nose, though a smile graced his face. “Don’t tempt me. You deserve more than that.”

Your expression softened at the kindness of his words. He always knew what to say, his actions always followed his verbal promises. Another thing you had never experienced before. But Azriel seemed to take pleasure in showing you how you should be treated.

“You deserve everything,” he whispered.

You reached for him then, for the knitted wool of his sweater and he followed your lead when you met him in a searing kiss. No words could convey what this male was beginning to mean to you. How strongly you felt for him.

“I only want you.”

Azriel’s heart remained steady, despite his mind's racing. He would give himself to you in a heartbeat. All you had to do was ask.

He was about to tell you as much, when a gentle call of his name sounded in his mind. Azriel took a brief moment to compose himself before allowing his High Lord into his mind.

Apologies for interrupting. He purred. Azriel fought the urge to roll his eyes. But Madja has concluded her research. She’d like to speak with us, we’re awaiting your return.

You noticed the distant look on his eyes, the one he only sported when Rhysand called for him. Your stomach dropped slightly, not ready to end the night just yet. But the smile on Azriel’s lips suggested it would not be for the worst.

“Madja has some information to share. They’re waiting for us at the House.”

He had winnowed you almost immediately to the bottom of the ten thousand stairs. Only then did he take a moment to fix both of your flushed appearances and plant a tender kiss to your mouth.

He had flown you both to the balcony, gently settling you to your feet. Though your arm remained looped with his as you walked into the House proper, where Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian and Nesta awaited with Madja.

The elder healer offered a smile in greeting as you entered the lounge, and your arm slipped from Azriel’s.

“You will be pleased to know that I have finally exhausted all avenues for this research. I have some interesting things that I think would help and that I’d like to share.”

Your heart thundered in anticipation. By the look in Madja’s eyes, you knew you were about to learn everything. She set three old books onto the table, their pages thick and discoloured. They must be at least five centuries old, but you would not be shocked if their age preceded that.

“I finally managed to trace your heritage back to your ancestors through your blood and hair samples.” She paused, as if waiting for everyone’s undivided attention.

“You are a direct descendent of Mother Garmelhia. She was High Witch of the Elesendray coven—a coven of earth witches. They were healers, though through her blood, the abilities were not always passed down to the offspring. Your mother was the first in two centuries to present these gifts. Her sister—” she turned to Nesta and Feyre, “—your mother did not possess such abilities. Elain inherited a drop of those gifts, which the Cauldron quickly took, but you—” Madja looked to you again, “—you are blessed with the rawest form. The same as your mothers, but stronger.”

There was no hiding the silver than lined your eyes. A storm of emotions clouded your vision, your mind. Your mother… your beautiful mother…

“For some their abilities lay dormant until something triggered it. For example, Elain’s did not trigger until forced into the Cauldron, and even then, her power had shifted when Made Fae.”

You processed her words, everything made sense. Your magic had been buried so deep within you, with your mothers mark. But you wondered if your power would have shown had she not glamoured it.

“So mine triggered the moment I passed the wall into Prythian?” you asked.

Madja’s tight lips quirked to the side as if in thought. “It would appear something happened when you passed through. And with your Fae heritage from your father, that would have also played a part. Do you remember exactly when something felt differently?”

Your mind carried you back to that night, when Nesta took your hand in hers and guided you past that shimmering veil. When you were shoved to the ground and your hands touched the grass for the first time. You shared a look with your cousin, cocking her head to the side as if she was also trying to pinpoint it.

“Um… right after we passed through. After that creature attacked us. Everything felt clearer, but still slightly hazy. I could sense things but I didn’t know what. I thought it was just because the land held magic…”

Rhys took a step closer, his hands stuffed into his pant pockets. There was a gleam in his eyes, one that demanded more. “Did you find anything else?”

Madja nodded, reaching for the top book of the pile and flipping it open to a random page. Indeed, the book was old, yet it somehow held the scent of something you had never come across before. Something slightly familiar, yet not at all.

“Yes… have you ever heard of soul-ties?”

Something in your stomach almost exploded. Azriel took a curious step closer, eyes scanning the pages but they were all in ancient tongue—one that Madja clearly spoke or at least understood.

When nobody replied, Madja went on. “Within the Elesendray coven, and many others in history, soul-ties were the equivalent of a mating bond. Through the brief history I could find, it is said that a witches soul calls to another. Not just any soul. The other half of theirs.”

“So… like a soul-mate?” Cassian piped up.

Madja nodded and she did not break your gaze. She knew something, something you did not.

“What does that have to do with my abilities?”

“It doesn’t. Not directly at least. But it is also said that when a witch finds their soul-tie and their souls are merged whole again, it is a tether so unbreakable that it exceeds even the strength of a Fae mating bond. And unlike the Fae mating bonds, if a witch does not accept their soul-tie, they will cease to exist entirely.”

Everything went silent and your heart refused to beat.

“What are you saying?” Nesta’s tone was not one to play with.

But Madja took a breath and laid a withering hand over the page Azriel could not take his eyes off. “I believe you have found your soul-tie, Y/N.”

No. There was no way. You didn’t dare look at Azriel. You couldn’t. You didn’t know what it was that grew between you, you did not know where you stood in that sense. But the relationship you had ran deep. Deep enough for you to fear losing whatever he was to you.

You begged your power not to act, begged it not to show the fear that began to cripple you. You had already once been bound to a man you did not love, a man that did not love you. You would not be forced into it again, with a powerful male this time who could do unimaginable things if he wished.

You stuffed that fear so far down you almost choked on it. “How do I know who my soul-tie is? I didn’t think there were any other witches in Velaris?”

“It doesn’t have to be a witch.” Madja’s eyes bore into your very spirit. “A soul-tie would be someone who endured the same agony as you to trigger an ability, to become who they were fated to become. Nothing is by chance, the Mother forges what is meant to be. Especially for witches.”

You were too overwhelmed, scared. “But passing through the wall triggered my powers? Who else would have done that?”

You were in denial, refusing to believe that this was to be your fate. But it was Rhysand who took a step closer, his lips parted and eyes clouded.

“You always had your power, passing through the wall just awoke your senses, because of your Fae father. Your mother’s magic was truly triggered when we burned your mark.”

You watched as Rhysand’s eyes drifted to Azriel, to his hands. Your lungs seized, your chest ached. You could not look at him, could not dare meet his desperate gaze when a lone shadow slinked to your hand and weaved between your fingers.

“Holy Gods,” Feyre breathed.

Azriel remained still, aloof. For if he moved even an inch, he was sure to crumble. He knew. At that moment, he knew. He’d always had his suspicions, even when you were human. His soul called to yours. The missing half of him.

Rhysand came closer again. “When your stepbrothers burned your hands when you were a child, when you were locked away, your ability to wield shadows was triggered.”

Shadowsinger.

You stared at his hands—those beautiful hands. You had not known of Azriel’s story, had not ever wanted to pry. You never felt the need to ask, never considered his hands were anything abnormal. His step-brothers had burned them. He was a child.

And your magic… burning the mark to set it free…

It was silent for too long, like it was some sick dream and joke and the Mother only ever intended for you to experience pain and agony in your life. But it made far too much sense for it to not be true.

You had never felt so at ease with anyone before. Had never experienced such comfort and safety than in his arms. You did not need to pretend with Azriel, you did not need to hide or apologise. You just existed. And that was enough for him.

Because you didn’t feel a change when you passed through the wall, when that creature died. You felt it when you heard something in the sky. When you heard Azriel.

You dared a glance at him then, at the male you were destined to be with. The one the Mother made for you. The other half of your soul. His beautiful hazel eyes stared at you with such unyielding clarity, like every ounce of pain he had ever endured was worth it. Because it brought him to this moment. To you.

It almost seemed too good to be true. That he was for you. That he was your fate. Yet your mind would not allow one single negative thought to grow. No seeds of doubt planted, not even one. Because your soul knew, you knew.

You had no fear in that moment, staring at him. For Azriel’s own eyes mirrored your every thought. For this first time in his life, he truly felt worthy. His mind did not allow his past to dictate if he deserved that happiness. His heart did not allow a beat to falter out of place. Steady, calm. Yet a storm raged in his soul. As it had done for the past eight weeks in your presence.

Nothing in his life had ever felt so right before. So meant to be. He damned himself a fool for his past behaviours, for ever chasing or entertaining the idea of another.

Azriel had never truly understood what it felt like to have a home. Not until Rhysand’s mother took him in. But even then, he felt he did not deserve such kindness, that the Mother did not grant him a home of his own for a reason.

He had always deemed himself unworthy, such a fragile mindset had taken over his entire life.

But she granted him you. A friend, a lover, a connection so strong it exceeded even his brothers’ bonds. A soul-tie. The literal missing half of him. He had felt honor many times in his life, had felt wanted and needed and appreciated.

But up until this moment, he had never felt worthy.

He did not shy from your gaze, from his family watching the scene unfold. He took a step closer as a tear slid down your warm cheek. His soul sang for yours, bellowed and beckoned and begged. That’s what that feeling had been. His soul had been yearning to reunite with yours the whole time.

“I do not know how much time you’ll have if the soul-tie is not accepted.” Madja broke through the silence softly.

Azriel took a step closer, almost reaching you. He shook his head. “That is not something to worry about.”

Your chest ached, your throat burned. You could not look away from him—did not want to. If you had, you would’ve noticed the lack of your family. Would have seen them fade into the shadows with such admiration and happiness in their eyes as they left to give you both privacy.

Madja had remained, though neither of you offered your attention. She smiled to herself, and piled the books atop one another again. “When you wish to accept the soul-tie, there is a ritual you must follow. I will be happy to guide you when you are ready.” Her words were white noise in your ears as she retreated.

You were almost shrouded in darkness now, Azriel’s shadows working to cocoon you both in a haze of privacy. Words failed you, unable to conjure even a sentence. He was so beautiful, gazing at you with such longing, as if you’d singlehandedly placed the stars in the sky.

He was closer now, the toes of his shoes mere inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath on your face, feel a scarred hand reach to cup your jaw and his thumb brushed gently across your cheekbone. You melted into his touch, fighting to keep your eyes on him.

“Hi,” you breathed.

A wide smile pulled at the corners of his full lips, a row of white teeth peeking through. Your heart trembled. This beautiful male was yours. Yours.

“You want this?” He was not asking for clarity, no. Azriel had no doubt in his mind. But he would be damned if he did not make it clear that you still had a choice. No matter what, you would always have a choice.

Your head bobbed in confirmation, a smile of your own tugging at your mouth now. Azriel grinned wider, the tip of his nose bumping yours.

“Yeah?” he asked in a whisper, and you were giddy with excitement.

Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth met his. A kiss so tender and soft that your souls hummed in unity. Azriel did not need to look at you to know that flora had tangled in the strands of your hair, in the strands of his.

Time seemed to stand still as you kissed him. And the realisation that he would get to do this with you forever… Well, it was something that finally made him thankful for his step-brother's cruelty.

Because what a beautiful thing it was for this to be his fate.

a/n: so confession time... i truly was considering ending the series here and letting you guys decide for yourselves what they had to do for the ritual of accepting the soul-tie, AND THEN i had the most beautiful idea for it. there will be one final part to this series and potential future check-in blurbs later down the line. i cannot thank you guys enough for the amount of love you have shown this series, i have loved every moment of crafting and writing it and i hope you have enjoyed it just the same x

if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog, your feedback is always appreciated <3

TAG LIST FOR THE SERIES IS CLOSED, PLEASE DO NOT ASK TO BE ADDED!!

#gitw #azriel smut #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel imagine #azriel oneshot #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar imagine #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fluff #acotar angst #acotar #acotar oneshot #acotar smut

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adore-laur · 2 months ago

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hiii lovely i don’t know if you take requests but if you do please can we have an angsty piece for dadrry, like i know we had the christmas fight but like maybe h says something super mean to yn during an argument or he’s been super busy with work and he ends up being neglectful and stuff, and like i wanna see the groveling!!! it’s just a request if you don’t do angst i get it, but i would really love to see it !! no pressure tho xx

NEED YOU NOW

this is a flashback from the dadrry universe! enjoy, and please reblog / comment 🌝

——

It was 7:55 p.m., nearly three hours past the time Harry had promised to be home. His plate of food sat cold on the countertop. It had been his to make, but when you heard that he was staying late at the restaurant, you threw a quick meal together that was subpar by everyone's standards.

Truthfully, you were livid. Harry's paid paternity leave expired a week ago, and he was already breaking promises. I will always be home for dinner, he had vowed when you began to dread the day he put his chef coat back on and left you to parent alone. Remarkably, he had upheld it thus far. You just didn't think he'd let it collapse so soon.

You stewed over it in bed while trying—and failing—to put your four-month-old daughter down to sleep. It was the first time you had to do it by yourself, and to say it was shaping up to be a colossal catastrophe was an understatement. You didn't possess Harry's deep, soothing voice that was practically a lullaby of its own, nor did you possess his natural, rhythmic hip sway while rocking her to sleep. So, yes, there was a tiny kernel of resentment building pressure inside of you because of your shortcomings as a parent, and it would explode any second now. Because missing dinner was one thing, but missing the baby's bedtime? Outrageous.

Fussy cries rattled around the room as her body squirmed in the bedside bassinet. The probability of you joining in on her meltdown was soaring higher as the sky darkened. Nothing you were doing was successful in calming her conniption—not nursing, ocean air, white noise, or even her trusty pacifier could settle those high-pitched wails that simultaneously broke your heart and frazzled your nervous system beyond its regular state. You were determined to remedy the situation as a perfectly capable individual, but in your heart of hearts, you knew that sometimes you weren't the needed parent. Tonight, Harry was the desired nurturer. And he wasn't here.

With clammy palms, you surrendered your pride and unlocked your phone to call Harry. The last text he had sent was at 4:37. It read: Won't be home until late tonight. Don't know what time. I'm sorry. Out of frustration, you had left him with no response.

The ringing tone droned, and you held no hope that he'd answer. Realistically, there was no open opportunity to take a phone call in a fast-paced restaurant kitchen. The cogs needed to be moving at all times—otherwise, the wheel would splinter. You had accepted it years ago.

When you first started dating Harry, it was strenuous finding time for each other. On a lucky day, you'd talk to him during his lunch break. Weekends had bestowed the moments that made the relationship flourish. It should have gotten more manageable after all these years, but as a new mother, it wasn't something you could handle like a champ anymore.

Therein lay the problem: You had become too comfortable with having Harry home for twelve weeks. Calibrating to the changes that parenthood presented was much easier with a dedicated husband ready to face them with you. It had been a luxury to be a team from sunrise to sunset and every nocturnal hour that you both had spent devoid of energy. Your steadfast lover.

"Hello?"

You jolted, surprised to hear Harry's voice. It caused relief and rage to clash within you—not a pleasurable combination. "How much longer are you working?"

His sigh was smothered by scattered voices speaking in the background and kitchenware clanging noisily. "I don't know. We're finishing the dinner rush, and there's still loads of cleaning to do. Trust me, I've been trying to make an exit for the past two hours, but the orders keep coming."

"I need you here, Harry," you said shakily. "I can't do this by myself."

"Do what by yourself? What's goin' on?"

Rage won the internal battle and staked its claim over your sensibility. "Seriously? I have a baby that won't stop crying, a husband that has been missing in action for the past three hours, and I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown."

"You never texted me back," Harry said, sounding like his focus was split half on the conversation and half on whatever task he was doing. "Have you tried walking her around outside? Maybe some fresh air will help."

You stood and started pacing around the room. "I tried that. I need your help. She wants nothing to do with me."

"Honey, I... I can't right now. I have to be here."

"Please," you begged, panic crawling up your throat. Could he even hear the baby crying on your end? How could he possibly understand your crisis through a muddled phone call? "I'm telling you I need you now."

"And I'm telling you I have a kitchen to run," he replied firmly. His tone softened when he added, "If I could leave right now, I would. It's just not viable when it's been this busy."

You stayed silent, chewing on his weak explanation. All your pent-up exasperation was simmering and had nowhere to go, so you infused your next words with it. "You're being neglectful."

"What?" Harry said. You could picture him with that cute little divot between his eyebrows, except the reasoning behind it wasn't so cute this time. "Wait, hold on, hold on. Say that again? Shit, I can't focus." A loud clattering of metal punctuated his rambling.

There was no fight left in you. Numbly, you walked over to the bay window and watched the ocean tide swell under the full moon. "Never mind. Go finish what's clearly more important."

"Listen, it's hard to hear you in here. Can I call you back in... um, I don't know, fifteen minutes?" He didn't seem angry and didn't sense the urgency you were conveying. He just seemed distracted, and it felt like a bruising kick while you were already down.

"Bye, Harry." You hung up, not regretting your stubbornness. His communication during the day had been meager. He should have known to keep you in the loop after three hours of waiting for him to come home. You had hung on by a thread and wondered if this would become the norm. You thought he was done with his old tendencies of being a yes-man.

What mattered to you the most was that Harry knew when to put family first, and tonight, you and your daughter were put on the back burner.

With two tears slipping down your cheeks, you succumbed to the feeling of utter helplessness.

——

Harry unlocked the front door, trying to recall the last time he had come home at nine-thirty at night. Surely months ago, when you were heavily pregnant and couldn't sleep. He had taken you for slow drives around the neighborhood and played with your hair in hopes of lulling you into a deep slumber. Worked like a charm.

God, he knew you were pissed at him. He was in the doghouse for good reason. Usually, you'd greet him at the door, happy to see him. Now, the quiet bounced off the walls uncannily.

He had been barely able to concentrate on anything while in the thick of dinner service. Too many stressors flew around the kitchen like bullets. It had been the absolute worst moment to respond to your panicked phone call. Why had he said yes to staying late? The agreement was to work from seven to five, Tuesday through Friday. He failed you today, and it killed him.

Ever since the baby was born, Harry had turned into a homebody. He loved seeing every room hold signs of his baby girl. Milk bottles in the refrigerator; tiny onesies in the washer; storybooks on the nursery's rocking chair; the tummy time mat on the living room carpet; the foldable bathtub in the kitchen sink (he planned to research if adults could use baby shampoo since the smell was irresistible). He'd gotten so attached to the routine that it came as no surprise—his first week back at work had been hell. He'd messed up several times, struggling to get back in the groove. His hands moved slower, his mind on overload as he caught up to the twelve weeks he missed. Everything there felt foreign. It sparked a realization that nothing came as close to feeling natural as being a dad did.

Harry shook his head to clear the tornado whirling around his brain and turned the kitchen light on. He immediately spotted his plate of dinner waiting for him, a depressing reminder of his broken vow.

An awful feeling sank like a stone in his stomach. This was all wrong. It was supposed to go like this: Harry, ravenous and in dire need of affection, would arrive home at five, the sun still shining. He'd kiss you in the foyer as you passed over his daughter. She'd coo happily, the weight of her in his arms a precious comfort. He'd carry her and entertain her with silly voices and other theatrical dad antics before getting started on cooking dinner. Then the night would slowly progress, and as everyone's eyes grew heavy with sleep, he'd wait until you were done nursing before burping a full-bellied baby and setting her in the bassinet.

And who was to blame for blowing that beautiful sequence to smithereens? This guy.

When Harry reached the hallway, he shivered. Was the window open? There was a chilly draft floating around, and when he peeked his head past the bedroom doorway, his assumptions were proven correct. There you were on the cushioned windowsill seat, the glittering moonlight illuminating your sleeping frame as you held his baby girl against your chest. She was asleep as well, with her limbs tucked all cozily in your motherly embrace. Harry just stood and watched for a minute, the day's stress cascading off his shoulders. Home. This was what remained the most paramount part of his life. He needed to apologize before you formed a grudge.

He didn't want to wake you or the baby, especially considering the overwhelming night you had helmed, so he hopped in the shower to contemplate the best way to handle... whatever had occurred over the phone. Harry knew that the postpartum phase was treating you roughly—your anxiety was a tight string ready to snap at any moment. He hadn't fully grasped the reality of you doing the bedtime routine alone. How hard it probably had been with a baby experiencing major sleep regression. He'd thought you using the word neglectful was harsh, but it was fair.

With a cleansed body and mind, Harry exited the bathroom with a towel tied around his waist. The breeze blowing in from the open window was too brisk for his liking, so he walked over and reached past you to close it. It squeaked, and he winced when you stirred awake. He stalled his movements as you came into consciousness, slowly and with weariness.

How motherhood looked on you was a thing of beauty. Even in the most ordinary moments, you were radiant, emanating warmth and solace. You were this family's guiding light.

Eventually, you swung your legs over the edge of the windowsill seat and stared at him blankly. Guilt struck Harry speechless, and all he could do was sink to his knees and press his face into your shin, like Stephan Sinding's Adoration. "Please forgive me, baby," he murmured, kissing the almond-scented skin there. "I'm so sorry. There's no excuse."

When you remained silent, Harry lifted his face and looked at you. The sight of your expression crumpling and tears welling in your eyes shattered his heart. He got up to sit beside you, pulling you and your daughter into a remorseful hug. "I've made you cry. I'm awful, aren't I?"

You sniffled. "No, you're not. I just don't understand."

"Can I try to explain?" he asked.

You nodded and let your head fall limply on his shoulder. Harry was grateful you weren't shunning him. After pressing a soft kiss to your temple, he said, "You needed me tonight, and I fell short as your husband and as her father." He stroked his baby girl's back, his palm nearly covering the entirety of it. "It was an unexpectedly chaotic day at work, and I... I don't know, it's like I forgot how to hold the reins. All my skill retention just vanished. It was bizarre, and I'm sure it has to do with being sleep-deprived, but it shouldn't have pushed me to stay late. I should've put family first, and I'm sorry you felt neglected. That wounds me to hear that." He grabbed your hand and held it against his heart, leaning down to kiss your knuckles tenderly. "So, from now on, I will be home for dinner. I will be here for bedtime. I will be here when you need me, for whatever reason. Because when you hurt, I hurt. And I don't ever want to make you feel like that again. Don't want you to doubt starting a family with me."

You were crying against his neck, and Harry couldn't tell if it was a good or bad sign. Every word he had said was honest. Poured straight from his soul. It was a vow to be better and to learn from his mistakes. The adjustment from a blissful four months experiencing fatherhood at home to transitioning right into a forty-hour workweek had been messy, and it still would be in the weeks to come, so he hoped you understood that he was trying. It would all balance out soon enough. It just took time.

"Talk to me, sweetheart," Harry whispered to you. His daughter was making whiny noises now, so he carefully took her from your arms and cuddled her close. It felt like his vital purpose.

Meanwhile, you inhaled a few deep breaths to collect yourself. Your hand gripped the towel around his waist, and you gasped before saying, "This whole time, I thought you were naked."

He laughed, thankful for the brief levity. "I think you're still dreaming, sleepyhead." A small smile lifted your lips, and he had no choice but to kiss them. He'd been gone for far too long today.

"I forgive you," you said quietly. "I trust that you won't let this become a habit. I think there were heightened emotions from both of us, for valid reasons, and I found it hard to communicate exactly what I needed."

"You needed me," Harry replied, feeling guilt creep its way back into his mind.

"I know, but I can't always expect you to drop everything when you're needed elsewhere. That's not fair."

He nodded. "Still, you're my partner. It's my responsibility to make you feel adored, and since I blundered that today, how about if I take all the night shift duties this weekend?"

Your eyes fluttered shut, relief softening your facial features. "That would make me feel very adored."

"Yeah?" He kissed your forehead. "And since tomorrow's Saturday, I think I'll treat you to breakfast in bed."

You hummed, pleased as punch. "Tell me more."

"We'll sit on the porch swing and drink coffee," he continued, the domestic visualization sending a rush of heat through him. "Watch the sunrise and listen to the mourning doves."

"No, I meant tell me more about treating me to things in bed."

"Oh, my sincerest apologies," Harry said through an amused laugh. "Are we talking about innocent bed activities, or...?"

You were in a reverie, no doubt thinking of not-so-innocent activities. "Remember our wedding night when we tried using that—" A sudden and sharp wail sliced through your sentence, and in Harry's mind, he caught a brief flash of the memory: you, perched seductively on the living room sofa in the newly purchased beach house, more breathtaking than the ocean view in the distance. Harry, unable to believe he had found you and got to treasure your love for life. And yeah... he couldn't possibly forget that ridiculous toy he'd been gifted with at his bachelor party. Moving on.

"Let's all get some sleep so we can act alive tomorrow," Harry said. When he stood to start rocking the baby, the loosened towel dropped to the floor, leaving him stark naked in the moonlight. You giggled, and the sound was like a shot of bliss straight into his veins. He laughed too, drowsiness finally hitting him. It'd be a long night ahead, and although he would likely rack up a measly four hours of sleep, knowing he'd wake up beside you and have only dad-related obligations for the next three days made it sound peachy.

For the first time that day, a sense of calmness washed over him. Home, sweet home.

——

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #dadrry #dad!harry #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles #adore-laur

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someweirdoreblogger · 3 months ago

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How often do you think Burning Spice Cookie will dress up his favored? In a lot of different attire, mayhaps?

You're like a doll, kept as a living trophy for your newly appointed Lord of Destruction, a merger piece of eye candy. Burning Spice Cookie would dress you far more than even Shadow Milk Cookie would, and he takes a fair amount of pride in his knits and kits of deceit.

There is a sort of shameless, dark repetition in the mysterious Jester's fine lace, but Burning Spice Cookie's is not one for subtlety. The Destruction's own taste is a fickle blaze, it rises and falls with history, changing with the tides of the ocean and the phases of the Moon. How his genosity flavors you is how much he himself, the fortunate one, favors you in entirety.

Burning Spice Cookie pampers, he even implures you to take advantage of this; it will shower you in gold and privileges. He begrudgingly admits such personally, as he coats you in his most recent luxurious spoils and creamy wools of war.

But pay heed, he always expects appreciation.

When Burning Spice Cookie ravages you in mountains of gifts, aplenty spices, and remedies, he fully anticipates you to unpack and wear them next sunrise.

Gods grant no miracles. Power doesn't like being questioned. He will answer your prayers of luxury and glory, but never at no cost, at his own personal behest.

He will send over boats, keep tallys, and receive your belief as obligation.

#mypost #burning spice cookie #shadow milk cookie #the five beasts #the five beast cookies #x reader #crk #cookie run kingdom #cookie run #burning spice cookie x reader #cookie run x reader

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4pfsukuna · 4 months ago

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Bed Peace

Debrief: Touch deprived and exhausted Terry always finds solace in your bed. Fluff

‘Curled up with my head on your chest is the best remedy for the pain and the stress’

The first thing you notice when your eyes open is that you aren't home alone. You don't move though, instead just listening to the sounds fluttering through your apartment before noticing it's the early hours of the morning right before the sun rises and the sky is that wicked purple color.

The morning breeze flutters through the room making the curtains rustle, goosebumps raise slightly on your skin, the brown silk sheets not helping to keep you warm. You settle for closing your eyes letting your head sink further into the plush pillows, scarf somewhere on the floor.

It's when the bed dips slightly and you feel a pressure on your lower abdomen that you finally relax. Being on edge for weeks not knowing if he was okay or where he even was. It's when your hands come down to the nape of his neck playing with the hair there that he sighs heavily, finally wrapping his arms around your waist, fingers curling into you as if you're going to float away if he doesn't.

As if this is just a dream that he's going to wake up from and be back in training.

As if this a dream and he’ll go back to the nightmare his reality turned into.

“I'm here” you promised, squeezing his arm watching the large man visibly sigh, one arm falling to hang off the bed as he begins to doze off the fatigue of the past few days finally catching up to him. Fatigue from constantly running, moving, planning, executing… PACING.

Running your fingers down his spine, the nape of his neck, ears, sideburns and even his hair for what feels like minutes but is actually hours and in your own way this was your version of how he curled his fingers around you to really make sure he's there. Not that he minds between falling asleep and basking in your soft touch does he notice how touch starved he actually is.

The next time he wakes up is only 2 hours later the sunlight dancing through the spaces in your blackout curtains flashing through his eyelids. The heat of the morning sun warming up the parts of his skin you weren't still rubbing, caressing and it eases him again though he hates he can't stay asleep past the sunrise.

“Sorry i forgot to close the curtains” you whisper, reaching for it not expecting his hand to grab yours placing it back on his neck his own way of saying he didn't mind… as long as you kept touching him.

And when he doesnt feel your hands moving on him he lifts his head green eyes looking unreal in the morning sun, fucking perfect. Flawless skin, pretty and thick lips… who was talking about who?

“Just say you wanted to see my eyes in the sun” he teases watching as you smile a small giggle erupting past your lips before he pulls the curtain closed this time laying on your chest. He's quick, wrapping and arm around you, his hand sliding up your shirt fully locking you in place and you aren't even sure who's holding who any more as you tangle your legs in his and that's when he really sighs.

It's like you were holding him down, keeping him grounded.

“Missed you” he murmurs into your neck inhaling your scent of strawberry vanilla unfamiliar since he was so used to your coconut scent. He keeps inhaling, holding you tight each time he does.

“Stop it” you giggle pushing him not that it does anything from how tight he's wrapped himself around you.

“You smell good” his morning voice rasp and it takes everything in you not to shudder. It's probably for the better if you couldn't see his eyes right now. And it's silent for a while. you almost think he dozed back off until—

“Really missed you”

“You're safe with me, it's just us. You and me” you promise and it's your turn to squeeze him tight.

“You can stay right here. Just lay right here. Everything is okay right here” you soothe running your hands down his cheeks over his broad shoulder feeling the gauze pad and then his spine— another gauze pad.

The sadness fills your heart for him and the way that THIS is the only thing he wants. The only thing he needs.

“You can stay right here” you squeeze tighter, pulling a soft groan from him as he nuzzles further into your chest.

“Just lay right here” your hand runs over his head caressing and stroking with your thumb his eyes closing and just focusing on your words and the feeling of your body against his.

“Everything is okay right here” you promise, leaving a kiss on his forehead running your hands over his hot skin once more before the two of you slowly doze off locked in another unable to move.

#terry richmond x y/n #terry richmond #terry richmond x black reader #terry richmond x oc #terry richmond smut #terry richmond x reader #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre #aaron pierre x y/n #rebel ridge #Spotify

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fix-it-darlin · 2 months ago

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D.A.M.N. Crew Headcanons

Freelancer

Doodles on the back of their hands

Never really specialized in anything as a kid and had way too many hobbies. They view this as a negative thing, but the rest of the crew is delighted to hear about their many interests.

Chicken scratch handwriting that only they can read most times.

Attempted to learn shorthand to remedy this but couldn't stick to it long enough to make much of an impact on their note taking style.

Didn't like their hair for a while and so they were always wearing some kind of hat. They still wear a hat a lot, but they've started to get more comfortable with it, especially as Gavin teaches them how to style it better.

Never had a close friend group before the D.A.M.N. crew and usually spent time in groups that seemed to just tolerate them while they were in school.

Used to read voraciously, but hasn't read a full book in about a year. They can manage articles and short stories, but a full book is asking a lot.

Talks to themself a lot and has nearly filled their phone's storage with all the voice notes they make.

Gavin

Gave himself dimples

Wears lots of rings, but one from Freelancer is worn on a chain rather than his hands

Favorite movie is the Princess Bride. The D.A.M.N. crew gets together for a movie night every few weeks and this is always his first suggestion.

Learned how to knit just so he could make Freelancer a hat for their birthday. It was a messy first attempt, but Freelancer loves it all the same.

Great gift giver

Damien made him join a book club with him after figuring out that he hasn't read a book in his life. Gavin gripes about this, but he's actually delighted to have someone to read with and keep him accountable there. He's tried to bring Freelancer into it too, but recognizes that they're too busy for books at the moment.

Damien

Has a very particular taste in energy drinks and doesn't like tea very much.

Black nail polish

His mom pushed him to be good at art as a kid, and he was, could render incredibly realistic studies of nature, but he hated it. He doesn't draw much in present time, but Huxley discovered one of his old sketchbooks at one point and was seriously impressed. Damien wanted to throw out the sketchbook, but Huxley's kept it for now.

When he does draw, it's these shitty little cartoons (I'm talking stick figures and shaky lines) he uses to make Huxley laugh, and only when he's particularly inspired.

Loves to take runs at the crack of dawn just so he can catch the sunrise and the early morning dew.

Has never seen snow in person

Huxley

Loves graphic novels (read all the Bone books as a kid)

Definitely has a rock collection, knows how to skip stones

Goes to poetry open mic nights with Lasko as a way to improve his diction but also train himself to formulate his words better. Some hilarious haikus and free verse have come out of this. Huxley's favorite is the one he performed about a raccoon trying to get tickets to a concert

Is incredibly gentle with his touch as though he's afraid that he'll hurt people with his hugs.

Has dressed up as a bulbasaur for Halloween before

Passed notes with Damien during a lecture that they shared. It drove Damien nuts, but Huxley wasn't sure how else to talk to him at the time. He and Damien still leave each other sticky notes on the mirror and Huxley treasures each of them.

Lasko

Has glasses and they slip down his nose all the time

You know the trope that when people take their glasses off, all of a sudden they're super hot? Yeah, Lasko is the exact opposite way because his lenses are pretty a high prescription and make his eyes look much bigger than they actually are. Take those off and he's immediately squinting and those eyes don't look so big anymore which makes him look uncanny. He's pretty self-conscious about that.

Listens to Mitski

Can quote the entirety of The Hobbit word for word and has very strong opinions about the movies. (He saw them against his will once and has never gotten over it)

Pretty deep morning voice surprisingly enough

Started doing yoga with Dear as a way to keep loose and relax although it's debatable how much relaxing is actually going on towards the end of their sessions and how much of it is just excuses to tease and flirt with each other.

Dear

Top two buttons of their shirt are always unbuttoned, they've got quite the collection.

Loves Lasko's squint that he gets when his glasses slip too far down his nose.

Was on the swim team when they were in school and were pretty good at it (this is an understatement, they set a couple of records for their school)

Nails are always very neatly trimmed and they usually have a clear coat or white nail polish on them

Loopy, neat handwriting

Has always been called a good listener. Little does anyone know that they talk Lasko's ear off just as much as he does their's. They know an insane amount about different species of coral and sea cucumbers and have a collection of books, photos, and articles about them that they've built up over the years.

Very good at figuring out people's strengths and makes a point of complimenting them on it. They are proud to say that they've flustered Huxley with their compliments because it took them the longest time to figure out what would really hit for him.

Has a tattoo on their back

Is part of Damien's book club and always has some of the most detailed notes on the books they read. It's become a bit of a competition between the two of them to see who has the best notes. It's all in good fun though.

#redacted headcanons #redacted freelancer #redacted gavin #redacted damien #redacted huxley #redacted lasko #redacted dear #redacted damn crew #redacted audio

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creativepromptsforwriting · 2 years ago

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Fic Titles: Song Edition

Part I

Softly we tremble tonight - Cat and Mouse, The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

We're so happy (we could die) - Blood & Glitter, Lord of the Lost

There′s no remedy for memory - Dark Paradise, Lana del Rey

Love is the warmest colour - Nara, alt-J

We gotta stop pretending who we are - Don't speak, No Doubt

A force more powerful than gravity - Satellite, Lena Meyer-Landrut

They turned to dust (all that I adored) - Things we lost in the fire, Bastille

Lose all sense of time - Coastline, Hollow Caves

Sometimes quiet is violent - Car Radio, Twenty One Pilots

I′ll show you mine (if you show me yours first) - Swing Life Away, Rise Against

So beautiful and wild - Tonight, Reamonn

See your face lit by starlight - Colorado Sunrise, 3OH!3

Misunderstandings and words unspoken - Don't waste my time, Victor Lundberg

When we stole the night - Another heart calls, The All-American Rejects

The way that we love (like it's forever) - Happy Ending, Mika

But it's home to me - Boulevard of Broken Dreams, Green Day

Like memories of dying days - Savior, Rise Against

Electricity between both of us - Landfill, Daughter

I slept in last night's clothes and tomorrow′s dreams - Uma Thurman, Fall Out Boy

There'll be a riot (cause I know you) - Robbers, The 1975

All of your flaws and all of my flaws - Flaws, Bastille

Crossing all the lines - Girls Like Girls, Hayley Kiyoko

Misery's your master - She's the blade, Sugarcult

But we go where we want to - Lane Boy, Twenty One Pilots

Between the lines of fear and blame - How to save a life, The Fray

There's a heavy cloud inside my head - Lemon Tree, Fool's Garden

A very common crisis - Fluorescent Adolescent, Arctic Monkeys

Turn the light out, say goodnight - Fake Empire, The National

Let′s write a song that we can dance to - Jersey, Mayday Parade

There′s strangers everywhere - This isn't everything you are, Snow Patrol

More titles!

#fic titles #writing ideas #writeblr #writing community #writers on tumblr #fanfic #fanfiction #May 2023

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the-alternate-realities · 1 month ago

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phyx-m · 3 months ago

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Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 6: The Tip Of Your Tongue

Content warning: cannibalism, forced cannibalism, vomiting, angst, mention of non-consensual voyeurism

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Total Depravity - The Veils Touch Myself - Genitorturers

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

Hours had passed since you awoke, long before sunrise and well before anyone else at the shrine had stirred. The night still envelops the world outside as you tiptoe out of your chambers, beginning your preparations for the day.

You bathe, tie your kimono, and comb your hair until it’s glossy. You're ready.

Now, you sit on your futon, waiting as the early morning sun gradually slides its fingers through the slats of your window.

Inevitably, your thoughts turn to the incident from last night. After two weeks of absence, Sukuna had finally returned to the shrine, and he certainly loved making an entrance. In a brutal display, he killed his stablehand in the corridor, toying with him, and making him suffer before ending his life.

You're unsure why Takashi entered your chambers while you were asleep, but hearing him die in such a manner was nauseating.

Worst of all, right before the end, Sukuna tauntingly declared he would be having Takashi as a meal. And you knew you would be expected to dine with him for the first time as husband and wife this morning.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling the cool silk of your gloves against your skin.

The mental acrobatics you were about to perform would be nothing short of a miracle. But that's why you were up early—to prepare.

You had bathed, your kimono tied, hair combed until it was glossy. You were ready.

Now, you sit and wait for the impending knock at the door, indicating your attendants' arrival.

Any minute now.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous about the upcoming encounter. The last time you saw Sukuna was weeks ago during that heated standoff. More heated on his part than yours. You still recall the way his four pupils dilated.

That way, he looked at you… You really need to kill him, and fast.

Your hands move to your lap, smoothing the fabric of your kimono in a repeated motion. Creasing it over and over again, then flattening it back out.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Any second now.

Your stomach cramps, pitching painfully.

You can handle this.

Knock, knock—

“Come in.”

You are on your feet before the third knock sounds.

The door groans open as Sayuri and Ren enter, giving you their customary bow.

"Good morning, my Lady," they greet.

Ren’s voice is as reserved as ever, while Sayuri's tone is unusually animated. Her cheeks are practically glowing, eyes flashing with a bright intensity as she raises her head.

"Good morning," you nod, a calm, measured smile spreading across your face as you place your hands behind your back to fidget with them.

Sayuri steps further into the room. "Ah, you look lovely this morning." She all but beams the words at you.

"Oh, thank you," you reply, swallowing back modesty.

Ren silently moves to the futon to complete one of the few tasks you have allowed. Each morning, one of them sets the sheets back into place. They’ll likely need washing, as you woke up this morning covered in sweat from another one of your nightmares.

“Ren, would it be possible to have my sheets cleaned today?” you ask.

"Of course, my Lady," she replies, already starting to work efficiently. "I’ll replace them with a fresh set and remove these."

"Thank you," you murmur, twinging with embarrassment as the sweat-stained coverings are carefully removed.

It’s time to find a remedy for your disturbed sleep. Perhaps Uraume could help by making a sleeping draft.

"I’ll be the one showing you to breakfast this morning," Sayuri says, swaying on the balls of her heels. "Shall we?" She moves toward the door.

You glance at her, feeling your nerves taking root as if trying to anchor you in place. Despite the feeling, you force yourself to start moving.

As you approach the door, something catches your eye—a small, pearl-white stain caking on the floor. It wasn’t there when you went to sleep last night. You toe it with your wooden sandals, watching the congealed mess flake. Your stomach curdles; you may be a virgin, but you are not naive. You know what semen looks like.

The incident from last night. Takashi.

You clench your fists.

Fucking pervert.

Beneath the surface, people can be an entirely different breed of animal.

You swallow the ugly feeling weighing on your chest before subtly grabbing a cloth from the wardrobe, wiping the stain off the floor and tossing it away.

Focus.

You exhale and move into the doorway's threshold before halting and glancing back.

"Ren, could you also have my door fixed? It makes a racket when opened and closed, and it's driving me a little mad," you ask gently, feeling conflicted about asking more of her. Though you suspect she won’t mind at all.

She looks up from folding your sullied sheets into a neat pile. Her eyes soften ever so slightly, a rare and welcome surprise.

"Of course," she hums before retreating into her familiar quietude, seamlessly returning to her task.

“Thank you.”

Sayuri moves closer to the doorway, silently urging you to step into the corridor. She communicates with her eyes, blinking prettily with her long, dark lashes.

You leave your chambers and glance to the right, towards Sukuna’s room. The muted feel of his presence suggests he’s gone, possibly already waiting for you. Though he’s not one to wait for anyone.

Sayuri clears her throat, giving you the final push needed to take that first step.

One foot in front of the other, you start walking.

Though you've been traversing this same path for two weeks, today, the corridor seems to stretch on far longer than usual.

You keep moving forward, counting each step as if it were a mantra.

The skirt of your kimono brushes softly against the smooth wooden floor, its whispering sound helping you stay calm, stay centered.

Ahead, the turning point signals that the central hall is near. From there, you'll take another long corridor before reaching the private room.

You turn the corner.

Now, each step feels like a compulsion.

You pass the central hall and move into the final passage.

The door to the private room comes into view. It’s usually open, but today it’s shut. You swallow hard, realizing that being in that small space with the King of Curses will be suffocating.

You reach the door, stand there, and stare at it.

The lack of a breeze in the corridor suggests that the sliding door to the garden is also shut.

You listen intently for any sounds but hear nothing. Perhaps he isn’t here. You take a deep breath and catch the faint aroma of raw iron. He is here. The realization makes your mind go blank, erasing everything you had planned for this encounter.

The panic starts settling in, and you step away from the door.

“My Lady?” Sayuri’s soft and airy voice comes from behind. She steps closer, standing next to you. “Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

Her voice, so reminiscent of your sister’s, brings you back to your purpose. Yuna is the reason you are here—the reason behind it all. To save her.

You straighten your shoulders and shake your head.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you, Sayuri.”

Inhale. Exhale. Reach. Pull.

You slide the door open halfway.

You are greeted by a large expanse of muscled back draped in a haori the colour of midnight.

Sukuna sits on a large cushion, facing away from the door. His body overwhelms the space, leaving little room for you to navigate to your side of the table. His upper arms extend outward to support his weight, while the lower pair is hidden in front. The dark colour of his garment contrasts with his skin, making the ink snaking around his wrists appear as an even deeper shade of black. He assumes his usual sitting position with one knee raised and the other leg folded beneath him, his posture both casual and attentive.

The sliding door thuds softly as you push it open fully.

Sukuna continues to give you his back, ignoring the sound of your entrance and making no gesture to acknowledge your presence.

Fearing him like a sleeping bear, you move silently through the door and into the room. You walk heel to toe, keeping balance, moving quietly.

You fix your eyes ahead, focusing on your destination: the cushion at the opposite end of the table.

Almost there.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your bodies align side by side.

So close.

You take another step to pull yourself from his proximity.

Suddenly, his upper right hand leaves its place on the floor and moves forward. With all his arrogance, he pushes it beneath the hem of your kimono.

A firm grip ensnares your ankle, halting your steps.

His fingers, warm and steady, settle against the softness of your skin, wrapping tightly around the slender curve of your ankle.

You flinch, mustering all the restraint not to pull away, and in the end, you don’t.

If Sukuna were a shackle, you were a prisoner.

Heart racing, you tilt your head down to take in the situation.

Half of his forearm vanishes beneath the layers of fabric, and his tendons flex and shift as he adjusts his bruising grip.

You slowly raise your gaze until you are looking into his face. His eyes are lowered, focused on a ceramic dish on the table before him. A thick slab of meat stains the plate bloody. The cut is slick with a glistening sheen, hinting at its freshness.

He uses his lower left hand to eat, scooping up the pulpy flesh and bringing it to his mouth to tear off a chunk. Remarkably, he manages to keep blood off his chin, though his hand is smeared. His indulgence is almost civilized—almost.

He chews thoroughly, then swallows, the muscles in his neck tensing and rippling with the motion before going still. A look of bliss crawls over his face, making yours twist with disgust.

“Wife,” he says. His lower eyes are fixed on the meat as he places it back on the plate. His upper eyes turn to you. “I’ve been gone for two weeks, and you think you can slip in here without addressing me properly.” All four eyes finally lock onto you. “It appears that living under my roof in my absence has made you cocky.”

The grip on you tightens like a noose. The pressure against your delicate bones aches.

Your mouth dries.

From this angle, if you draw your right leg back, you might have a good chance of smashing his mask with your knee.

Be charming. Be obedient. Bottle everything up.

“Welcome back, my Lord.” You bow your head respectfully. “I trust your travels were successful. We certainly missed your presence while you were away.” You force the words at the end through clenched teeth.

Cocking his head to the side, the monster studies you for a moment before bringing his red-stained hand to his mouth and licking the blood from his fingers while maintaining eye contact with you.

Your eyes start to narrow but then widen.

In one of the most bizarre displays you've witnessed from him, you feel his thumb start tracing gentle circles on the skin of your ankle, the pad of his fingertip sliding up and down.

A tremor of unease spans the length of your body.

Up and down, up and down. His thumb continues its languid path.

His jaw is set so severely that a muscle pulses along his jawline as he clenches his teeth. It’s clear he’s challenging you to do something reckless, but you stay perfectly still, even as your palms begin to sweat beneath your gloves.

Up and down, up and down.

What if you threw caution to the wind, tore off a glove, and shoved your hand into his face? Would you make contact in time, or would he cut you down before that? Most likely, the latter. You’d probably be dead.

Up and down, up and—

The circling abruptly stops.

A sharp, biting sting radiates from your ankle. He digs his nail into your skin with enough force to make your body jerk and twitch involuntarily. You feel a warm liquid trickle down your ankle. He’s broken the surface of your skin.

His nostrils flare in anticipation as if he can smell the blood pulsing beneath the fabric of your kimono. His eyes shut, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he savours your scent.

You struggle against the urge to run, shifting on your feet, body swaying.

His eyes snap open, pupils dilated into black pools that swallow you whole.

You cease your movements, your spine locking into place as a shudder moves through you. Sensing it, the curvature of Sukuna’s mouth turns into a wide, hypnotic grin that reveals his sharp, pointed canines.

Now, you are scared.

“Sukun—my Lord.” your voice is a hesitant warning.

When he hears your nervous words, his eyes flicker to your mouth, and for too long, he’s captivated by the gentle dip and bow of your trembling lips.

He blinks once, then twice.

The blackness consuming his eyes fades, and his grin vanishes into a pensive line.

Finally, he slowly releases your ankle, drawing his hand out from beneath your kimono. He then picks up the meat from the plate.

“Sit,” he commands dismissively, his eyes never leaving the bloody pulp.

It takes several heartbeats for you to gather yourself before you begin to move. Each step exacerbates the pain from the cut on your ankle. You are aware that you will need to bandage it later, once you can properly assess the wound. A pool of blood remains at the spot where you stood, and your kimono trails through it, leaving a stain across the floor.

When you reach your spot, you kneel on the cushion. Your meal is already prepared and waiting for you. As usual, it consists of rice, fruit, and vegetables. Meat has finally been removed from your meals, as it consistently remains untouched.

You lift your head to realize Sayuri is still waiting in the doorway, her presence having been forgotten. Now that you've finally taken a seat, she eagerly steps inside, her gaze remaining on Sukuna.

There’s a sense of longing behind her eyes.

“Get out,” he snaps, not bothering to turn. Her face falls, and you can’t help but feel sympathy for her as she is dismissed so curtly.

“Yes, Master,” she murmurs before retreating from the room and sliding the door shut, effectively trapping you inside.

You glance back at Sukuna, narrowing your eyes as you watch him eat in silence. His lower left elbow comes to rest heavily on the table, making a thud that rattles everything on it.

“I can feel you staring at me, brat. Why don’t you focus on the shit in front of you instead of me?” Sukuna remarks between mouthfuls, chewing voraciously.

You suppress a scoff and glance down at your plate.

“What do you mean, ‘that shit’? It’s called food,” you retort, grabbing your chopsticks from the table. “Unlike that travesty on your plate.” With a sharp glance at Sukuna, you pick up a piece of cucumber and shove it into your mouth.

What the hell are you doing? Charming. Obedient.

His eyes lift, and the atmosphere shifts as he pins you with a stern expression. To spite you, he takes a larger bite and chews so loudly that the clacking of his teeth is almost unbearable.

“You want to talk about what this travesty is?” he growls through his chewing, lifting the meat for emphasis. “Or rather, who it is?” It flops in his grip, accentuating his point.

Your blood runs cold.

No. You didn’t want to discuss who it was, because you already knew. The shame of what happened gnaws at you. You are unsure what you did to earn the stain that ended up on your chamber floor. All you know is that Takashi came into your room, and now he’s dead.

“I’d rather not,” you murmur, dipping your chin and focusing on your food.

“Tch, of course not,” he scoffs before returning to his meal with a renewed appetite.

Choosing not to respond, you scoop some rice up with the chopsticks and eat in silence.

Technically, you have only known each other for a day and have been married for just a few weeks. Yet, already, your interactions resemble those of a long-married, unhappy couple.

As you work through your meal, you finish the vegetables, then the rice, and finally, a cup of water to wash it all down.

You save the best for last: a fat, ripe peach.

You slide one glove off and bring the succulent fruit to your mouth. As you take a bite, the smooth skin gives way effortlessly under your teeth. Juices burst onto your tongue, a perfect blend of sweetness and tanginess that almost makes you groan with pleasure.

Uraume may be many things—emotionless, aloof—but they definitely knew how to find the most delicious peaches.

Feeling a sudden heat on your skin, you realize Sukuna’s gaze is fixed on your face. You look up to find him chewing slowly, deliberately, his eyes following the velvety fruit held between your thumb and index finger and the way your lips wrap around it.

A trickle of juice escapes from the corner of your mouth, making its way to your chin. Without thinking, you use the back of your hand to wipe it away before taking another bite.

Sukuna's eyes darken.

You are not entirely sure if this is part of your plan, but perhaps this approach will work—death by peach seduction.

The fruit squelches as your teeth sink into it for a third bite.

Drip, drip, drip.

Sukuna pauses mid-chew, his eyes fixed intently on your hand and mouth. His top lip twitches slightly. For a moment, he remains motionless until he swallows visibly. With a sudden sharp movement, he tosses the meat onto the plate, causing the ceramic to clang loudly.

“Come here,” he snaps.

The abrupt command catches you off guard. Not eager to provoke him, you set the peach down on your plate, wipe your hand, and slip your glove back on.

You approach cautiously and stand by his side.

With two fingers, he gestures to a spot on the floor.

“Sit.”

You sink to your knees beside him, feeling dwarfed by his imposing size.

Before you have a chance to react, Sukuna swiftly grabs your wrist with his upper left hand.

“What are you—ah!”

You stumble forward into his space as he pulls you with a force that makes you take a sharp breath. The sheer strength he uses forces you to brace yourself by placing your other hand on his muscular thigh.

“Hold still,” he grunts.

As you try to steady yourself, memories of his aggressive handling of your breasts in the forest flash through your mind, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead.

He studies your delicate silk glove closely, rotating your wrist and forcing your palm to turn over several times. Then, with his lower left hand, he reaches for the human tissue and rips off a piece.

He brings it towards your face.

“Open.”

Shit.

“I’m not eating that.”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“Oh, come on now. You once asked me to share a meal with you. Well, I’m doing just that. Besides, I can’t have my wife going hungry, can I?” His sneer is laced with mockery as he moves the piece of red tissue, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, closer to your lips. “Now, open.”

You lean back, trying to distance yourself.

“Your wife is not hungry. Let go,” you snap, your heart rattling in your chest.

“That’s a shame because I’m not taking no for an answer,” he growls. “Now, part those lips you just so brazenly taunted me with.”

Your face flushes with heat. He always seems to have the upper hand in these moments.

“No, there’s no way I’m eating that,” you insist, shaking your head as you shuffle backward, sitting on your haunches.

He grabs your other wrist with his upper right hand, tightening his grip on both. Slowly, he drags you back towards him. Your wooden sandals scrape against the floor until you are practically in his lap.

“I will give you until the count of three before I pry your mouth open,” he says, his voice dropping to a menacing tone.

Using his extra appendages to his advantage, his lower right hand wraps around your face. Your chin rests between his thumb and forefinger, while his palm supports the underside of your jaw. His hand is so large it nearly engulfs your entire head.

You can’t help but whimper at the intense physical contact.

His eyes narrow.

“One.”

He starts the countdown.

Your breathing grows uneven.

Your eyes dart between the piece of human flesh—no, Takashi’s flesh—in his fingers and his unyielding gaze.

"Two."

If you can free one wrist from his grip, you might be able to slip off one glove.

“Three,” he says quietly, his grip tightening on your jaw and wrists. “Time’s up.”

Without hesitation, he follows through on his threat.

He begins to part your lips, doing so with excruciating slowness. Your tongue fights against the pressure, making a soft clicking sound as it leaves the roof of your mouth.

As he forces your mouth to open wider, his own mouth parts slightly. Tilting his chin up to look down at you, his red eyes lower in a way you've come to recognize—those eyes that seem to catch you at your most vulnerable, when your facade starts to crumble.

You are trembling with a desperate need to escape, pulling gently and testing his hold, but his strength is unmatched. The King of Curses is always unmatched.

A low whine escapes your mouth as he moves the piece of meat closer to you. His thumb, previously resting against the side of your face, shifts to press into the dip under your lower lip, dragging it downward.

Time slows.

Your heartbeat pounds so loudly in your ears. The piece of flesh approaches your parted mouth.

Your vision narrows. Weightlessness overtakes you.

He guides the meat past your lips, positioning it carefully on the tip of your tongue before gently setting it down. Salt and iron. As he withdraws his fingers, he presses his thumb upward, closing your mouth.

“Chew.” His voice has become low, rough.

You don’t chew.

His grip tightens painfully around your jaw.

You begin to chew.

Rolling the meat around in your mouth. You force yourself to ignore the unsettling texture and suppress the urge to regurgitate it into his lap.

“Swallow it.”

Fuck you, Ryomen Sukuna.

You swallow.

Satisfied, he smirks and releases his hold on you.

As the chewed human flesh moves down your esophagus and settles in your stomach, your face contorts in reaction. You feel your body tense and revolt.

You heave once.

Sukuna’s face morphs into a look of disgust as he realizes what’s about to happen.

You scramble to your feet with frantic speed, rushing to the garden door and wrenching it open. The door almost comes off its track with the force of your action.

Bursting into the summer heat, you stagger into the garden, bend over, and vomit the contents of your stomach onto the ground.

A harsh bark of laughter erupts from back inside the room, echoing through the open door and reaching your ears over the sound of retching.

You stay hunched over, expelling every last bit of bile until there’s nothing left to throw up.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaches, and you tilt your head to glance back at the doorway.

Sukuna casually leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk.

“You really couldn’t handle it, could you?” he chuckles. “You are so fragile, so weak.”

You straighten.

On the tip of your tongue lies every profanity and curse that waits to be unleashed. But you swallow them down, choosing to hold back the torrent of rage.

“Nothing to say? Your father really does have you well-trained. Just a mutt.” Sukuna taunts.

You clench your fists in response to his relentless goading, then turn to head back inside, deliberately brushing past him.

“I should have taken your sister as my wife instead.”

The statement hits you like a slap, though you know such a union was never an option. Still, the sheer audacity of him using it to provoke you stops you cold.

Your breathing halts as you turn on your heel to face him.

“What did you just say?”

A vicious smile cracks across his face. He steps closer.

“You heard me. Your sister. I should have taken—”

“Don’t you ever talk about my sister again, you fucking vile creature!” you shout, the words spewing from your lips with anger.

He takes another step toward you, and to your surprise, you step toward him as well. Standing chest to chest, you strain your neck to look up at him.

“What are you going to do, girl?" He mocks, patronizing you. "Scream, yell, cry at me?”

If only he knew what you were truly capable of and what he'd just unleashed.

Your palms itch inside your gloves, every taunt drilling into your skull.

“Go ahead, try to do something. It will be entertaining and utterly pointless,” he spits so bitterly that his top lip curls up.

A violent surge of adrenaline courses into your veins, and that familiar hum, skittering beneath your fingertips, rises to the surface.

Control yourself.

Sukuna closes the distance further until your chest is pressed against his abdomen.

“Do it! Let’s see if you're even capable of scratching me.”

You tremble. Fists clench and unclench. Subtly, you bring your hands together, pinching the edge of one glove and preparing to remove it.

His fingers curl inward, leaving only his middle and index fingers extended. His presence fills the space with a tense energy, coiled like a snake ready to strike.

“Do it!” he commands, voice booming.

Your jaw shakes. Your legs shake. The overwhelming urge to strike at him is too much.

Kill him.

But your rational mind reasserts itself.

You can’t do it.

Throwing everything away in a moment of reckless fury is not an option. A reckless death is not an option. Surviving this—so you can return home—is and has always been your only option.

With a deep breath, you let your hands fall to your sides.

The anger that crashes across the King of Curses' face is instantaneous. His four arms tense as if he's restraining himself, just as in your recurring nightmare.

A deep, jagged groove cuts a path between his mask and eyebrow. His energy increases.

With no other options available and no way to escape the escalating situation, you push off your wooden sandals, gather the hem of your kimono, slip through the open garden door, and fucking run.

🔗 Chapter 7

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk fanfic #true form sukuna #heian sukuna #dark content #dark fantasy #jujustu kaisen fanfic #beneath the silk

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dystopianam · 1 year ago

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Masterpost: All the Lighting Mods for The Sims 2 ✨

I'm making this post both because I like to group things under one post and because I need it as a link to add to my tracker, but still I think it will be useful for many!

Look here for other masterposts!

Lighting Mods

# Gunmod's Radiance Light System 2.4 by dDefinder on ModTheSims - A realistic, extremely dramatic, sometimes very dark lighting mod that increases the intensity of colors, lights and shadows and adds sunrise and sunset to the game (they don't exist in the vanilla game)

#Gunmod's Radiance Light System 2.5 edited by @dreadpirate - An updated version of the aforementioned lighting, with much more compatibility with many shaders and less blue nights! Every Season it have they own lighting color: Summer is vibrant, autumn has warm colors, winter has cold colors, and spring has a little yellowish "filter".

#Maxis Match Lighting Mod by Dreadpirate - The environment is more saturated and bright, removes the dull gray tint that vanilla game has. Everything is smoother and more uniform. The shadows are calm, exactly like the ones in the vanilla game. Each season has its own lighting, the nights are black instead of blue and it has many compatibility with many shaders. This one also has sunrise and sunset.

#Cinema Secret by Dreadpirate (@veronavillequiltingbee) - A perfect mix between the Gunmod Radiance and the Maxis Match Lighting mod. It use elements of both, such as the shadows and calm colors of the MM Lighting Mods but the intensity of the lights of the Gunmod Radiance (especially noticeable when using neon lights). It has many compatibility with many shaders, the nights are black instead of blue, it has sunrise and sunset and every season has its own lighting.

#SpookyMuffin Lighting Mod - Recommended by a user in the comments! I don't know how to talk about this Lighting Mod because I've never used it, but the post on the site explains what it consists of!

#The Sims 2 Beta Lighting - By opening the link you will see a YouTube video by @boringbones that will explain how to have The Sims 2 Beta lighting! (The download can be accessed from his Discord link in the video description)

#5:55 Lighting by Bugjartimedecayoff - An edit of Radiance 2.4, with much brighter outdoor lighting at night (very similar to Maxis' default night lighting) and soft peach-tinted dusk & dawn lights.

#Rae-diance Lighting by Raemia - Another edit of Radiance 2.4, with the differences being brighter nighttime lighting & brighter unlit rooms, plus reduced room-saturation.

#Original Vanilla Lighting Backup Here!

Lighting Mods for the Neighborhood

#Neighborhood Lighting Remedy by Criquette - This lighting mod is ONLY for the neighborhood and you can use it together with any of the three lighting mods mentioned above. Fixes the direction of the lights and shadows to be consistent with that of the lot imposters and makes it more consistent with lot mode.

#Accurate Neighborhood Terrain Lighting by @simnopke - This lightind mod is like the above one. It is only for the neighborhood and can be used in conjunction with a DP & dDefinder lighting mod but NOT in conjunction with Criquette's NH Lighting Remedy.

EDIT: simnopke said: "My Accurate Nhood Terrain Lighting mod does something different than Criquette's Nhood Lighting Remedy and can be used with it. Moreover, my mod has two versions intended for use with Criquette's mod."

Lighting Mods for the CAS (Create a Sim)

#Minimalistic CAS Lighting Mod Replacement with Custom Light by Dreadpirate - This lighting mod is CAS ONLY and can be used together with a dDefinder or DP lighting mod and a lightind mod for the neighborhood. Using similar lighting to the MM Lighting Mod, it makes the CAS more saturated and smooth. You have to change a value in a lights file within the game install path but it's worth it!

One small problem I've noticed is that when used with lighting mods other than the MM Lighting mod it often doesn't work well even if the value is correctly changed. For example, when I changed the lighting mod and switched from MM to Cinema Secret, it triggered the super lighted sims bug in CAS which I didn't have before. But then again, this could be just my problem. There is fix by Lazy Duchess for this bug but you need to be very careful. Sometimes it conflicts with some shaders (as in my case) and unleashes an absurd pink soup even in bodyshop even if bodyshop shouldn't have anything to do with it. But AS ALWAYS, maybe it's only a problem of mine because I'm very unlucky.

EXTRA SHADERS BUT NOT REQUIRED

#Better Nightlife by @criquette-was-here - Even if it does not change anything graphically with colors, lights and shadows like a lighting MOD it adds shaders that allow the deco hoods to light up during the night. So for example, by downloading hood decos compatible with this shader you can have street lamps that light up on the street (in the neighborhood), buildings lit up at night, lit bridges etch.

#Blue Snow No More by Dreadpirate - This shader removes the blue tint that snow creates even if you use lighting mods that make the night black instead of blue. Many DP lighting mods (Like MM Lighting Mod) have this shader already included, so you don't need to download it, this is an individual shader if you don't use their lighting mods. To be honest, neither the shader INSIDE the lighting mod nor the shader by itself has never worked for me, but I think there is a problem in my download folder at this point or I am very unlucky.

#Overly Bright CAS Fix by @lazyduchess - As I have already explained before, this mod fixes the bug of super enlightened sims in CAS. Sometimes it can conflict with something (which I don't quite understand with what) and trigger an absurd pink soup, so if you suddenly start to notice more pink soup than usual try to remove it and see how it goes.

Maybe it just conflicts with some lighting mod or some shader. In my case it could be the DP's lighting mod for the CAS.

#Moi Shader Roof by niol on ModThe Sims - This shader fixes the lighting of roofs which sometimes appear much darker than their texture. Many lighting mods from DP have this shader included OR are compatible with this shader. So check the descriptions under their lighting mods before downloading it.

#Brighter Roofs...But Not Too Bright! by Deastrumquodvicis on ModTheSims - Same as the previous shader, but makes the roofs less bright than they show with the aforementioned shader. This shader uses Moi's shader as a base, so you can NOT use both. Use only one. Many lighting mods from DP have this shader included OR are compatible with this shader. So check the descriptions under their lighting mods before downloading it.

#Moi's Neighbourhood Water Global Mod by niol on ModTheSims - This mod changes the water color of the neighborhood. Nothing more nothing less. Many DP mods are compatible with this shader.

#Pond & Sea Water Overhaul by Voeille on ModTheSims - This mod changes the water of the sea and ponds and makes it more realistic using The Sims 2 Castaway water shaders. Many DP mods are compatible with this shader but for some shaders like Better Nightlife it needs a little more attention. For example, if you use Better Nightlife you will need to use the version of these shaders provided by the Better Nightlife link to be compatible. So you have to delete these for use their shaders if you want both.

You can't use this together Moi's Water.

#A World Lit by Fire by hat_play_sims on dreamwidth - This mod itself doesn't change shaders dramatically, but it change the color of some lights and make them more sensate. I'll explain: many maxis lights that are powered by candles or should give off a warm light regardless, give off a cool, white light instead. Have you ever seen a candle emitting white light? No! This mod fixes all lights in the game and makes lights that need to be warm... warm. Perfect for history-themed saves or for the ones like me, completely obsessed with candlelight in this game. Many DP mods are compatible with this shader. It's immensely beautiful when used with the dramacity of the Radiance System but works quite well with other lighting mods as well.

#the sims 2 #lighting mod #lighting mods #masterpost

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odestasocean · 6 months ago

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some random odesta headcanons

annie is the handy one in this relationship. there's a table that needs to be assembled? piece of cake. a collection of tools under the kitchen sink? those belong to her. a picture that needs to be hung? she's already got a hammer in her hand.

when finnick was super young his dad taught him how to make the famous cinnamon pancake recipe that has been in their family for generations which became his absolute favorite thing to make for literally any occasion or just a random sunday morning

not a day has passed since annie was fourteen where she hasn't been wearing black nail polish

shortly after finnick won his games, mags knitted him this blue and gold sweater that had a very intricate pattern on it, but since he was fifteen at the time, he quickly grew out of it. years later, annie found it towards the bottom of his dresser drawer and it became her favorite clothing item to wear

annie has long wavy hair that gets suuuper poofy whenever it’s humid or if she goes to bed with it wet

annie gets chronic migraines so finnick has discovered every remedy under the sun to help her but her favorite one and the one that has proven to be most effective is scalp massages

they're both insanely tall. im talking like finnick is 6'6 and annie is 6'0. i won't be taking any criticism on this one.

annie is a horsegirl. i don't even know if horses are in district four, but if they are, she's obsessed with them. she saw one of the wealthier district four citizens riding one on the beach when she was like five years old and her life was permanently changed after that.

they're both the youngest sibling in their families. annie has two older sisters and finnick has an older brother (i have an analysis about this that i've been working on in my drafts so more on that later)

finnick is the most clumsy human ever up until his son is born so then that title is passed down to him (heavily inspired by that one clip of sam claflin falling over because he tripped over a rock in cf which was left in the movie)

they're both morning people but finnick's more of a let's-stay-in-bed-until-noon type of morning person while annie is a let's-go-make-breakfast-and-watch-the-sunrise type of morning person

annie has the weirdest pregnancy cravings, but finnick insists on trying them all with her. she's mortified by how willing he is to eat the strangest things like sardines dipped in mustard or something so she's always like "oh my god you do not have to eat that just because i'm craving it" but he does every single time

in a finnicklives!au, they have a second wedding on the beach outside of victor's cove where it's just the two of them. they loved their wedding in district thirteen and all that it stood for, but having one with just the two of them felt like an official beginning to starting their lives together after the war was over

#i have a million more but this is a good start i think #odesta #annie cresta #finnick odair #odesta headcanons #thg headcanons #thg #hunger games

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amortentia-over-ice · 10 months ago

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The Remedy - Garreth Weasley x F!MC

SUMMARY: Garreth knows the exact cure for your hangover. And plot twist: it's not one of his potions.

Warnings: 18+, Characters aged up. Mention of Drinking. Smut. P in V.

Word Count: 2.5k

You stumbled back into the Gryffindor common room, bleary eyed and forcing yourself not to look at your pocket watch. It hardly mattered, however, considering that you could already see the sneaking suspicion of the sunrise as purple streaks colored the sky through the tower window.

You were still absolutely pissed off of your face, courtesy of the giggle water and fire whisky, so you thought nothing of it as you started stealing pillows off of the common room couches. Giddily, you found a corner of the room and stacking them around each other. You giggled as you looked at your work of art in progress.

YOU were going to make a PILLOW FORT...NOT sleep in your own bed like some regular loser. This (your drunk mind decided) was a far better option.

Clumsily, you army crawled your way in once every pillow had been added to the massive pile, wrapping your robes around you to serve as a blanket you let out a contented sigh, shoving one last pillow against the hole you crawled through, promptly falling asleep in your cushioned little hovel.

A few hours later…

“....Did the house elves do that?”

“A little redecorating perhaps...?”

“Redecorating? Gar. Please.”

Garreth Weasley was hardly listening to Leander prattle on as he thoughtfully regarded the odd pile of pillows in front of him. It was interesting, he noted, that the pillow pile had magically appeared the same morning that Natty had mentioned to him you hadn’t returned to your dorm last night.

He had already been worried that Sebastian had somehow kept you too late...or worse...that he had somehow snuck you into the Slytherin dorms instead.

But then...as he heard a faint snore emanate from within the pillows, he gave a slight, but relieved, grin.

“Right, then.” He sighs as he sits down patiently in front of the pillow fort, conjuring two mugs with steaming hot tea.The smell of peppermint drifts into your cave, your favorite.

You stir with a groan due to your monstrous headache, and the next thing you hear is Gar’s cackle right outside this odd structure you had found yourself in.

Naturally, you had a very foggy idea of how you ended up in a pillow fort.

You poked your head out to find Gar grinning at you, holding out a mug to you in offering. How could he look so endearingly at you while you were SURE you looked like a pile of hippogriff dung?

“Er– morning! By the way, I’m going to kill Sebastian for this.” He says in a light voice entirely too cheerful for your current headache. You smirk at the slightly out of character threat to your mutual friend. Sebastian had been known to get the both of you into similar states more than once in the past.

You sigh and shake your head, “It’s not totally his fault. I can’t ever resist a dare from that Scottish fool. Which I guess makes me one too.” You conceded in jest, but still you accept Gar’s offering gratefully.

Your lean on your elbows, taking a gratuitous sip of the peppermint, sighing at the warmth as it soothes your throat.

He raises his mug to yours, as if in a cheers before taking a sip as he cracked open his potions book. Most of the students had left at this point as classes had already begun, but clearly Gar must have guessed you’d be here a while.

Finally you spoke, eyeing him suspiciously, “You’re being awfully nice to me for someone who just woke up in a pillow fort. No questions you want to ask over there?”

He chuckled before shaking his head, taking another sip of his tea patiently as he continued to read.

Your eyes narrowed further.

“Does the book mean you’ll be here a while then? You might be waiting a while before I leave this cave, just so you know. The levels of shame are high.”

He smirked again, taking another sip.

“Oh me? Just drinking my tea.”

You laughed ruefully, “Right, so I can assume you're not just here to gloat at my hungover state then?”

This time, he slurped his tea even louder.

“Gar.” At that accusation you glared again and he laughed as he ducked the spare pillow you threw at him.

“Relaxxxxx.” He teases as his lips curl in another grin, “Seems like we may be here a while. Perhaps more tea?” He says smugly as he refills his mug, and you give him another eye roll.

“You know...I’m going to have to get you back for that. And no amount of tea is going to keep you safe from me.” You add teasingly from your pillow throne.

But then, his eyes meet yours with just the slightest bit of mischief glimmering behind all that green as he says, “...And what if I don’t want to be?”

Your smile matches his, playing along with him as you softly ask,

“Be what, Gar?”

You watch as he smirks, sets down the tea and crouches down to you at eye level. Up close you can almost count his merry freckles, even as curl falls in his face his eyes stay on yours.

“If I don’t want to be safe from you, silly.”

Your grin deepens as you reach forward to tug him down by his tie.

“Careful. I bite.”

“In that case, move over.”

He doesn’t hesitate before he’s following your tug, crawling right into your space, arms and legs all a tangle as you both laugh at the fact there is not a single graceful way to maneuver yourselves with the limited space in your pillow cave.

His breath is hot as he laughs mere inches from your own face, and you fall over off balance, but his arms are quick as they snake around your lower back and tug you close.

“C’mere.”

His voice is playful, but his hands are firm as the sudden and eager movement makes you lose your breath as a small laugh escapes to match his own.

“So bossy today.”

You cuddle into him, following the line of his body and letting a deep sigh go as you find the spot you’ve fit into many times before.

Gar lets out a contented hum, just as pleased at the feel of you against him, settling back against you as he runs an idle hand through your hair.

“So lazy bones, shall we just hide in here all day?” He says softly into your hair as your fingers play at his collarbones.

“Why? Have somewhere to be?”

“No…not any place I’d rather be, anyway. Perhaps I should have brought you one of my new concoctions to help that hangover.”

He murmurs so close to your ear, that he feels you shiver against him and he smiles.

“...Or perhaps another remedy for you today...?” His hand trails up your side slowly, until it finds your chin, your lips. His thumb draws across your lower lip slowly, and all of a sudden you are very, very awake.

“I’d much prefer the second option. Your potions always have a weird aftertaste of grapes.” You whisper as you scrunch your nose, and he leans forward to nibble it.

“Tsk, Play nice.” The look in his eyes as his mouth hovers near yours is anything but hurt, especially as they flicker down to your lips.

“I can do that.” You breathe slowly as you lean forward, wrapped in his arms, and in the warmth of your cave, your lips touch his without a care in the world…hangover forgotten.

He presses back immediately with a small sound, his lips part for yours slowly, as if taking his time to taste you. His hands wrap into the fabric of your shirt tighter, while quickly moving to tug the fabric upward to reach the warmth of your hips.

Your half working brain is already going: yes, yes, yes.

Your torso mindlessly arches into his palm that continues to touch every inch of you slowly and gently. He makes a grateful noise as you move against him.

You and Gar were friends, after all. The very best of friends. The type of friends who could do this…. And do it well.

“Someone seems to be feeling better,” He mumbles, giving you a half smile between your kisses, that are far from stopping, as he lifts your shirt over your head, and you tug the buttons from his. He pulls back quickly, only to help you shrug it off his shoulders, before he is back on you again, devouring your neck.

You gasp, leaning back for him as his lips are preoccupied with hot, open mouthed, kisses along the column of your throat, and finally your hands are in those wild red curls as you hold him there.

“Gar!” You sigh in surprise, and he just stops to give you a wicked grin before coming back to your neck, your ear.

“What? You asked me to help you feel better didn’t you?”

As his hushed tease brushes against your ear, his hand sneaks down your stomach, to your thigh, casually bunching up the fabric of your skirt in his hands.

“Yes.” You manage to breathe out, and it’s an answer to two questions. At your words, his palm hooks your fabric to the side, dragging up the wetness already there with a sigh. You rock into his hand greedily and he obliges with a finger slipping into you gently. Now you’re moaning, and he’s rocking his own hips against you.

Somehow, you manage to note that you DID build a good pillow fort as it’s somehow staying together despite the way the both of you are climbing all over eachother, with no regards to much except tearing your clothes off.

Your hand reaches towards his trousers and she shifts for you, tongue slipping into your mouth as he enthusiastically slips a second finger into you, the feel of him stretching you causing more of a mess as your hands reach for his cock.

He’s already impossibly hard and ready. You. swipe your thumb along the bead of moisture from his tip with a smile, and he jolts into your touch. You use the stickiness of it to drag the moisture down his shaft and he moans into your mouth. Cheekily, and because you can, you use your other hand to cup his balls and bring him closer into you.

“M-merlin, you can’t keep doing that,” He mumbles in a rush, his breath mixing with your own panting, as his fingers continue to get the same reaction from between your own legs. His fingers become slightly less gentle, pressing deeper and faster inside you. You fight a moan as it slips through your lips, your hands accidentally tugging on Gar’s curls.

He makes a noise, and your eyes snap open your words rushing out, “I-I’m sorry I-”

Gar’s mouth catches yours to cut off your protest, “No, don’t stop. Please.”

He enjoys the feeling of your fingers in his hair, eyes rolling slightly back in his head as he feels your nails. Then he realizes he doesn’t know who needs the “remedy’ anymore. You. Or him.

He feels his skin flushed all over from everywhere you're touching him and he takes in a shaky breath before moving clumsily to get closer to you, removing his hand from you to snake down to your thigh to shift you open to make room for him. You oblige, shifting for him, leg lifting to hook around his hip. He hungrily comes back for your mouth, but you move at the same time.... you both accidentally bump heads.

“Oops.” You whisper, you both giggle, and he finds it so adorable that he can’t help but kiss your lips again as his hands fight to tug his belt off, trousers down. Suddenly, he sinks back against you, his hard cock pressing between your legs as his hips rock, teasing, to rub against you.

“Oops.” he whispers back with a wicked grin, and you only respond by tugging him closer by his hair again for another hungry, open mouthed, kiss.

His hands find your face, a hand gingerly wrapping around your cheek. Everything pauses for a moment as he finds your eyes. A long breath before a subtle nod from you, and you don’t look away from him as you feel him press into you.

Your mouth falls open, face twisting in sweetness and his expression conveys the same. He breathes out slowly, feeling your warmth close in around him. It's almost too sweet for anyone to bear, and yet he is the one lucky enough to try.

His forehead falls against yours, and your lips rise to meet his quickly between your huffing breaths as he moves deeper.

“Are you oka-”

“Yes. Merlin yes.”

After some resistance, you find your body is not only taking him, but begging for more.

You can hardly breathe before he tilts your jaw back to him, for another kiss, before his hips begin to move further.

The sounds of the both of you fill the small space with shaky breaths, your bodies finding a rhythm as you rock back and forth amidst all the pillows. In the secret space, there is only you and him, and whatever cure you were looking for, you don’t think anything is better than this.

Your breath comes faster, and his name fills your lungs.

He loved the sounds you made, so much that he’d already lost himself in them. His strokes become steadied, determined, his free hand wraps around your lower back to anchor you and keep you against him and his pace. He sank into you again, and again your name a breathless whisper into your ear. You can do nothing, but lift your hips to meet him.

At the slight change in angle, your eyes flashed as your body twisted in pleasure,

“Gar.” Hearing his name from you in such a way elicits a choked “fuck” from him, before a rush of breath as he instantly recognizes the need in your voice.

His thrusts became less steady, more demanding, a low groan from his mouth watching you under him, his hair wild and falling in his face as he doesn't dream of stopping.

Your body seizes, nails digging into his skin, and nothing can compare to the wave of nerve endings firing, penetrating each of your senses.

He holds you through it, pressing deeper into you as you writhe against him

And then suddenly he slams flush against you, a groan of your name as he comes hard and fast. The arm that holds him up is shaking as he huffs, a few tremors working through him in the aftermath. He falls against you in an ethereal haze.

You're both recovering, lost in the haze, the smell of the both of you taking over your small hideaway.

He turns towards you, his smile uneven. You smile back, brushing his hair gently out of his face.

“.....I do feel much better now.” You whisper cheekily, and he huffs a small laugh,

“Mhm.” He tugs you back over for a few more cuddles, glad to hide away from the rest of the world with you as long as you could.

#garreth weasley #weasley wednesday #garreth weasley smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy fanficiton #garreth weasley fanfiction #y/n

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