#There are tears of/for things and mortal things touch the mind

[thinkingimages]

Lacrimae rerum (1962) directed by Nikos Nikolaidis

[buttercandy16]

Bound by Death

PAIRING(s): Dark!Rio Vidal x Innocent!Reader

SUMMARY: An innocent witch falls prey to Lady Death's obsession, trapped in a dark web of desire and control.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Control, Noncon, DarkThemes, Degradation, StockholmSyndrome.

A/N: Requested 💚

You didn’t mean to call her. Summoning Lady Death herself was the last thing on your mind. You weren’t powerful enough—at least, that’s what your sister, Lilia, always told you. “Stick to the basics,” she’d said, her voice both patient and stern. “You’re not ready for the deeper arts.”

But your curiosity was insatiable. What harm could a little experimenting do?

It was supposed to be a simple spell—an offering of gratitude to the spirits of the wood. You gathered the ingredients meticulously, whispered the incantations carefully, and poured your heart into the ritual. The forest had been quiet and still, save for the flickering of your candle and the rustle of leaves.

Until she appeared.

At first, you thought she was a shadow—a trick of the waning light. Then she stepped closer, her dark cloak billowing in an unseen wind, her face illuminated by an unearthly glow. The air grew frigid, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, and her voice sliced through the silence like a blade.

“You called me.”

You stumbled back, your knees weak. “I-I didn’t mean to...”

Her eyes locked onto yours—silver and endless, holding the weight of eternity. Rio Vidal, the Reaper, the Lady of Death. Her beauty was terrifying, her presence suffocating. She stepped closer, a crooked smile curving her lips.

“Didn’t mean to?” she repeated, her voice low and mocking. “Oh, little witch, you can’t undo what you’ve done. You sought something, didn’t you?”

You shook your head desperately. “It was a mistake! Please, I didn’t—”

Her fingers brushed your cheek, the coldness of her touch stealing the air from your lungs. “Don’t lie to me, mi pequeña hechicera.” Her tone was almost gentle, but her grip tightened, forcing you to meet her gaze. “You wanted power, didn’t you?”

“No! I just... I wanted to give thanks!”

She laughed—a sound that chilled you more than her touch. “So innocent,” she mused, her eyes scanning you like a predator sizing up its prey. “But you’ve caught my attention now. That’s a rare thing, little witch. And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

The days that followed were a blur. You told Lilia what had happened, but she brushed it off as a fluke. “The veil is thin this time of year,” she said, her tone dismissive. “Spirits drift in and out. As long as you haven’t made a pact, you’ll be fine.”

But you weren’t fine.

Rio appeared everywhere: in your dreams, in the shadows of your home, even in the mirror when you glanced too long. Her voice whispered through the night, taunting and commanding.

“You can’t run from me,” she’d say.

She visited often, her presence growing more physical, more consuming. She’d appear in the garden while you tended the herbs, her cold fingers trailing down your arm as she made idle conversation about mortality and devotion. She took pleasure in your discomfort, in the way you squirmed under her gaze.

Lilia began to notice your growing paranoia. “You’re restless,” she said one morning, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “You’re always looking over your shoulder.”

You didn’t tell her about the mark Rio had left on your wrist—a faint sigil that burned cold to the touch. “It’s nothing,” you lied, though the truth sat heavy in your chest.

That night, Rio came to you again, this time at your bedside. She sat at the edge, her cloak cascading like ink across the floor. Her hand rested against your leg, deceptively gentle, but her grip left no room for escape.

“You’re wasting your time pretending you can avoid me,” she said, her tone soft but laced with menace.

“What do you want from me?” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes.

Her smile was slow, predatory. “I want you. All of you. Your loyalty, your magic, your very soul if I decide I want it.” Her fingers traced up your arm, cold and deliberate. “But don’t worry, little witch. I’ll take good care of you. You’ll see.”

“I don’t want this,” you said, though your voice shook with the weight of her presence.

Her eyes darkened, and the room seemed to pulse with her energy. She leaned closer, her face inches from yours. “What you want doesn’t matter, mi amor. You’re mine now.”

She pressed a cold kiss to your forehead, and the darkness claimed you.

Waking up the next morning felt like surfacing from a deep, suffocating sea. The sunlight streaming through your window seemed sharper, almost invasive. But no matter how bright the day, you couldn't shake the chill in your bones.

Rio's words echoed in your mind: "You're mine now."

Your hand strayed to your wrist where her mark lay, a sigil faint yet undeniable. You’d hoped it would fade like some lingering nightmare, but it burned ice-cold beneath your touch, a tether you couldn’t sever.

Lilia's voice startled you as she called from the kitchen. "You’re up early," she said as you shuffled in, your unease masked by the calm of routine. She didn’t know what lurked in the shadows. She couldn’t see how the air felt heavier, how it seemed charged with an oppressive, otherworldly energy.

You didn’t tell her. How could you? Lilia had always been the stronger one—both in magic and temperament. But this? Even her power seemed insignificant compared to Rio’s suffocating presence.

"Couldn’t sleep," you muttered, avoiding her gaze as you poured a cup of tea.

Her eyes narrowed. “Have you been dabbling again?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

You shook your head quickly. "No! I..." The lie almost choked you. You turned away before she could question further.

But that night, Rio returned.

This time, she didn’t wait for your compliance or conversation. You felt her before you saw her: the air in your room grew frigid, your breath misting as shadows coalesced at the foot of your bed. When she appeared, her form was draped in dark elegance, her silver eyes alight with a predatory gleam.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” she said, her voice low and intimate.

“I wasn’t trying to summon you,” you protested, your hands clenching the blanket tightly.

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it,” she replied, tilting her head. “You don’t have to. You and I are connected now, little witch. Did you really think you could make a call to the beyond and walk away unscathed?”

You stared at her, your voice caught in your throat.

She stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring every step that brought her nearer to you. Her cold fingers brushed your chin, forcing you to meet her piercing gaze.

“You don’t understand yet,” she murmured, her voice a dark lullaby. “But you will.”

"Understand what?" you whispered, your voice trembling.

"That you were meant to be mine," she said, her lips curving into a smile that was equal parts alluring and terrifying. "I’ve taken kings, queens, and warriors. But you?” Her hand moved to cradle your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly across your skin. “You’ll be my greatest treasure."

Tears welled in your eyes as her words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a suffocating fog. “Please, let me go,” you whispered.

Her laugh was soft and cruel. “Oh, little one, I am letting you go. For now. But you’ll come to me willingly. You’ll see that no one else can give you what I can.”

Before you could protest, she leaned closer, her cold lips grazing your ear. “Don’t fight it,” she whispered. “It’s so much sweeter when you surrender.”

And just as quickly as she appeared, she vanished, leaving you alone in the chilling silence of your room.

But the mark on your wrist pulsed faintly, a reminder that her claim on you was far from over.

The following days blurred together in a haze of paranoia and unease. Rio’s presence was no longer a subtle weight lingering at the edges of your consciousness; it was suffocating. She came and went as she pleased, making herself a constant in your life whether you wanted it or not.

It was on one of those nights, when you were too tired to fight sleep, that she made her move.

Your room was pitch dark, the stillness broken only by the faint rustle of the wind outside. A frigid touch on your ankle jolted you awake, and there she was—seated on the edge of your bed, her silhouette illuminated by the pale moonlight spilling through the curtains.

"Did I startle you, mi pequeña bruja?" she murmured, a sly smile pulling at her lips.

"Get out," you said, voice trembling but firm. "You're not welcome here."

Rio tilted her head, her silver eyes glinting as though your defiance amused her. "Oh, but I don’t need permission anymore. You already belong to me."

She leaned forward, her fingers ghosting over your arm, cold and unnervingly gentle. "Why do you keep fighting when it only makes things harder for you?" Her voice was deceptively soothing, like the calm before a storm.

"I don't want any of this," you snapped, pulling your arm away.

Her smirk darkened. "You don't know what you want."

With a flick of her wrist, the mark on your skin flared icy blue, a sharp, stinging reminder of the bond she’d tethered to you. Your gasp of pain made her smile widen.

"You’re so delicate," she purred, her hand moving to cradle your face. "So easily broken. But don’t worry, mi amor, I’ll take care of you."

Her touch traveled lower, fingers brushing over your collarbone. It wasn’t tender, not really. It felt more like a claim—a slow, deliberate reminder of who held the power. You wanted to recoil, to push her away, but your body betrayed you. Whether it was fear, magic, or something darker, you stayed frozen under her gaze.

"Such a sweet little thing," she murmured, leaning down until her face was only inches from yours. Her breath was cold against your skin, sending chills racing down your spine. "Fighting me won’t work, little one. You’ll see soon enough... submission will feel so much better."

“Rio...” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

"Shh," she cooed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "No need to speak. Just listen. Feel."

Her lips hovered over yours, teasingly close, but she didn’t press forward. Instead, she shifted to your neck, her cold lips grazing your skin. It wasn’t gentle; it felt calculated, like she wanted to leave an impression that would haunt you long after she was gone.

"You can run from others," she said against your skin, her voice low and dangerous, "but you can’t run from me. I am death. I am the end and the beginning. You’ll find no escape, only inevitability."

Tears welled in your eyes, frustration and fear mingling into a knot in your chest. "Please..."

"Please, what?" she asked, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes held a wicked gleam, and her lips curled into a smirk. "You don’t even know what you’re asking for, little witch. But I’ll give you what you need—even if you’re too afraid to see it now."

Her thumb brushed across your lower lip, and the intimate gesture sent a shiver down your spine. She smiled at your reaction, clearly pleased by your discomfort.

"I’ll come for you again soon," she whispered, pressing a final, icy kiss to your forehead before vanishing into the shadows.

You were left trembling and alone, the cold feeling of her touch lingering long after she’d gone.

Things started to turn for the worse.

It started small—your spells backfiring, draining your energy faster than they should. Then there were the whispers that filled the silences, impossible to ignore. They weaved promises and threats into your mind:

"You’ll never be safe without me."

"You’re too fragile for this world."

"Submit, and I’ll give you everything you’ve ever desired."

Your independence chipped away with every moment you spent second-guessing yourself.

It was Lilia who first noticed. “Your magic is unraveling,” she said one evening, her brow furrowed in concern as she studied you. “You need to center yourself. What’s happening?”

You bit your lip, unwilling to tell her. If she knew Rio had staked a claim on you, she’d try to intervene—and that terrified you. What could even Lilia, with all her skill and confidence, do against someone like Rio? You’d seen what she was capable of. The mere thought of angering her again sent chills racing through you.

“I’ll figure it out,” you lied. “It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

One quiet evening, you sat on the floor of the cottage, sifting through spellbooks in a desperate attempt to find a way to break Rio’s mark. The text in front of you blurred as exhaustion overtook your focus, but as you pushed yourself harder, the candles in the room flickered.

And there she was.

“Still trying to fight me?” Rio’s voice sent a sharp stab of panic through your chest.

Your head shot up, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. She stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. She looked almost amused as her silver eyes tracked your every move.

"You shouldn’t overwork yourself, mi bruja," she chided, stepping into the room with a predatory grace. "It’s adorable that you’re trying, though."

“Why?” The question burst out of you, raw and desperate. “Why me? I’m nobody—nothing compared to what you are. Just leave me alone!”

Rio’s expression softened, but not in the comforting way you’d hoped. It was mocking, tinged with something cruelly possessive. She crouched down in front of you, one hand tilting your face toward her.

“Nothing? You’re far from nothing,” she said, her voice quiet, dangerous. “You’re mine. And I take very good care of what’s mine.”

She held your gaze, her thumb brushing over your cheek as her hand cradled your face. The touch felt deceptively soft, but you knew better by now. You flinched, trying to pull away, but she grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“Do you understand what I’ve done for you?” Her tone was still soft, almost coaxing. “I’ve been patient. I’ve let you run around, pretending you have a choice. But you’re so fragile, little one. Look at you—drained, lost, stumbling around like a child in the dark.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t need you.”

Rio smiled, and it chilled you to the core. “You already do,” she said simply.

She waved her hand, and the mark on your wrist burned cold. You gasped in pain, the chill spreading through your arm and radiating into your chest. Your mind swam with an overwhelming sense of loss, fear, and longing—emotions you couldn’t separate from each other anymore.

“Every time you resist me, this world will hurt you more,” Rio said, her tone matter-of-fact. “But I can give you strength, protection, peace. All you have to do is let me in.”

When she released you, the weight of her absence felt like a part of you had been torn away. It was the cruelest trick—making you long for her presence just to feel whole.

“I’ll come back when you’re ready,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of a promise. “And trust me, you will be ready soon.”

You curled into yourself as she disappeared, your tears falling freely. Deep down, you realized she was twisting something inside you, warping your resolve piece by piece.

And you hated that it was working.

The days that followed were a blur of fear, anger, and desperation. You threw yourself into research, scouring every book, every scrap of magical knowledge you could find. Somewhere, there had to be a way to undo Rio's mark—a way to sever the connection that bound her to you.

You thought you could handle it alone. But the strain wore at you, gnawing away at your confidence. The more you tried to use magic, the more you felt the weight of her influence. Every spell fizzled out, every incantation felt heavier, harder to manage. The mark on your wrist would burn whenever you pushed too hard, as if Rio were reminding you of her presence, taunting you from afar.

Lilia was beginning to notice the cracks in your facade. Her watchful eyes lingered on you longer than they used to, her questions more pointed.

"You’re restless," she said one evening as the two of you shared dinner. "Something’s wrong, and it’s not just the magic. Tell me what’s going on."

"I told you, I’m fine," you muttered, stabbing at your plate without appetite.

"You’re not fine," she shot back, her voice firm but not unkind. "I’ve seen the way your spells falter, how distracted you’ve been. This isn’t just fatigue, is it?"

You clenched your fists, your mind racing for an excuse, but nothing felt believable enough. The truth clawed at your throat, but you swallowed it down. If you told her about Rio, she’d try to intervene. She’d confront her, and that... that terrified you more than anything.

"I just need time," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

But time wasn’t on your side.

That night, you tried again—a simple purification spell, something Lilia had taught you years ago. You whispered the words with as much conviction as you could muster, pouring all of your focus into the magic. But no sooner had the energy begun to flow than the mark on your wrist ignited in sharp, icy pain.

Your concentration shattered, the spell sputtering out like a candle in the wind.

You spun around to find Rio standing in the corner of the room, her presence dominating the space. Her silver eyes gleamed in the dim light, a predatory smile playing on her lips.

"I won’t let you control me," you said, your voice shaking but resolute.

Rio’s smile faltered, and for a moment, her eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, disappointment, or perhaps something deeper.

"Oh, little witch," she said, her voice lowering as she stepped even closer. “This isn’t control. It’s inevitability. The sooner you accept that, the less this will hurt.”

She reached for your wrist, her fingers brushing over the mark. You tried to pull away, but her grip tightened like a vice, cold and unyielding.

“This bond between us? It’s permanent. You can run, you can scream, you can even try to break it. But in the end, you’ll realize there’s no escaping me.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, not just because of their weight, but because part of you believed her.

“I don’t want this,” you said, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Her expression softened in a way that felt almost genuine. “You think you don’t,” she said softly. “But I see what you need—what you crave. Protection. Purpose. Someone who will never leave you, no matter what. And that someone is me.”

Her hand moved to cup your cheek, her cold touch sending a jolt of conflicting emotions through you. You hated how your body froze under her gaze, how her words seeped into the cracks in your resolve.

"You’re lying," you managed to say, though your voice wavered.

"Am I?" she asked, tilting her head. "Then why haven’t you told your sister about me? Why haven’t you begged her to save you?"

Your breath hitched.

Rio’s smile returned, slow and knowing. "Because deep down, you already know the truth. You can’t live without me now, little one. And the longer you fight it, the more painful it will be."

Her lips ghosted over your forehead in a mockery of tenderness. “Don’t worry, my darling. I’m patient. I’ll wait until you finally understand.”

And then, just like that, she was gone, leaving you trembling and alone, the echoes of her voice ringing in your mind.

As much as you wanted to deny it, there was a part of you—buried deep and growing louder—that couldn’t help but wonder if she was right.

The days blurred into weeks, each one more suffocating than the last. Rio’s words haunted you, weaving their way through your thoughts, tangling with your fears, and distorting your sense of reality. You tried to keep your distance from her, to focus on breaking free, but every step you took seemed to bring her closer, as though she were guiding you down a path only she could see.

Lilia began to notice. She asked more pointed questions, spent more time watching you. "You’re withdrawing," she said one evening, her gaze steady. "It’s like something is... draining you."

You tried to smile, to lie like you always did, but the exhaustion was etched into every corner of your being. Your spells continued to fail. Your magic, once vibrant and alive, was now a hollow, unpredictable force. And in your weakest moments, you thought about her—Rio, her promises, her cold, comforting touch. It disgusted you, terrified you. But it was impossible to ignore.

You closed your eyes tight, shaking your head against her words. But when you opened them, she was there, seated in the chair by the window as though she had always been part of the room. Her silver eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, her presence commanding every inch of space.

"I see the cracks forming," she said softly, rising from her seat. She moved to the bed, her steps deliberate, graceful, like a predator approaching wounded prey.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. Her touch was cold but grounding, anchoring you in a way you couldn’t explain. She leaned closer, her presence overwhelming, her scent intoxicating despite the chill that radiated from her.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your temple. “Say it.”

“I’m not...” you tried to say, but the words faltered. Your resolve was crumbling, the weight of her presence too much to bear.

Tears brimmed in your eyes, frustration boiling over. “You’ve taken everything from me! My magic, my freedom, my mind—you’ve ruined me!”

For a moment, something shifted in Rio’s expression. Regret? No, it was something darker—possessive satisfaction. "I didn’t ruin you," she said softly. "I saved you. You just haven’t accepted it yet."

Her grip tightened, her nails digging into your skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who was in control. "You’ve been trying so hard to hold on to who you were, but that girl is gone, my love. There’s no place for her in my world. Only the new you—the one I’m creating."

“I don’t want to be yours!” you screamed, your voice cracking.

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she smiled, the calm, knowing smile of someone who already knew how this story ended. "Oh, but you are. Deep down, you’ve already given yourself to me. That’s why you’re so afraid, isn’t it? You’ve realized there’s no way back."

Her lips brushed your temple, cold and cruel. You tried to turn away, but she held you firm, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Soon, you won’t even want to fight me.”

That was it. Something inside you snapped.

“No!” you screamed, shoving her away with every ounce of strength you had left. She stumbled back a step, her eyes widening—not in anger, but surprise.

You turned and ran.

You tore through the cottage, your feet pounding against the floorboards. Your mind was a whirlwind of fear and fury. You didn’t care where you were going, only that you had to get away from her.

But no matter how fast you ran, the air grew colder. The shadows seemed to chase you, reaching out with invisible fingers. And then you heard her voice, calm and unbothered, echoing through the halls.

"Where are you going, mi bruja? There’s nowhere you can run."

You reached the back door, flinging it open into the storm outside. Rain lashed at your face, but you didn’t stop. You stumbled into the forest, your lungs burning, your clothes soaked to the skin.

For a brief, desperate moment, you thought you might escape. But then she appeared, stepping out of the shadows as if she had always been there, waiting for you to fall.

Her hair was untouched by the storm, her dress pristine despite the mud and rain. She was perfect, unyielding, and terrifying.

"Running from me," she said softly, tilting her head. "Such a waste of energy, my little witch."

You dropped to your knees, sobs wracking your body. “What do you want from me?” you choked out, your voice barely audible over the storm.

Rio knelt before you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Her touch was cold as ever, but this time, it felt like surrender.

“I want you,” she said simply, her voice steady. “Completely. Your mind, your body, your soul. No resistance. No hesitation. Only me.”

Her silver eyes bore into yours, unrelenting. “And you’ll give it to me. Maybe not today, but soon. You can fight, you can scream, but in the end, you’ll see. You’ll belong to me.”

You wanted to deny her, to scream that she was wrong. But as her cold embrace closed around you, your resolve wavered. Deep down, a terrifying truth was beginning to take root.

What if she was right?

What if she already had you?

The storm outside had long subsided, but inside, the air hung heavy with an ominous stillness. Rio stood before you in the dimly lit room, her patience worn thin, the faint amusement she often carried replaced with a chilling determination.

"I’ve given you every chance to accept the inevitable," she said, her voice devoid of the feigned gentleness she had once used to coax you. "But your stubbornness has tested my patience for the last time."

Her words chilled you to the bone, but you refused to respond, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor as if defiance alone could shield you from her power.

"You want to run, don’t you?" Rio continued, stepping closer. Her footsteps echoed like a countdown, each step pulling you further into the abyss. "But even now, you’re beginning to realize how futile that is. Still, you force my hand."

Before you could move, her cold, ghostly grip was on your wrist, the mark she had burned into your skin igniting with searing pain. You gasped, the agony buckling your knees, but she didn’t relent.

“You will break, mi bruja, and I will be the one to mold the pieces.” Her silver eyes bore into yours, devoid of mercy, her grip like steel.

You struggled weakly, your magic sputtering like dying embers, but Rio’s hold was suffocating, her aura pressing against you like an iron vice.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” she murmured, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. “But you’ve left me no choice.”

A swirling darkness spread from her fingertips, creeping up your arm like tendrils of night. It burned and froze at the same time, sinking into your very soul, wrapping around your mind with suffocating intensity. You gasped, clawing at her arm, but there was no escaping it.

The mark on your wrist seemed to come alive, glowing a sinister black-red as Rio leaned closer, her voice wrapping around you like the enchantment it was.

"Let go," she whispered. “Let me in, or I will take what I want, no matter how much it hurts you.”

Her free hand trailed up to your face, her cold touch sending waves of chilling energy through your body. It wasn’t gentle—her fingers dug into your skin, possessive and unyielding. She forced you to meet her gaze, her silver eyes alight with dark promise.

“You’ve fought so hard, little witch,” she said softly, brushing a tear from your cheek with her thumb. “But that fight ends now. You will give me everything.”

The tendrils of dark magic tightened their grip, pushing into your thoughts, your memories, your very essence. Your protests died in your throat as she overwhelmed you, her presence filling every corner of your being.

"You will beg me for release," she hissed, her lips brushing against your ear. "You will cry for me, call for me, and when you’re too broken to fight, you will thank me for taking what was always mine."

Something deep within you cracked under the weight of her will, her magic, her voice. The resistance you had clung to so fiercely now seemed pointless, your very self slipping through your grasp like sand in a tide.

As your vision blurred, Rio’s lips curled into a victorious smile. “That’s it,” she said softly. “Finally, you understand.”

Your body trembled, weak and defenseless, as the last vestiges of defiance crumbled. The dark tendrils enveloped you fully, binding you to her completely, until there was nothing left but her cold embrace.

You didn’t know when the tears stopped, or when the weight in your chest gave way to hollow acceptance. But as Rio cradled you against her, her grip like a chain and her smile like a noose, you realized the fight was over.

You were hers. Completely.

_-_-_

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[zhongrin]

zhongrin © 2024 ❥ do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or feed into ai.

i'm tired, darling.

featuring... ❥ zhongli, al haitham, jing yuan, blade

involves... ❥ hurt/comfort(-ish), implied self-harm, suicidal thoughts/behavior, probably incoherent, not proofread

through the thousands years of his life, through the plethora of sounds that could bring both fear and sadness to the god of stone’s heart, one stands out most; and he is forced to relive this moment as his ears picked up your heart-wrenching wail and loud sobs from the bedroom. he pays no mind to the clatter of his shoes nor the crumple of his signature coat to the floor, missing its intended place at the coat hanger. all he knows is that you’re in pain — his mate is in pain.

zhongli finds you curled in your nest, trembling and buying your head into your favorite pillow. his chest tightens when you peek at him, and he sees the rain of tears staining your cheeks, eyelashes matted and lips quivering. a variety of emotions wells inside him, but he’s sure it’s nowhere near intense as what you’re experiencing right now.

“darling…,” your husband whispers, stepping closer slowly, reaching forward cautiously like he’s approaching a wounded animal, “can i come closer?”

you can’t seem to reply, busy hiccuping and teetering the edges of hyperventilating. wilting and rotting like a flower that’s been rained for far too long. struggling to stay alive, and yet the petals are falling, the leaves crushed, the thin stem drooping.

your skin is marred, and in turn a pained frown mar his face. his gloves are taken off haphazardly, and they gently settle on your back, trying to rub soothing patterns. he knows not to speak, yet he makes sure you won’t be in further danger for yourself.

it’s a slow process, for you to unlatch yourself from the pillow and delve into his embrace instead. but when you finally do after a series of patient coaxing and comforting touches, he holds you tighter.

just hold on, please just hold on. his warm hand cradles your nape, reassuring and solid, while the other squeezes against the flesh of your back. this too shall pass. his lips press against your shoulder; reverent, loving, apologetic. i love you.

for a man who has his way with words, there are just as many unspoken words in each of his silent actions. he can only hope it's enough to tide you for tonight. at least for tonight.

“everything hurts.”

“i don’t know what's wrong.”

“i’m so tired.”

there are many things al haitham knows the answer to. those that he doesn't would normally require some deep research, but at the end of the day he comes out a renewed man who could potentially give a few presentations about said topic if he so wished. but matters of the heart are notoriously fickle, complicated, and perhaps ironically beyond human understanding.

“i don’t know how you can help. i don't know how to even help myself.”

all he can do is hold you, and he is plunged into the enlightening pit that is the realization about the powerlessness of a mortal, as he feels the shaking of your body within his arms. the sharp mind he is often praised and insulted for and the body he trains daily for precautions are useless against this intangible enemy.

what was he to say? “it’s okay”? when he couldn’t guarantee that it would be? “you’ll be okay”? wouldn’t that imply you should have the capability to make yourself okay? “it’ll get better”? wouldn’t it be overly optimistic and naive to believe the world will just somehow align itself to pave a path of flowers for you?

too many uncertainties. too lacking of valid evidences to support his case. broken and as worn out as you may be, you are not a fool, and such is a trait that he will continue to adore about you. the treatment as an equal is what you deserve, even when you’re in your lowest moment.

so he settles with something he knows will be factually true and has a complete control over:

“i’m always here for you.”

everyone equates silence to peace, yet often fails to account silence as suffering.

centuries of living, and jing yuan too manages to make the same mistake. there’s something haunting about the way you lay on your shared bed today. and now that he thinks about it more, yesterday… and the days before, too. something unnatural in your smiles, in the way it slips far too quickly and the way you always close your eyes, as if to hide something. the way you keep your nails short, the nail clipper making itself home on your nightstand and used every morning and every night, almost in desperation. the nights where he would fall asleep to your snore are quiet: the room listens to his breaths and the tranquil chirps of the cicadas outside.

silence.

silence.

silence.

silence.

“darling, something’s wrong, and you’re not telling me.”

you look at him like you’re tired of life itself, and his heart freezes. in a second, he drops onto the bed and cups your cheek. by now you should have berated him not to wear his work clothes and climb onto bed with them, and yet all he’s met with is

silence.

and a shaky breath, before you finally speak, soft and uncertain and numb.

“why can’t it all just end, yuan?”

he can give you a hundred reasons. because it means he won’t be able to see you smile anymore. because it means he won’t be able to make you laugh. because it means he won’t be able to kiss you, make love to you, treat you like the priceless treasure…

… that he has utterly failed to do.

“i’m sorry, darling. i was ignorant. when did this start?” he pleads. the man commanding an entire ship that may as well be a nation in itself grovels willingly before you, his hand cradling yours before bringing it up to his lips. your knight nuzzles your palm, observes the way your eyes turns glassy, a tear slowly sliding down your temple onto the halo of your hair.

“let’s end this silence and talk to me…. please?”

“countless times. countless. times…,” his breath shudders, jaw clenching before his lips reopen, “… you tell me, again and again, to be careful with my body. and yet i come back to see this…”

blade’s breath hitches, and perhaps a stab to the heart would be less painful than the way his body seizes up with hurt at the way you promptly apologize, with those godforsaken tears continuing to make a stream of sadness stain your cheeks.

he’s always seen you as a tempered steel, resilient and sharp, yet comforting and reassuring. the star to his night, illuminating and guiding. the sun in his orbit, ever present and shining so brightly.

he forgets that even the strongest blades, too, can break. that any stars can disappear in an instant by a supernova. that a sun continuously burns itself just to shine and will one day, too, burn out like a fizzling candle.

your voice is as cracked as the weapon he wields and it cuts deeper into the scarred remains of his cursed heart. he swallows thickly, yet the lump in his throat refuses to cease. rough hands tightening before his arms bring you into a painful embrace. just like the way you hold him whenever the nightmares visit. he tries to wipe your crystalline tears with his fingers, watches sorrowfully as your swollen eyes glazes and the whites of your eyes fills with red lines. the grief you experience is harrowing, and he wonders if this is how you feel whenever you see him suffer: powerless, bleak, tortured.

“don’t cry.” would it truly suffice to just hold you like this?

“don’t cry.” would it be better to kill everything you’ve ever interacted with so you won’t be hurt further?

“don’t cry.” would it be better to remove himself from your life…?

“i’ll give you everything,” he finds his own voice break, “everything… so please stop crying.”

[dark-and-kawaii]

bg3 men of your choosing and kinks?

Notes: Yummy!!! I got you dear anon xoxo

⟡ Characters: Halsin - Gale - Zevlor - Haarlep - Raphael - Wyll - Rolan

⟡ Content: NSFW - Kinks - Lots Of Kinks

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Zevlor loves a good creampie. Like, please let this old man cum deep within you!!! It will literally make him go insane, his tail thrashing around behind him as he fills you so full of his seed. Especially if you let me do it after only just meeting. It’s been so long since he’s felt such warmth envelop his cock. Gods, and when he sees the way his white milky substance leaks out of you afterwards… it’s enough to keep him hard and wanting to go at it again. Maybe it’s part of the breeding kink he has, the dire need- of wanting a family to call his own. And you just look so pretty like this- with your legs spread and his cum spilling out.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Haarlep is an incubus, a demon- a chaotic being so of course dacryphilia. Whether you’re crying from his cock stretching you or crying from the way this creature overstimulates you- he relishes in it. Haarlep adores taunting you, always adding a hint of mockery to his coos, “Awh my little Dove, does it hurt?” Before leaning down to lick away the tears running down that pretty face of yours he loves so much. “Or is it simply too much for your mortal body to endure?” As he lets out a wicked laugh, flashing you his infamous smirk.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Rolan not only enjoys overstimulating you, but also craves being overstimulated himself. This grumpy tiefling wizard has more depth than meets the eye. He’s so pent up from studying and perfecting new spells that when he finally gets his hands on you he’s using your body as a means of release. He unleashes all his frustrations on your tight little fuck hole, pounding you relentlessly with his cock. Bullying that body of yours until you’re nothing more than a babbling mess with your tongue lolled out, until his body gives up on him, collapsing on top of you, gasping for breath. The slightest touch sending his body into shock.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Raphael is a cocky bastard, and everyone knows this. Gets off on denying you your orgasm. Loves being in control of your body, mind, and soul- the devil will wait until you’re begging for him to give you your release- begging for his cock acknowledging that only he can bring you such intense pleasure. Telling him that no one- nor anything matters, only him. Once you’ve pleaded enough, he’ll express how satisfied he is with your obedience and will hint at granting you that long awaited release.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Wyll adores praising you, worshipping you in your intimate moments. He genuinely worshiped every aspect of you, even finding all your imperfections incredibly beautiful. Especially if you have a scar, no matter how small or large, he’ll lovingly kiss along it. And he takes such delight in receiving the same level of adoration from you, as you worship his cock, the very cock that causes your toes to curl and your body to writhe beneath him.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Listen, Halsin sometimes involuntarily shifts into a bear, and he always apologizes for it. But if you accept him for who he truly is, Gods he’ll be utterly smitten with you. As things start to get a bit more steamy his body begins to glow as he transforms into his bear shape. But, if you playfully giggle at him and start to run, enticing him to chase you by wiggling your finger, oh yes, it will not only arouse him further to chase you, but also show him you’re open to some unconventional foreplay. Being a bear he’ll eventually catch up to you and pounce on you as gently as he can. It’s so endearing to him how you softly plead, “oh no~ plllleeeease~ someone help~” as your fingers run through his fur.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Gale is so cute, he just absolutely craves the sensation of your fingers tugging at his hair while you ride his face. He always smiles while probing you with his tongue when he feels your nails digging into his scalp as his stubble tickles between your thighs. And when it comes to your hair, well you best believe this man takes joy in giving a gentle tug here and there. Not too rough, but enough to crane your neck back so that he can lock eyes with you before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

[norikuna]

GOO GOO MUCK — jujutsu kaisen x reader an upcoming series ! & masterlist

my mind turns your life into folklore...

prologue. → choose a storybook to open. aka my mythos take on jujutsu kaisen.

pairings. serpent king!suguru geto x reader / minotaur!yuuji itadori x reader / demon king!ryomen sukuna x reader / god of war!toji fushiguro x reader / vampire!choso kamo x reader / grim reaper!nanami kento x reader / kitsune!megumi fushiguro x reader / king of the dragons!gojo satoru x reader

song inspiration. goo goo muck — the cramps

a/n. these were going to be smút fics at first but i was keen for the yuji & megumi stories, which would always be sfw.

ask/comment/dm to be added to a taglist 🩵

mp3. when the sun goes down, and the moon comes up, i turn into a teenage goo goo muck!

TABLE OF CONTENTS (to be updated regularly!)

I. ITADORI YŪJI x royal!reader— the minotaur SFW the lower part a beast, a man above. the monument of their polluted love. (virgil's aeneid)

II. GETŌ SUGURU x deity!reader — the serpent king SUGGESTIVE i'm restless and harsh and despairing. although i do have love inside me. i just don't know how to use love. sometimes it tears at my flesh, like barbs. (clarice lispector)

III. RYŌMEN SUKUNA x villager!reader — the demon SUGGESTIVE as if he heard me, he smiled. and his face was like the sun. (the song of achilles / madeline miller)

IV. FUSHIGURO TŌJI x warrior!reader — the patron god of war and fallen warriors fallin' down like dominoes, hit by family jewels. pass it down from kid to kid, the chain will never end. (marina and the diamonds)

V. CHŌSŌ KAMO x betrothed!reader — the vampire prince when you're away, i manage to forget you. one touch of your hand, and god comes rushing back. the borgias: 3.10 - the prince (2013)

VI. NANAMI KENTO x mortal!reader — the grim reaper i invented a world because death is unknowable, and someone i loved was about to live there. (the garden of death / ramona ausubel)

VII. MEGUMI FUSHIGURO x assassin!reader — the kitsune "i love you," daedelus said. "it is hard for me to say, because sometimes it doesn't seem like it is enough." (tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow / gabrielle zevin)

VIII. GOJŌ SATORU x rival!reader — the king of the dragons [he] called the great council to ensure that his succession would be conferred in peace. for he knew the cold truth: the only thing that could tear down the house of the dragon was itself. / the house of the dragon: 1.01 - the heirs of the dragon (2022)

[grugruel]

ok hi! I woke up in the middle of the night and I had this amazing idea and I immediately thought about you, anyways.

We/reader?? Are married to Jayce and we wake up in the middle of the night because we are sweating and shit, so we take off our shirt and are now completely topless, Jayce wakes up and tries to persuade you to lay back in bed, so you turn around and he notices we are topless and boom! Evolves into smut.

I deeply apologise if this is too vague or too detailed…

Yes ofc! It's kind of short, and I took some creative liberties since the smut wasn't specified. But I hope you like it!😩

Taking Care of You

Pairings: ruined!jayce x wife!f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: After waking up from a nightmare, your husband comforts you. But as the bedroom grows cold, he finds himself in need of warming you up.

Wordcount: ca 1.3

Warnings: shower sex, pinv sex, petnames (honey, baby), creampie, praise ish, I love you's, domestic bliss.

AN: I've never been a "baby" girl, but this did sum.

Images flash by her eyes. Warped, iridescent structures and faceless humanoids devoid of mortality.

Crowding, they gather around her. Like schools of fish, no space, no breath. Stripped of flesh and blood, porcelain hands reach for her as they clank and clatter freakishly. She can feel their cold on her body, tearing and yanking, some steadying while other strive to push her off balance.

Suddenly, gold bejewled fingers lunge from the masses and lock around her throat. Small beauty mixing in with the cold horror. The fingers sinch, squeezing until-

She gasps, and her body acts in pure reflex. Throwing herself up, she scans the darkness surrounding her, chest heaving in panic.

But within a mixture of drowsyness and disorientation, her mind hasn't caught up. She doesnt know whats real. Her ears are ringing and cold sweat covers her body, drenching her top as the walls close in around her. Its suffocating her, she claws at her chest. She cant breathe, she cant breathe.

Amidst the confusion, her top pulls off and a touch and ice traces her skin. Her eyes widen in fear and launch into blind defense, mirthlessly slapping and pushing the creature away from her.

The streak of cold runs along her arms and cheek. "Hey, hey . . . It's okay," it says, voice finally reaching her as the buzzing of her mind dampens and her eyes adjust to the darkness. "You're alright." The cold brushes her skin, and as reslisation sets in, the sensation anchors her. "Breathe," the voice reminds her, and she does.

Her surroundings begin to materialise. The sheets beneath her, the wallpapered walls, and in front of her . . . Jayce. There are no pale faces, no lifeless fingers clasping at her throat. There's only Jayce.

"It was a nightmare," he whispers. "Nothing more." Strong hands slide down her shoulders, a touch of cool following in their wake. The wedding ring.

"It was-- the hexcore . . . I-" She shakes her head, trying to make sense of the things she'd seen. Looking down, she's notices her hands clasped around Jayce's wrists. Holding him so hard that her fingers turn white from the supression of bloodflow, so hard he might bruise.

But he doesn't complain, he doesn't even flinch.

In horror, she releases him, stiffly unlatching her grip. Like a statue reluctantly discarding a piece of itself.

With soft eyes and knitting brows, he pulls her into his lap, embracing her bridal-style. "Its over, you're safe." He kisses the top of her head.

Resting against his muscular shoulder, she feels the icy ring rub circles into her thigh, soothing her impossibly. "It felt so real," she murmurs.

Jayce nuzzles his face into her hair, taking a deep breath. "I know, honey," he sighs empathetically. The cold slides up her thigh and torso to then finally cradle her head, holding her steady against his chest.

Her gaze fixated on the gentle light billowing in through the windows and the dust particles it illuminates. A cold breeze chills her damp skin, sending a shiver down her spine and hardening her nipples. Following the stream of light, she finds the window noticeably ajar.

"It's cold," she whispers, looking up at him.

His eyes drift along her body, observing her raised skin, then begins to move. "I'll close the-"

"No," she stops him, unable to think of anything worse than leaving his lap in this moment. "Make me warm, Jayce."

He smiles softly. "You'll have to trust me, then."

She nods, and he lifts her off of the bed. There is truly nobody she would trust more.

-

Dimming the lights, candles have been lit and he enters the shower.

The water trickles down her body, running over and in-between every curve, washing her free of foam after Jayce has lathered her up.

He has taken his time to massage the soap into her skin, paying special mind to her breasts, waist and thighs. His hands gentle but firm, working through every knot and washing away every memory of her nightmare.

Lazily, she drapes her arms around his shoulders. "Get me any wetter and you'll have to bathe me," she jokes, and pulls him closer. Leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Now, are you going to do anything about that?" Her hand slips between their bodies, palming the rock hard member beneath his happy-trail.

Meeting her eyes, they glint with mischief. "Yes," he breathes, and she watches the way the water trickle from unkempt hair to his forehead as he pushes her against the wall.

How it makes paths down his face and follows the length of his nose, dripping from it's tip as he kisses her passionately.

How it rolls down his temples, the inside of his cheeks and finally pools beneath his chin as he hooks a hand beneath her leg and lines himself up with her entrance.

How beautifully he glistens in the warm, dim light as he thrusts inside of her, nearly knocking the breath out of her lungs.

Her nails come out, clawing at his back as he sets a steady pace. "Deeper, Jayce. Please," she begs, lips parted and breathless. Water droplets glossing her lips.

Dutiful as he is, he obides. Sliding his arm further through the hollow of her knee, he hooks her leg over his arm to raise it higher, gaining better access to her core, uterus even. Bracing his forearm against the wall next to her head, he pushes himself deeper. Expelling shudders all over his body in the process. "Fuck." He nuzzles his face against her profile. "You feel so good, baby," he whines, kissing the shell of her ear.

The pulse in her abdomen tightens at his words, she could never tire of the way he makes her feel. "More," she manages between moans, she just needs more of him, she wants him beneath her skin if possible. "You're doing so good." Her hand wraps around the back of his head, locking him in her embrace to keep them as close to one another as possible.

At her words, Jayce really puts his back into it. Thrusting ever harder, ever deeper into her body. It scratches her skin against the tile behind her with every thrust, but she doesn't care. A little pain was surely needed to balance out the ungodly pleasure he provided her with.

"Fuck, honey," he moans. "I love you, y-- do me so good."

"Mmm," she hums. Its high pitched, signaling her coming climax. "Almost there, love you too." She knits her brow in concentration and kisses Jayce's temple, purely out of gratitude for being the man he is.

The water pours over them as the pressure snaps and her wall breaks, her orgasm tearing through her like a giant wave. "Yes," she whimpers, tilting Jayce's head to face her. Their lips meeting in a greedy kiss as her exalted moans spilled into his mouth.

Feeling her pulse around his member, hearing her so satisfied. His thrusts go rigid and he spills inside her. With diminishing strength, he slowly lowers her leg and steps back, giving her a final neck on the cheek. "Warm?" He asks, waiting for the judgement of a job well-done or not.

"More than," she kisses his shoulder.

Turning the shower off, he steps out and spreads a towel between his arms expectantly, waiting for her to turn around. As she does so, he notices the scratches on her back. "Shit, Im sorry," he whispers, kissing the red, irritated skin before wrapping her in his embrace. He folds the towel around her like a gift, and rests his chin on her shoulder.

"It felt good, I don't mind."

"Oh?" He raises his eyebrows, a sly smile on his lips.

"Oh," she confirms.

-

[elfiewhore]

You meet an angel. They're the most beautiful creature you've ever seen with porcelain skin and wings with feathers as soft as clouds. Above their head is a gorgeous halo of radiant light. You are immediately enraptured by them.

The angel is curious about the mortal world so you show them all around your street and take them home. You feel embarrassed by all of the kinky shit you have lying around but they simply ask what it is all for.

You explain in much detail as shame wells in your chest and your cheeks burn about how some people enjoy being collared like dogs and others like being struck. You show them your collection of cocks, embarrassingly describing how your people enjoy not only the cocks of humans but those shaped like animals and creatures of myth.

They ask if there are angel dildos, you reply no. They seem disappointed so you offer to let them wear one of your straps to see what it feels like. With some trepidation they accept and soon have a massive silicon dick hanging from their hips.

They ask what they are used for, and you explain. You even offer to let them try, climbing onto the bed and offering up your holes to them. It takes only gentle encouragement before they're slamming into you over and over, stretching you wide as you moan and writhe. They enjoy when you scream "oh god" (it makes the act feel holy) and their unnatural strength makes their thrusts so hard your eyes almost roll back in your head as you cum.

The angel then asks what happened and you explain. The concept seems foreign to them. Angels do not experience such things. At least, they whisper, not in their mortal body. They indicate their halo. That beautiful ring that seems to be glowing even brighter now. You reach up and touch it, and the angel shivers and smiles. Gently you run your fingers around the circle and they let out a whimper that almost sounds pained. You're touching the essence of their being. The body is a projection, the halo is their true self. Your fingers slowly wrap around the halo and their eyes widen and they push you away.

The angel apologizes, to hold them like that would almost be too much. It would feel like controlling them, and they only serve the almighty. You nod along as your mind turns. You spend some time running your fingers along the halo, even pressing a vibrating wand against it which makes them whimper and even let out the most beautiful moan that nearly drives you to tears. Every pose they make is a work of art. Truly they are divine.

You need them. Whether to free them from the control of an uncaring deity or just because you can't bear to lose such a precious creature. You need them.

You continue to edge the angel with toys and fingers and even lapping your drooling tongue along the circle. It tastes like fire and comfort and hope. Your drool turns to gold as it drops onto their face. Eventually you try again, curling just a finger around the rim. They whimper but at this point you had given them so much pleasure they don't, or can't, stop you. You tug on the halo a little and it moves weightlessly, their body following inexorably.

Previously you couldn't get the thing to budge if you tried. But the moment you fully wrap around it, it is yours. The perfect tool of control. And what's more the angel is staring at you now not with confusion or fear but with utter adoring lust. Their tongue is out like a dog. You pull the halo again, yanking hard this time. They fall to the floor beneath it with a yelp of depraved pain. The kind of sound only a pure being could make. The essence of corruption made audible.

You take a leash from your desk. Pulling the angel closer you open the clip and hold it to the ring. You close it.

The angel collapses onto the ground, grasping at their halo in utter and complete ecstasy. Their body convulsing as they moan and whimper and whine and beg and plead and lustfully demand. The whole time the leash held in your hand slowly turning from a simple chain of stainless steel into solid gold inlaid with the most beautiful designs. The leather handle turns pure white. The clip at the end is gone now, the chain is permanently fused to the ring about their head.

The angel relaxes, staring up at you now. Their face the picture of absolute adoration. Worship. Love. Lust. Subservience. You pull on the chain, bringing them closer to you. You grasp their halo and shove it against your crotch, grinding against it lewdly. Utterly claiming it. And then you shove them to the floor and tell them to open their mouth, before riding their face while holding that ring like handlebars.

Angels aren't like you or I. We stole our free will and made our own destiny. We are our own rulers. But an angel? They were made only to serve. They know nothing else.

So why not make them serve you? You'll never find a better fuckdoll.

[suntoru]

❝ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ❞

─ ✰ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: scaramouche thinks you’re an awfully clumsy human being. you’re lucky he loves you just as much as you like to see him suffer.

─ ✰ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, kissing, slight blood (you get hurt), 1.4k words

─ ✰ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this is very half baked ill write more genshin I SWEARRRR

"stupid," scaramouche mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

if you didn't know any better you'd think he was degrading you, but his actions betray his words. though his tone may sound brash and condescending, you've grown accustomed to his prickly demeanor. there's a subtle shift in his voice, a hint of concern mingling with a sense of protectiveness. he squats down right next to where you're clutching your bloody knee.

pulling you snug against his chest, his touch is surprisingly gentle as he carefully inspects the scrape you received from tripping over a rock. despite his initial dismissal, there's a sincerity in his actions that speaks volumes. it's as if beneath his layers of harshness and sarcasm, there lies a genuine desire to ensure your well-being, hidden behind a facade of indifference.

he sighs, tenderly blowing air on the scrape in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. "does it hurt?" he mumbles, his tone attempting to regain some of his abrasive personality. but when it comes to you, he finds it impossible to maintain his usual harshness. you nod softly, your eyes glazed over in a blurry haze, and he can't help but feel a strange sensation in his chest. or rather, the place where he would feel a sensation if he had a heart.

he's at a loss for how to make it feel better, his mildly annoyed faltering in the face of your discomfort. his nose crinkles. if it were him in this situation, he would have brushed it off easily, perhaps even stomped on the flowers in the surrounding area for good measure. a scrape like the one on your knee would be insignificant to him.

but mortals are so fragile, so easily breakable. you cry over small, uncontrollable events, like someone passing away or falling on your knee. you're bad for his health, he swears silently to himself. every time you trip or stumble or shed a tear, he finds himself inexplicably worrying about you. it's a strange feeling, one he's not accustomed to— caring for the emotions of someone other than himself. he doesn't like feeling vulnerable, yet in your presence, vulnerability seems inevitable.

but it's not all mortals he feels this way for. if it were one of his subordinates, he would have had them punished severely for shedding tears over such a small thing. however, with you, he finds it's different. he knows, all too well, the nature of human life, witnessing countless souls fade away in the blink of an eye; your lifespan is but a fleeting moment compared to his eternity. perhaps that's why he worries so much. scolding you for not taking proper care of yourself, angrily patching you up when you get hurt— these actions have become common occurrences.

yet, it doesn't stop the sinking feeling he gets every time it happens. it's as if with each scrape, each tear, he's reminded of the fragility of your existence. and in that reminder, he feels an unfamiliar pang of concern, a whisper of something resembling... affection. how strange.

he finds his fingers instinctively wiping away a stray tear rolling down your cheek, a frown marring his usually composed features. retrieving a spare bandaid, patterned with cute bunnies that you had insisted on buying, he takes extra caution when tending to your wound. somehow, you always manage to find trouble, a fact that both frustrates and perplexes him.

you're such a baby, always getting yourself into situations that require his attention. and yet, for some reason, he doesn't exactly mind it. after all, he'd rather you seek his comfort over a dimwit like a certain ginger harbinger.

you nuzzle into his touch, letting out soft sniffles as you pout sadly, wincing at the pain. he tries to be as gentle as possible, tenderly placing the bandaid over the scrape with the utmost care. and when you're not looking, he shoots a glare at the stupid rock that caused you harm, silently cursing its existence.

"hurts..." you mumble, tugging on his sleeve with pleading eyes. "will you kiss it better?" you ask, your voice tinged with vulnerability. he hesitates, his mind immediately conjuring up logical reasons why such an action would be ineffective and potentially harmful. but the look on your face melts his resolve, and with a resigned sigh, he leans in and tenderly presses a kiss on top of your so-called 'boo boo'. it's a small gesture, but he can't deny the warmth that spreads through him at the sight of your grateful smile.

in one motion, he tilts his oversized hat downwards, completely blocking his face, leaving you blinking softly and cocking your head in confusion. what could he possibly be doing?

"...scara?" you question, attempting to shift to where he seems to be looking. but as soon as you move, he shifts his gaze elsewhere, and you mimic his movements, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

"would you stop that?" he scowls finally, ceasing his movements and refusing to meet your gaze. his cheeks are tinged with a pretty pink hue, gradually deepening into a full-blown red, a clear sign of his embarrassment. you can't help but stare at him innocently before bursting into laughter, playfully pinching his cheek as you tease him about his flushed face.

"aww, scara, you flustered?" you taunt, but he swats away your hand, attempting to evade your playful teasing. "i'm not—" he begins, his voice trailing off as he struggles to find the right words, but the embarrassment on his face speaks volumes. with a bratty huff, he removes his beloved hat from his head and places it firmly onto yours, obstructing your vision. his hand remains firmly placed on your head to ensure you don't pull it off.

"hey!!!" you protest, squirming in an attempt to lift the hat, but his grip remains steadfast. he's adamant on not letting you see his face; perhaps you've gone a bit too far now. is he pouting at you? gently, you intertwine your delicate fingers with the hand that's pressing down the hat, silently coaxing him to relent. eventually, he does, allowing you to lift the hat and meet his gaze, although he still stubbornly avoids making direct eye contact, staring off into the distance with a petulant expression.

he resembles a toddler at this moment, cheeks puffed in annoyance, yet his hand remains firmly clasped against yours. despite his outward irritation, you don't miss the way his thumb gently moves back and forth, caressing your fingers.

it's endearing, really, and you can't help but smile at his adorable display. surely, he wouldn't mind too much if you continued to tease him, would he? with that mischievous thought in mind, you press a tender kiss to his cheek, lips as soft as custard pressed sweetly against his pale porcelain skin. nuzzling into his face softly, he predictably flinches back, his embarrassment turning a deeper shade of red.

"hah? what was that for?" he hisses, but you can see the subtle fluster dancing in his eyes, betraying his composed facade. suddenly, he feels trapped in a dizzying spiral of butterflies in his stomach, unable to think clearly as every single thought in his head revolves around you. "hm?" you giggle mischievously, playing innocent.

"i'm just... kissing it better."

bonus!!

a day later, scaramouche stealthily makes his way back to the spot where you had tripped and hurt yourself. squatting down, he inspects the object responsible for your fall with a disdainful glare. it's just a stupid, ugly grey rock. annoyingly mundane.

"you'll never be a precious gem like you wish you were," he snarls, his voice dripping with contempt as he channels his elemental skills against it, slamming it against various surfaces with relentless force.

"you're boring. get out of my sight." with each strike, he vents his frustration, punishing the rock for its audacity to cause you harm. he continues to torment the poor rock, his determination unwavering until it's reduced to mere shambles, pebbles scattered haphazardly across the ground. only then does he allow himself a satisfied huff, a smirk of triumph gracing his lips as he surveys his handiwork. with a sense of accomplishment, he strides proudly away, eager to return home to you.

© SUNTORU 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Tides of fate (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which your newly returned husband is unsure of the path ahead, and the sea itself tries to deter you from the one you choose together

Warnings: evil!reader, smut (sneaky handjob in a public place, brief descriptions of p in v), probably inaccuracies of canon geography/lore to suit the fic, somewhat repentant Sauron stands a teeny tiny chance of being better but reader is an ��I can make him worse’ kinda girl

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. If you’re new, reader has been married/soulbound to Sauron since before Adar killed him and infiltrated herself in Eregion as a smith while she waited for his return, but came to find him when his presence became strong enough through their bond again.

Mature content below the cut—minors DNI!!!

Halbrand.

Whilst the other passengers on the ship are asleep, he lies awake with his new name and his new face, heading into what is to be a new life. He has yet to decide whether it should be different from the one before, but one thing he knows beyond all certainty—you shall be by his side, body and soul, until existence itself is no more.

You lie in his arms as he sits reclined against a pile of cargo, with your head resting upon his heart. Even aslumber, you seem to cling to him, your fingers ever so slightly curled in the ragged shirt he wears. Halbrand himself refrains from tightening his hold around your waist to the point where he might wake you, and contents himself only with soft caresses of your hair as he cradles you close. Weeks after you had nursed him back to his solid form, there are still times when you feel you must convince yourselves that you are together once more, and the long wait is over.

It had taken a while for the frenzy to pass, once he had been remade. For his newly woven flesh to find relief, if only in part, from the yearning with which it burned for yours.

The first time he’d had you in this body is a blur in his mind, nothing left of it but white-hot flashes of rampant breathing, wails and growls, skin slapping against skin. No sooner had he breathed the air into his new lungs than he had claimed your mouth, fell with you to the ground on the very spot where his new feet had first touched it, and begged to have his wife. A beast rutting into his mate in the snow is what he had been reduced to. On an open trail, beneath the open sky, he had ploughed into you with wild abandon, searing the pleasure of every thrust into his soul as if it would be the last he ever tastes.

He had not known, when last you had been by his side before Adar’s betrayal, that you would be out of his reach for centuries to come, that the very memory of his beloved’s embrace would slip from his grasp with the long years, sunk into the black depths of a rudimentary shape which had forgotten what it was to feel at all. And so the moment he had at last regained a form that could, he had grasped, seized, clawed the feeling of being one with you back into himself.

And you had sunk your nails into his new flesh, christened it with scratches, marking it as yours. He remembers your tight heat, your shrill moans, your tears as you begged him for more, even after your peak. He remembers his frustrated curses when his fresh, tragically human form had softened beyond his control after spilling inside you only once, and your sweet laugh in his ear, nowhere near judgmental as you reassured him that with time, his Maia prowess shall return to spare him such tedious whims of a mortal’s flesh.

“You are still extraordinary, my love,” you had praised with an adoring nibble of his humanly round ear. “A true mortal man as starved as you would not have even made it all the way inside.”

It was, perhaps, for the best. For you might have fucked the very life out of yourself on his cock in those first few days, if not for the occasional need for respite. His partial oblivion, though nothing short of agonizing, had stripped him, at times, of the knowledge of what he was missing. Your longing for your husband had shredded your heart through every single moment of the centuries you had been apart, vivid as ever in your mind and soul. The hollow in your bond had never subsided into anything less than a freshly severed limb, forever bleeding from an open wound. The only reason you had not withered away was that last glimmer of feeling, barely there but undeniably real, that your husband had not passed beyond your reach completely and forever.

For weeks you had remained in those woods, unwilling to do anything but be together. Even if you weren’t making love, you were hardly ever not touching, and it cost you even to pry yourselves away to hunt or gather wood—an effort that much greater since his prowess did gradually return, as you had been most certain that it would.

As you lay in his arms, you spoke to him of the world, all the ways it had changed and all the ways it had not. The dealings of Elves, Dwarves and Men nowadays. The life you had secured for yourself in Eregion, the opportunities it held. A power over flesh. All it did was remind him of the last words he had spoken to Adar’s wretched Orcs before they had butchered him, and the only power he found himself craving was that of feeling your flesh, beneath, against and around his. And you were oh so willing to grant it to him.

The last night before your voyage, you had looked so beautiful, bathed in moonlight and the warm glow of the fire beside you as you rode your husband slowly, savouring every drag of his cock within you. He sat up, holding you close, watching in awe as you took what you needed, and gave him all he craved. His tears do not spill easily, but they had burned behind his eyes as you threw back your head and cried out your release, bringing forth his own. You were everything. His wife. His soul.

His Queen.

He had once sworn he would not rest until the whole of Middle-Earth had been brought to its knees to worship the pair of you, side by side. That nothing less would ever be enough.

Lying beside you by the fire, he was not so certain anymore.

“My love,” he had whispered as you ran your fingers through his unruly hair, “where do you wish to go?”

It was the first time either of you had spoken of your heading, rather than acting as though where you were now was all there was.

You had frowned ever so slightly, as though surprised he even had to ask, and murmured, “With you.”

The following morning, you began your journey. Eregion was your destination, as you had anticipated all throughout his long absence. To follow his weak presence through your bond and find him in Forodwaith, you had left your false life with the Elves claiming to be visiting distant kin. He had yet to spin a tale justifying his joining you upon your return, and he found it more difficult than usual to do so when he didn’t seem to be sure of his goal once you had reached the Elven kingdom. You noticed, of course, but kept your mind at a thoughtful distance, knowing he would speak his in his own time.

When a group of Men crossed your path, it was the first time since his return that you were in the presence of others. With the bit of shape-shifting ability received from your husband upon the forging of your bond, you had made the pointed tips of your ears recede into a round shape to match your husband’s current one. You were to pass as human travellers, unworthy of a second glance.

But an old man, whose name Halbrand had later learned to be Diarmid, halted to inform you of the danger ahead. You must have spent longer in Forodwaith than you thought, for you had not encountered the armies of Orcs described by Diarmid when you had come seeking your husband. The man had spoken of embracing the uncertain tides of fate in hopes of a brighter future—a sentiment embodied, in his view, by a piece of heraldry he wore which had belonged to kings long gone, whose mighty path had crumbled as easily as a less fortunate one might prove to lead into a better place.

This belief of the man touched something in Halbrand, birthed a dim spark of a feeling akin to hope. You, on the other hand, did not seem as affected by his words, or his warm invitation for you and your husband to join his people on their intended voyage to a new life across the sea. No sooner had he moved on than you began to scheme.

“A symbol of royalty with no one left to claim it? That might prove useful,” you said under your breath as the two of you remained standing by the passing group of Men. “We could take it, and their ship. Sail to Lindon instead of risking a run-in with Orcs on the way to Eregion. I have quite enough connections there as well.”

You didn’t need to speak the details for him to know the exact intent behind your words. He was stronger in his power now than he had been when this body was fresh, and you were a force to be reckoned with yourself. The two of you fighting as one could cut through the humans like butter, leaving only enough to man the ship to your desired destination under your forceful command. It would have been easy enough, nothing you hadn’t done before.

“Or perhaps we might sail with them,” Halbrand suggested instead, driven by a sudden impulse.

“Into the West?” you asked quizzically, trying to figure out a purpose of which he was not sure himself. “Is there something you wish to achieve in Númenor, or thereabouts?”

“What I wish,” he said, meeting your eyes, “is for you to come with me.”

Like you’d said you would.

And you did. With but a curious look and a slight furrow of your brow, you placed your hand in his and joined him on this new path, though neither of you was sure where it would lead.

After the weeks—or had it been months?—spent in a near perpetual embrace in the wilderness, the lack of privacy on the ship proved quite the challenge. For plain communication, your bond would have sufficed, but even there a certain veil of concealment had fallen between you. For the more you began to suspect where his intentions might be straying, the less eager you were to breach the subject.

But you hardly ever left one another’s side, and spent each night in the closest embrace appropriate to the rather crowded circumstances, as you are doing now. He never sleeps, and pretending to do so would be a most tedious chore for the sake of avoiding suspicion, if it weren’t for his wife nestled comfortably within his arms. Some nights, however, he finds himself too deep in troubled thoughts for his eyes to remain closed, and that hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“Nightmares again?” Diarmid questions, lifting his head from his own makeshift pillow closeby. He lowers his eyes to you as he says with a knowing lilt, “One would think such a warm embrace can bring peace to even the most troubled of minds.”

His remark lacks any trace of envy, his gaze on you admiring without coveting, and so Halbrand is not enraged by either. He looks down, his eyes following the soft trails drawn by his fingers as they caress your hair.

“She is all the peace I know,” he murmurs.

“But you are haunted still.”

His fingers halt, resting upon your head.

“I’ve done evil,” he confesses. We have done evil, would be the more truthful statement. But so charming and joyful you had made yourself appear to your fellow passengers, he would be taken for a liar. He can only imagine how loved you are in Eregion—how loved you would be anywhere.

“All of us have done things that we care not to admit,” Diarmid replies, seemingly unfazed by Halbrand’s grim admission. How naïve for a mortal man of his age, the Maia thinks, to so easily give the benefit of his doubt to a near stranger.

“Not like I have,” he presses on. What is the purpose of this conversation, he wonders? To test whether he would be cast out? To hear the man lie again, that there is another path for him than that of suffering he has known so far?

Is that a lie?

Diarmid ponders his words. “Your wife,” he says then, as if in answer to his inner musings. “How did you come to be wed?”

You had maintained that much truth in your façade, for obvious reasons. It is a piece of truth Halbrand reveals now as well.

“We were undone,” he says in a dark rasp, “and we remade ourselves by swallowing each other whole.”

A hoarse chuckle escapes the old man. “What a way you have with words, lad. Isn’t that a most dreary manner of saying you have healed one another?” When Halbrand looks at him, guarded, he thankfully knows better than to insist upon the details. “And she knows of this... evil you say you have done?”

Halbrand gives a nod.

“And yet,” Diarmid says, voice softening with a kind of wise tenderness, “she looks at you as though you hold the very sun above her head in the palm of your hand.”

A most uninspired metaphor. Sunlight had become too bright for your eyes, after years spent in the dark heat of Morgoth’s fortress. You do not thrive in it, but rather under grey skies, with cold air caressing your cheeks. But the sentiment he means to express is perfectly true.

“And it is plain to see,” Diarmid adds, “that you love her a great deal as well.”

There is not a single false word in that sentence. You give the lightest stir in your husband’s arms, softly nuzzling his shirt in your sleep, and Halbrand, Sauron, Mairon—everything and everyone he had ever been burns with adoration as he holds you just that little bit closer.

“You cannot imagine,” he murmurs, with nearly as raw a sincerity as only you can draw from him.

Diarmid laughs warmly. “Oh, I can, lad,” he says with a trace of wistfulness. “I can.”

His eyes drift to the distance, as he no doubt remembers some past love of his. And a great one it may have been, but he shall never know what it is to bind his very soul with another’s, to be so inextricably intertwined as the pair of you have made yourselves to be.

Halbrand says nothing, leaving the old man to his imaginings. But Diarmid soon returns from them, and gives his supposed younger a sage look.

“So, you see,” he goes on, “whatever you’ve done in your past, she has forgiven it. Now, you must find forgiveness within yourself. You are alive, holding the woman you love in your arms, because you have chosen good.”

“What of tomorrow?” Halbrand asks, almost a challenge.

“You have to choose it again.” Diarmid gives a small chuckle, as though the answer is most obvious. “And the next day, and the next, until it becomes a part of your nature.”

His nature. Good had been his nature. Once.

He wonders, had you met him as Mairon, whether your souls would still be as one now. Whether you might have lived as Melian and Thingol did, rulers over a kingdom of light, protectors against Morgoth’s darkness rather than partial cause of its spread.

But it feels like a betrayal to imagine a love any different than the one he has known with you, even if it’s still a version of you with whom he contemplates such a thing. Because in the end, it would not be you. Morgoth had stripped you of the Elf you had been as brutally as he had disposed of the once Mairon, though with the Maia, he had made the pain seem so much sweeter in the beginning. You had not fallen in love with songs and poems, with you dancing in a field of flowers and him finding himself struck dumb by your beauty. Your bond had been forged in the hottest and cruellest of flames, and was all the stronger for it. This all-consuming passion, this ruthless obsession of yours, which scorches everything and everyone in its path—nothing less would ever suffice.

Seeing that Halbrand has become lost in thought upon hearing his words, Diarmid gives him one last friendly smile and pat upon his shoulder, then turns away to settle back to sleep. Not long after, quiet snores begin to leave him.

That is when you give a light hum, and shift so that your cheek rests on your husband’s shoulder and your eyes meet.

“What a way you have with words, lad,” you tease softly.

The slightest smile tugs at Halbrand’s lips. “It isn’t proper to eavesdrop.”

“It seemed as though you were having a moment.” Your teasing smile dims as you add, even more quietly, “It seemed as though you wanted it.”

You bring your hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb through the light stubble that now adorns it. You seem to like this form of his, imperfectly human as it is, and nothing pleases him quite like pleasing you. His eyes fall shut as he leans into your touch, taking your wrist in a gentle hold and pressing his lips to the palm of your beloved hand.

“My love...” he begins, but you rest your fingertips upon his mouth.

“I know.” You sigh, letting your hand fall back to his chest. “I know. You’ve been... different, since you have returned. Not only in body. After all this time, what you have endured... I know you are faltering. That you lack direction.”

“And yet you followed me blindly.”

“Always,” you smile, though it’s short-lived. “But... if forgiveness is what you seek... from them...” Your brow creases, voice becoming pained as you lift your head from his shoulder to meet his gaze properly. “My love, we have been here once before.”

“I know,” he says firmly, wrapping your hand in his. “I would not take such a risk again.”

Like he did at the end of the First Age. When, in the wake of Morgoth’s defeat, he’d had a mind to seek pardon from the Valar rather than await their retribution. He had witnessed their might as they decimated his master’s dark forces, and Sauron himself now lacked an army with which to retaliate, should they seek him out. All he had was you, and in his wish to keep you, and in the haze of his new-found freedom from Morgoth’s clenched fist, he had entertained the thought that perhaps the Valar might consider your union, a defiance of Morgoth in itself, to be proof of your renouncing his authority even since before his defeat. Surely, they could be persuaded that all, or at least most of your vile deeds, had been for the sake of each other, to spare your beloved from Morgoth’s wrath. And to a certain extent, it was true.

But the opposite happened. The Valar had deemed your bond unnatural, volatile, forged in too deep a darkness to be anything but a force of destruction. If you truly wished to be pardoned, you were to allow it to be undone. He was to return to Valinor whilst you remained in Middle-Earth, serving to rebuild what Morgoth had destroyed until you had proven beyond doubt you had put your foul ways behind you. Only then would you be allowed passage into the West to be rejoined with your husband, should your love endure such prolonged distance and transformation from the beings you had been when you met.

Servitude would already have been nigh impossible to swallow. But separation—that was unfathomable. It was cruelty beyond imagining, from beings who had the audacity to claim they were righteous and fair. You and your husband had been left with no choice, then, but to seek out a power which would make you gods in your own right. Power over flesh, power over Middle-Earth.

Separation came anyway, only in a different form, the path you had most wanted to evade forced upon you by Adar’s treachery instead of the Valar’s so-called justice. But as great a blow as it might have been, the aftershocks of it spanning over so much time, it didn’t break either of you beyond repair. As Sauron, he has known many setbacks, failures, betrayals. He is not afraid. Even when he sought pardon before, he tells himself, he was being cautious, practical.

But he is, perhaps... tired. So tired.

“You told me you have no wish to return to your life with the Elves,” he breaks the silence you had let fall between you, patiently awaiting the further words you sensed he had to say. “Númenor is said to be a paradise, ripe with opportunity. A smith of great skill and his equally gifted wife are most likely to thrive in such a place.”

Though he speaks in statements, you hear the question they conceal. You had long suspected he had been harbouring such thoughts, and your eyes shift uneasily upon hearing them.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought of it,” you confess in the end. “That perhaps we might simply... be together, as so many others are, and that would be enough. But even if we could find it in ourselves to put Middle-Earth behind us and let Adar go unpunished for what he did...” Your hand grips his painfully as you shut your eyes for a moment, striving not to raise your voice above a tense whisper. “I cannot bear to live in fear any longer. Wondering whether or not the Valar will finally deem us worthy or harmless enough to leave us be. Seeking to appease a higher power whose breath is constantly at the back of my neck even when I cannot see it, like... like he was. Is that not why we put such thoughts aside before, and sought to claim the power that we did? To gain control, bring about a new order—our order?” You lean in closer, the despair in your eyes giving way to determination as you stare into his with each and every searing word. “You know we are meant to be more than this. The Valar may not favour us, but fate does. It’s why our paths crossed in the first place, and why we found our way back to each other time and again, despite Morgoth, and Adar, and all who would have seen us apart. It’s why we will prevail.”

It’s so taxing, keeping the intensity of your words’ sentiment quiet, that the release comes in the form of tears slipping from your eyes. Your husband’s brow creases, leaving your hand to lie upon his quickening heart as he cups both of your cheeks.

“All this time...” he whispers, thumbs brushing your tears like they are priceless gems, “all these centuries, you have kept your faith in our vision. In us.”

He knows all too well how strong you are, how ruthless in your resolve, but sometimes, the sheer might of your devotion to him still knocks the breath from his lungs.

A teary chuckle escapes you. “Had you not spent all those centuries as a barely sentient liquid, I’m sure you’d have done the same. Not to mention,” you add, seeking to lighten the mood with a touch of coyness, “you promised me a crown, my love. And I shall not let you rest until you have put it upon my head, and I have known what it is to be a true Queen, worshipped by all beings,” you lean so that your lips ghost over his as you whisper alluringly, “and by her King most ardently of all.”

He gives in with a subdued groan, catches your lips in a fleeting kiss—then presses a thumb to the soft flesh beneath your chin to better his hold on you and keep you at bay.

“My love,” he rasps out in warning, eyes roving over your face, “do not tempt me so when I cannot have you as I please.”

A wicked smile spreads across your lips, and your softly-spoken words are the sweetest siren song, calling him to his doom. “You can have me, my love. We can have anything we wish.” Your hand begins a most audacious journey down his chest and along his tensing stomach, disappearing beneath the blanket covering the both of you above the waist. “They are nothing,” you go on, nimbly working open his trousers. “What they see, what they think of us now, will be nothing once we have brought them under our rule.”

Even with the blanket covering you, if someone were to look closely, they would likely be able to discern the precise location and intent of your hand. Quite frankly, Halbrand cannot bring himself to care if they did notice either, not when his wife takes his flesh in a nearly cruel grip. His cock grows and hardens in helpless answer to your beckoning, and this, he thinks for the one thousandth time, is the sole kind of helplessness which sets his blood aboil with desire rather than rage. It takes but a few strokes, dry and curt, and he is swollen, aching, the veins in his neck straining as he bites back a growl.

As for you, it’s a struggle not to rub yourself against his leg like a warg in heat. But it is his pleasure you wish to achieve, not your own. You press your lips to those captivating lines of tension on his neck, and swipe a thumb over the tip of him to find it wet. He remains discreet in sound, if not in expression, but you feel the spike of his pleasure through your bond as you keep caressing that most sensitive part of his cock. All of a sudden, his hand is at the back of your neck, and he pulls you down so that your cheek is pushed into his chest, his chin resting the slightest bit too heavily upon your head. Like this, you feel his rampant heartbeat, his ragged breathing, the tremors you send throughout his body with each and every stroke of his length.

It’s an illusion of control, he knows, crushing you to his chest whilst the heart within it contorts and threatens to unspool back into a pile of black slime, taken apart by your words and touch. He lets you break from his hold the moment you rebel out of it, and plant your chin upon his shoulder.

“I kept my faith, because I could see us,” you whisper, your hot breath in his ear plunging straight to his cock as you pump him into a silent frenzy. “I can see what we will become, and it is so... so beautiful. Do you see us, love?” you all but whimper, as though your words alone bring you as much pleasure as the glide of his length within your fist does him. “Can you see your Queen, spread upon our throne... wearing nothing but the jewels you have given me and the crown upon my head... as your tongue swears fealty between my legs? Can you see me do the same, on my knees before my Lord and King?”

Oh, he can. So many times he’s had you, in so many ways, but the thought of you worshipping each other whilst you are being worshipped across all of Middle-Earth, taking pleasure in one another as well as the symbols of your power... That had always wrought a particular kind of havoc upon his loins, proportionate in might to the high brought by the prospect of victory in itself. And you know that damn well, as well as all the right ways to caress and graze and squeeze and knead to play his body like a harp into the very melody you wish to elicit, regardless of the form he takes, for you might as well be nestled beneath his skin, living and breathing among the strings you so deftly pluck with your ruinous fingertips. Your touch, your words, moulding his mind as you please—is this what one feels like, he wonders, when Sauron the Deceiver slithers his way into their unsuspecting thoughts?

But this is no deceit. This is his wife, his soul, reminding him of his true self, just as you did when you first found what had been left of him in Forodwaith, and put him back together. His hips jerk into the movements of your hand, seeking you out, uncaring of the people who might wake and see him being undone by your touch. You are right. They are nothing. You are all there is, and all there ever shall be.

You chuckle as he chases his breath, and bite his earlobe—hard. It may not be the sensitive tip of an Elf’s pointed ear, but the jolt of pain lights a fire beneath his skin that scorches everything in its path, and no amount of control over his form could have prevented him from spilling his seed right there and then. The growl he lets loose would have surely roused those sleeping closest by, if not for your sudden grip on his throat and lips covering his, swallowing his rough breaths. He spills and spills as you stroke him through his release, until the exquisite throbbing in his cock has finally run its most fulfilling course.

To think there was a time he knew not what it was to crave another, nor did he care to know—and then he had known you. The pleasure of his flesh might as well have your initials engraved into it.

You loosen your grip on his throat as you break the kiss, and that hand goes instead to tenderly brush a lock of dark hair from his temple. You seem awfully pleased with yourself when he opens his eyes into yours, and he doesn’t shy away from admitting that you very well should be. The hand with which you had pleasured him emerges from beneath the blanket with his spent glistening on your fingers, and you hold his gaze as you rest the digits on his bottom lip. The tip of his tongue darts out slightly, tasting what you have done to him. What you always do. He wraps his lips around your fingers, scrapes them lightly with his teeth, and something softens in your eyes.

“I want more,” you whisper, nothing short of a goddess reduced to her most vulnerable self. “I want everything. But I need only for you to want me.”

His new heart lurched in his chest. As if he could ever stop. As if there could ever be more, be anything, if there was no you and him.

He knows much better than to take your words as an admittance of defeat, however. If he truly were to demand that you renounce your aspirations, you would be furious. You would fight and fuck him in every way you could think of to change his mind, but you would follow him wherever he went. As he would you. There is no such thing as choosing to leave one another’s side, unless you have reason to believe that your temporary separation shall serve to make you all the more fruitful in your shared endeavours upon your reunion.

Your shared endeavours is what they still are. What they always have been. He sees that now, clearer than ever.

Having released your fingers, his mouth claims yours in a bruising kiss. You moan into it, too loud, too desperate, but neither of you cares. He truly abandons all caution, pulling you into his lap by your waist, and you grind your clothed core into his newly hardening cock as soon as you are astride him, and damn these people, damn your ruse, he is going to have you, fully and unrestrained, right here in their midst. It matters not, for most will be dead soon either way. For you will take the ship for yourselves, just like you first suggested, and sail back to Middle-Earth to claim it as your own. And he means to tell you this whilst you ride him, just as you are reaching your peak, and send you careening into it with this sweetest promise like you had done him—

Something’s wrong. Even in the heat of passion he feels it, and every muscle in his body stiffens. You break away at once, alarmed by his alarm.

“Hold on to me,” is all the warning he has time to give you.

Not a soul on the ship remains asleep when it takes the first hit, water flooding into the hull through shattered wood. It’s everywhere, bursting through holes in the walls and pouring down the stairs from the deck, and you barely manage to scramble to your feet before the next blow lands, and the next. You do try to keep your grip on each other, but end up bracing yourselves against the pile of cargo on which you had been resting so you don’t get knocked off your feet. At the very least, he manages to hastily refasten his trousers. Not that anyone would care if they caught a glimpse of a man’s privates at a time like this—but in his flailing circumstances, it isn’t quite the power move it would have been if he were shamelessly buried to the hilt inside you for all to see.

“Was that—?”

“Yes,” he answers you gruffly. “Sea worm.”

“Is that a problem?” you ask urgently, ever so pragmatic even as your chest heaves through the sudden panic.

He isn’t sure. He feels recovered enough, but he can’t say whether his ability to sway the creature’s mind is good as new until he’s come face to face with it. He’s about to go and find out, when a voice screams, “Help me!”

It’s Diarmid who cried out, trapped beneath a wooden beam that had collapsed upon him. Bleeding from a head wound, he looks to Halbrand in despair. No one else even stops to look, the other passengers scurrying around in a frenzy, as if there is anywhere to run.

Halbrand and you make no move. Your gazes meet as you wait with bated breath for his choice, even in the midst of chaos.

Whatever you’ve done in your past, she has forgiven it.

If anything, you should forgive him for ever faltering in his resolve. There is no such thing as a man called Halbrand, or as you and him disappearing in the crowd. You shall be everywhere, standing above everything and everyone, as you were always meant to.

He leans over Diarmid, grabbing hold of the fallen beam atop him—only to snatch the pouch bearing a king’s symbol from his neck, the Maia’s pitiless eyes staring into the man’s terrified ones. He turns to the beautiful sight of your smile, proud and relieved, and a smirk blooms on his own lips. Screams fill the ship as it is ripped to shreds, but you put your hand in his and pull him towards the deck with an exhilarated “Come on!”, and for a moment he suspects this feeling in his chest might be akin to what a young man would experience, if he were being whisked into the unknown by a rebellious first love.

And like the folly of such youth, it doesn’t last. Your hand slips from his as the ship falls apart, swallowed whole by the ocean, and he is submerged into an underwater field of shattered woods and floating bodies. He has lost you from his sight, but he knows you’re alive. He knows he is still lord over beasts as well, when the sea worm obeys the command in his eyes and abandons its attack, swimming away. Perhaps the effort of imposing his will on such a great creature is still too taxing. Perhaps that’s why the pulse of your life is as vivid as ever within your bond, but feels further away. The water is dark, and you are strong—he feels is. You are soon to surface.

But when he emerges from the sea, grabbing hold of a floating piece of wood, you are nowhere in sight.

He waits. Waits, then dives back in.

The bodies he finds are all corpses.

You are alive.

But you are gone.

His scream is lost in the black depths of the sea.

*****

As soon as you break through the surface, gasping for air, you know something is terribly amiss.

For one, there is no one in sight. No ship, no people, no sea worm. Then, there is the rising sun, when moments ago it had been little past midnight, and land in sight when you had been most certain you were in the middle of the sea. And most poignant of all, there is distance—great and sudden, between you and your husband.

He is well, though, and even more so now that he has felt you reaching out to him. The spark of relief echoing through your bond is the only reason you do not immediately despair. You have an inkling of what might have occurred. But you save your energy for swimming towards the distant shore, channeling your ire into each kick of the water.

How do the Valar expect you to renounce your bitterness towards them, when they do their very best to fuel it with every given occasion?

*****

He breathes easy at last. He had known you were alive all along, but the gnawing emptiness where your consciousness should have been had not ceased to churn within his chest until he’d felt you, aware and present in your bond once more.

For you to have drifted away, so quickly and so far... it was no natural occurrence.

There’s a presence he’d felt. A watching. Sickly familiar, and he knows not how, but—they knew. Perhaps you had invoked them one too many times, and Ulmo himself had reached out with a watery tendril of his power to snatch you from your husband’s reach. Whether in punishment or warning, it matters not. For in his haste to part you, the Vala had failed to prevent a great opportunity from landing right into his great enemy’s lap—or rather, swimming her way onto his raft.

Galadriel.

He knows her name. How could he not? Sister of Finrod, daughter of Finarfin. A mighty Elven warrior, hailed as the fairest of Elven women, the very light of the Trees of Valinor supposedly snared in her tresses. It’s hard to tell, with her golden hair soaked and clinging to her shoulders. But her beauty concerns him little. Once he has taken Middle-Earth, he thinks, he shall have the tongue of any being who dares suggest another might be fairer than his Queen.

You’ve reached the shore, he senses, back in Middle-Earth. To Galadriel, he speaks half-truths of hateful Orcs that chased him from his homeland, but within himself, he smiles. So, they dare not kill you, still, especially after they were proven right to hesitate in doing so before—when the Orcs had robbed him of his form, his power had burst from the remains of him with such anguished fury, Forodwaith had been reduced to an icy wasteland. Should your bond be severed as violently, there is no telling what horrors that gaping wound might unleash. The Valar have revealed their fear once more, and it serves to remind him why the two of you have nothing to fear.

You were right, my love, he thinks. The message may not reach you word for word, but he knows it will be crystal clear in your mind. Though some may seek to part us, the tides of fate are flowing ever in our favour. Make for Eregion. Await me there. I shall return to you soon, having made great progress towards our end.

From you, there comes the anger and the grief of your parting, which he shares—but stronger than that is your faith in him, further solidified by his determination.

“Around your neck,” Galadriel says. “Is that the mark of your people’s king?”

She had noticed, then. He’d been careful to fiddle with it earlier, tucking it into his shirt when she thought he hadn’t seen her scrutinizing him. You had been right, of course—that pouch would prove useful, after all.

Thank you, my love, he thinks fondly to you. For reminding me who I am. Who we are.

Your devotion caresses his soul, and the Deceiver begins to worm his way into an unsuspecting mind once more.

Previous fic with same reader -> Remade

Next fic with same reader -> Reunion

[m0chisenpai]

shooting star

˚｡⋆platonic! emperor geta x black fem!reader x platonic!caracalla

in which you fal into the demented laps of twin emperors all because you chose to be spontaneous

Geta saw you as a blessing from the gods, a sister sent to them from beyond the mortal world they know. With hair nearly as fiery red as the twins he knew you were meant for he and his twin the moment he set eyes on her.

You knew you were anywhere BUT home when Joseph Quinn ws staring at you like you were an enigma, but one thing you knew was any denial that you were the twin emperors sister would surely lead you dead.

So you played the role.

You fell into their arms and played into the tears, how you were in the dark for so long until now. How you fell from the sky into Rome with no family, no memory. And to your luck, and way with words, they recieve you. Caracalla seemed the most convicned wailing like a baby but Geta was calm...almost too calm for your liking.

Gets lays claim upon you and games and festivities are held, festivities which you sit among now. Day….three? Your eyes are heavy and tired, your head aches from the heavy golden laurel and the golden earrings that weight both ears down.

“Sister,” Caracalla calls. “Are you not pleased?”

You quickly shake your head, “no I am. It’s just so….it is more than what I am used to.”

Your cup is refilled at the demand of Caracalla and more servants curl around you with golden plates and bowls filled with meats and fruits that you quickly shoo away.

Caracalla, much to your surprise, demanded you comfortable and cared for. Following your reunion he sends you off to the baths, it is warm and smells of oils and servant girls fill it with roses and flower petals. They scrub at your skin and make quick work on your hair which you hope does not lose its color, and then you are brought out.

The servant girls who clean you are extremely gentle, possibly threatened by the younger ruler.

When Caracalla is the first gaze you see leaving the baths you nearly jump out your skin when he pulls you close. His head buries itself in the crook of your neck and you feel him grasp the back of your robes.

"Imperator her majesty is in-"

"Leave us," his mumbles.

Both women quickly bow and run off to what you assume is where your rooms are. A moment passes, to long for your comfort until he moves from your hold.

"You smell like home again," his eyes are misty and light as his tone.

You can only smile back, half heartedly returning the sentiment. "As do you."

He pulls you to your chambers, his grip firm, almost as though if he lets go you will disappear. Whether for slaughter or not, you felt like cattle before it is sent off. Only you refused to go out like that.

Not when you had a chance for a life of comfort and luxuries at the tips of your fingers. So you squeezed his hand just as tight fearing this would be the last gentle touch you feel.

When you return to your room you are oiled and dressed in red and golden silks ad the women have taken the liberty of braiding your h. The room you’re in has you spinning in slow circles taking in the detail and beauty of it all. The ceilings ornate with carvings and starry paintings.

And the bed, you take a dive into it rolling around with childish squeals. It feels like you are sleeping in clouds. Yeah, you could DEFINITELY get used to this.

“I am pleased our god given sister finds her sleeping arrangements to her satisfaction.” Greta’s presence startles you sitting outside at a table. You quickly sit up, feeling flushed with absolute embarassment for him to see you act out like that.

But you dare to wonder if that is amusement because you are happy, or because he plans to end you once you are too comfortable.

He unnerves you but you do not let your facade break. Though he doesn't have the same illness as his brother, there is a silent madness within. His mind lies with his delusions that the gods so in fact exist. You wonder which is scarier: the ill-minded or the one with grandeur delusions.

“It’s beautiful,” your hands wring at the fronts of your nightgown, "but it is...all so much to comprehend. My head feels dizzy." He holds his arm out to you and you quickly slide off the bed to now stand in front of it.

"Sit, eat."

You follow his request and join him, grateful you are at least a seats width apart. Breads, shucked oysters and oil with bowls of fruits make you want to drool. You suddenly realize just hungry you are. But you carefully reach for the bread, dipping it into the oil.

He carelessly flicks his hand and a servant comes to fil your cups with wine.

"Father had a babe with one of his concubines," ok we're just getting right into it!

"We only know cause caught glimpse for a moment. Father did not claim it, and sent it off to the woods. He had no need for daughters, let alone one from his concubines or whores. He demanded a male heir." He drinks deeply of his wine, dark eyes not moving, watching as you slowly sip from your own glass.

"Is that so?"

He nods, watcing his drink swirl. "But the babe had the most peculiar mark, Caracalla assumed it was killed because it was cursed," you swear you must look like a dog about to crap itself when he casually rests his elbow on the table, dagger in hand. Screwed isn't the word to describe as he uses the dagger to beckon you closer.

You press your eyes shut not giving him the satisfaction of your gaze when you lean forward, nor do you care your hands shake from how tightly you grpand your face is hot from the tears that pool as you feel the blade just beneath your ear....Wait....

Your ear.....

Sweet merciful gods above whoever is up there THANK YOU, whoever is up there you thank them feverishly in your head.

"In the very spot..." Geta breaths out. You dare to open your eyes, and for a moment he looks like a lost child gazing at the bump. The blade falls out his grasp as he lifts a shaky hand to his mouth, "father left you for dead but the gods have brought you back to us."

You had an ugly bump sitting atop the helix of your right ear. Your mom claimed it was there since birth and you grew up hating the thing. You hated it cause it prevented you from getting a piercing there, and got teased for it back in elementary school. But if you could kiss it you would right now.

"It is truly you...." his voice cracks and he's reaching out to you to pull you into a fierce hug. "They have brought you back to us, our sister. Sweet star of Rome. You have returned." His hand runs rub over the back of your head, and all you can think is how gratefuly you are for not paying to have the ugly lump removed.

"Yes...I'm home," you whisper it back stroking a hand up and down his back.

That night you secured your safety. And you intend to keep it that way. Silencing every voice that would try and end your safety in this foreign land.

The host of festivities voice breaks you from your daze with his boisterous voice and sharp clap. “My imperators, our newly crowned Empress of Rome.”

He bows before you three, seated in a large chaise with you sat between the boys. You shine in the gold bands and neckalces you are covered in ans you proudly have your hair pinned up.

“The gods have bestowed upon us a gem of Rome! In recognition of such a gift, out of the ever flowing love our imperators bestow a gift upon her majesty,” slowly you lean forward as two large cages are pulled out covered in red cloths that shake as whatever is beneath smacks and growls reaching a light brown large paw from between the bars.

"No way...." you squeal beneath your hand which covers your grin as you hop up. Perhaps you had one too many glasses but you didn't care now. "You did not!" you exclaim when the men yank the cloths revealing,

"From the northan lands of Africa!" The crowd breaks out in applause at the roaring animals that roar. And all you can do is scream as well jumping like a child in a candy shop. "Tamed by our general, Acacius!"

"A fine pair to begin your own collection, sister," Geta tips his clear glass toward you.

"Perfect for the colosseums as well, I look forward to how they fair against the fresh arrivals of the stables." Caracalla coos as he feeds his beloved Dondus who chitters.

"Oh please do not send them into the colosseum brothers." you quickly fold your hands and look to your smirking brothers.

"What other use would they have? You would use them for your entertainment, yes?"

"Well yes," you now fold your hands behind your back and rock on your heels.

"But for now, to the stables with them both. Please," and you break out the big guns folding your hands beneath your chin and jutting out your bottom lip.

"Oh she wounds me, brother. End her suffering!" Caracalla playfully cries out laying his hand atop his forehead and falling back into the arms of one of his servant boys.

"Pretty please, brother dearest," your voice soft and you go as far to tug on his hand, squeezing it gently. "My heart would break if any other brought harm upon them both."

"If it pleases our sister, then it is so." And he preens at your blinding smile, watching you take off to stand beside the host who bows before you showing you the wild cats.

You would have anything your heart desired. Anything as long as you would remain by their sides. They would bring all the wild cats back if they could see your shining smile for the rest of their days.

[blitzwhore]

Me: :)

My own mind, deciding to attack me in my own home: omg, but what if Stolas almost dies in that scene we saw in the trailer? What if he gets mortally wounded, now that he doesn't have his powers? And he's okay with it, really, he is. He's known he'd die eventually—he read that prophecy a long time ago, and made his peace with it. It's not like he particularly wants to live, either. He's nothing but a burden, after all—a waste of space no one could ever love.

But Blitzø. Blitzø breaks down. Blitzø holds Stolas close, fingers digging into Stolas' frame as he cradles him in his arms, and just—sobs. He can't lose Stolas. He can't. He can't live life without Stolas by his side. This can't be happening again, it can't.

And Stolas just... shushes him. Touches his fingers weakly to Blitzø's arm around him, and murmurs that it's okay, really... It'll be okay. Blitzø will be okay without him. You will be okay, he says with a sad smile.

And Blitzø can't take it. He yells—because that's the only goddamn thing he knows to do when he feels small, when his feelings are being dismissed—so he yells for Stolas to understand that he will not be fucking okay without him, and to not dare say such stupid bullshit. And he's crying—he's crying so hard he can't see, his tears falling onto Stolas' face and rolling down Stolas' cheeks.

And it's the first time Stolas truly sees Blitzø cry... And it's the first time he truly understands that Blitzø cares, that Blitzø needs him. If only it wasn't too late now...

My mind: what then, huh? :)

Me:

[norikuna]

touch me there! gojo satoru. minors dni.

prologue. who knew that the strongest man to walk the earth, the closest thing humanity had to a god, was this weak just from your touch?

warnings. handjób, óverstimulation (m. receiving) and gojo being a slút for you

mp3. touch, touch, touch. thought about you way too much! — touch, katseye (2024)

a/n. made my own gifs for this one! i actually really enjoyed that 😭 today i learnt the difference between a web-dl file and a remux file. gifmakers are so strong...

you know that gojo's power is an indomitable force, and with a snap of his fingers, mountains would crumble, the seas could part, and the skies themselves would darken in his wake. no mortal, no force of the heavens above, no...nothing can touch him or shake his resolve. or at least that's what people say when they whisper about him. when other sorcerers point and wonder what it must be like to be the most unshakeable man on the planet.

well you've had your hand around his pale berry-pink cock for an hour, and you can say with full clarity of mind that there is one thing that can undo the divine power that is satoru gojo.

his thick shaft is slick with pre-cum, and the skin is smooth yet taut, supple and throbbing. his head has fallen back in exhaustion, frustrated from your teasing just as he gets so close to his release. hates how you draw your hand back suddenly leaving him high and dry, and aching furiously

but its just not enough for you yet, and he sees something soo godly within you right now. how is it that you've just undone him so easily, had him squirming and shaking like a whore?

he thinks its your nails that have him so delirious, for they reach for the underside of his cock and gently grasp his heavy balls, so painful that they ache, running the light tips of your fingers over the folded skin

"baby - please, no more. i don't think i can - can," and he's twitching under your touch. and yet despite his words you see the flush of amusement still dancing on his face, red brushing over his cheeks and leaving a rosy dawn behind on his gorgeous face

"ohh, satoru, so messy today aren'tcha?" and he bucks his hips up at the way you just purr out his name, a staccato tempo of him fucking himself up into your clenched fist, absolutely leaking a thin, milky fluid that leaves the both of you dizzy

its intoxicating for you too, starting at the base of his cock right where light curls of pale hair tickle at your knuckles. then you slowly drag your hand up, until your thumb comes to rest on the fat mushroom tip, a glowy-red as you lovingly run the digit back and forth, drinking in at how gojo is practically whining, chest heaving and littered with the marks and bruises left from your adoring teeth

but the killing blow, the one that leaves him feeling like he's been cleaved in half (too soon?) is when you dip your hands to the moist sheen between your legs, the slick gloss that has gathered from you, coating your fingers liberally. and how you use that same hand, still covered in your arousal to pump him more furiously

in the end, he's got tears pricking his eyes when he reaches his climax, beading in the corners of his brilliant blue gaze, weepy and leaking. and you're left to marvel at how thick, white seed shoots out and plasters all over your hand, over your torso as you had been leaning over him and before you can blink, he's beaming up at you, muttering about sensitivity but still positioning your hips right above his freshly milked cock for round two, no, three? four?

[llamagoddessofficial]

Bad Sanses with the “who hurt you” trope?

Horror: His big arms are walls against the outside world. He pulls you in close, nothing can reach you. He holds you with a love older than blood, a love that asks for nothing in return - you feel the words through his great chest rather than hearing them. You aren't sure if he's touching your hair to comfort you, or to stop himself from quivering with rage. Perhaps it's both. He smells like a food you didn't know you were craving, he sounds like a home that's waiting for you, and he feels like somewhere you can sleep.

He absorbs the scents on you like a bloodhound. Asking who did it was redundant. If he ever sees them, he will know.

Dust: The cuts to your body are amateur, ragged, as if someone took a hacksaw to his favourite porcelain doll. Where did his gloves go? One hand on your back, one cupping your face. The proximity shuts your mouth. You're close enough to feel how he's trying to control his breathing; from within the shadows under his hood, you see his eyelights, the anger pooling within them. Dust's words are so rare, they're soft but something frightening is following when he asks, lightning without thunder. Death by a thousand cuts? No. Just from holding his gaze, you know that only a thousand cuts won't be enough to satisfy his thirst for revenge.

Killer: He doesn't speak. He doesn't ask. He places a loving kiss to your temple, as if to assure you there's still something of your silly jester left in the leaking wraith before you. But he knows better than to be close to the thing he loves most when he doesn't want to smile anymore. The mask is missing, there's few things more terrifying than Killer without words, emptiness where the face once was. Was it all an act? No one knows. Not even Killer.

... You might expect the others to intervene when he's leaving. But they merely step aside, even Nightmare dares not stand in the way of Killer's hunt. They only ever laugh because they know he wants them to. Right now, they don't have that right.

Nightmare: He holds your chin. He's gentle - he always is with you. You thought he'd rage like an animal, command you to tell him who did this, as shadows choked you from the inside out.

You forget that there's no one who could feel your fear as intimately as he does. He's tasted your terror, your pain, the ache of the bruises and the sting of the cuts, the salt of your tears and the ice of the chills. He knows. He understands. He touches his forehead to yours, it's alright. You can fall apart, he's here, there's no shame, there's nothing he hasn't seen a hundred times before. Just let go. Let it all out. You can't drown in this sea, dear; not when he is the water.

There will be time for fury later. For now, the king needs to tend to his love.

...

Error: Will you tell him who did it? You can feel his rage, it's splitting the air around you, lines between realities are shimmering like hot oil. Whoever did this will suffer in a way that a mortal mind cannot comprehend. He'll peel them apart like crumbling sheets of wet pastry. Could you do that to someone? Could you knowingly sentence them to a pain that doesn't yet have a name? Perhaps you could talk him down from it, soothe his fury. But is that really what you want to do, when you're so tired?

The choice is yours. Just know that this is one web that cannot be undone.

[bradshawsvinyl]

Castles Crumbling

Tolerate It (Part two)

read part one here.

authors note: not sure if this is the ending you guys were expecting but I hope you like it!

warnings: mentions of cheating, mentions of death, miscommunication tropes.

It was two in the morning when Jake softly unlocked the door to the home he shared with you. He silently took off his shoes and went upstairs to see where you were. He knew taking off on you was wrong. He knew that you just wanted to let him in. All you ever tried to do was love him and all he ever did was shut you out.

He had been planning to propose to you. He was constantly in communication with your best friend Julianna. He was talking to her about things he didn’t quite understand like ring sizes and diamonds. He wanted to make this proposal perfect for you. He wanted to give you everything you deserved and more.

But work was stressing him out. Maverick warned Jake and the rest of the squad that they would be shipping off for an important mission in the next three months. The mission details were classified. All Maverick said was that they’d better prepare their families for the possibility that they might not come back.

Mortality had never scared Jake away from doing his job. He knew he was one of the best fighter pilots in the nation. That was why he was a part of Top Gun.

Mortality never scared Jake until he met you. He knew he loved you. You were the only person he ever saw a future with. Kids, a dog, a white picket fence, he wanted that with you. But in the back of his mind, he knew there was a chance that something could go wrong on a mission. He didn’t want to leave you alone with kids or make you a widow. He couldn’t do that to you. And so he did the only thing he knew how to do. He ran.

Jake crept upstairs and found you sitting up in bed reading a book. “I thought you would be asleep by now.” He said while sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t sleep if you’re not here. You know that Seresin.” You replied, still looking at the words in your hands.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly. “I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t right to shut you out and I-“

“Don’t even,” You interrupted him. “You can’t keep doing this to me Jake. It isn’t fair. All I've ever wanted to do was help you. You can’t keep shutting me out.”

“Baby, I know I'm sorry I'm just overwhelmed with work. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You didn’t know what else to do?” You replied, voice rising from anger. “You could’ve talked to me. You didn’t have to leave me here crying like an idiot over something that I don’t even know about.”

“I know it’s just that I'm not the best at dealing with my emotions.” He said softly. “I love you.”

“Why was Julianna calling you then?” You changed the subject.

“What do you…” Jake started.

“Don’t play stupid Seresin. I saw her call you five times in the span of 10 minutes. She’s my friend. You’ve only met her a few times. Why would she be calling you at ten o'clock at night?”

Jake’s just looked at you in disbelief. There was nothing going on between him and Julianna. He was simply asking her for her opinion on how to propose and what ring to buy. She was your best friend after all. He couldn’t believe that you would think he was cheating on you with her. If you asked him to give you the moon, he would’ve done it. No questions asked.

“What are you insinuating?” He said slowly growing more angry when he realized what you thought he was doing.

“I’m insinuating that you’re seeing her on the side.” You said, near tears. “Just tell me the truth Jake. I can’t keep sitting here wondering why you’re shutting me out. You can’t keep leaving me here like an idiot.”

“Listen,” he said while grabbing your hands. “There is nothing going on between me and Julianna. I just needed to ask her something. That’s it. I would never cheat on you. You’re the only person I could ever love.”

“So why won’t you let me in.” You whispered. “If it’s not her then who? You won’t talk to me anymore. You won’t touch me. You barely even look at me.”

Suddenly Jake’s face dropped. “I might not come back.” He said, so softly that you might have missed it if you weren’t right next to him.

“What do you mean you might not come back?” You said growing more and more confused.

“Maverick said that this next mission is going to be dangerous. He said to hope for the best but expect the worst and I just-“ Suddenly Jake started sobbing.

You were shocked. Suddenly things started making sense. He was shutting you out because he didn’t want you to be hurt if he didn’t come back. You knew Jake tended to be more quiet when there was a tough mission coming up.

You pulled him into a tight hug and began to comfort him. “Why didn’t you tell me? I can’t help you if I don’t know what is going on with you.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. I never wanted to hurt you. I was just trying to protect you.” He said.

“I’m here for you no matter what.” You said, eyes beginning to fill with tears. “We’re a team. You have to tell me if there’s something happening. I love you.”

“I’m sorry.” He said while kissing your cheek. “I didn’t want to be a burden. I should’ve told you about the mission sooner. You’re my rock. I love you.”

As your tears and Jake's tears subside, he holds you tightly. You hold him back feeling all the walls between the two of you crumble.

Jake knew two things for certain. He would come home to you, and he would marry you.

[dailypenpen]

What do Genshin Men think of with you in their arms? (pt.1)

characters: Diluc, Xiao, and Kazuha.

notes: insecurities (Xiao) but other than that fluff. gn reader, only you pronouns used.

a/n: this is my first ever fanfic. ever. omg. this is nervewracking. I do hope everyone enjoys!!

Diluc thinks he does not deserve to be loved. The people he cherished most have slipped past his fingers like sand. And similarly to sand, the hourglass of time pulls these connections apart. He sits at the top, desperately trying to reach for the ones that have fallen away. Only tears reaching towards the bottom of the glass. Almost mocking him.

So he does not understand why you still stay. Why you are here sleeping peacefully by his side. Why you snuggle closer to him, your fingers grasping for him even in your sleep. Diluc feels like he can't breathe. Diluc can't fathom your actions, your love, your care, you most of all—

And yet, he accepts your hands reaching for him. Bringing them around his waist as he presses you close to his chest. His lips coming close to your ear as he whispers sweet nothings. His eyes staring at your sleeping form, the corner of his eyes crinkling with the thought of you. You who have stayed despite everything he's done to push everyone away. Diluc has always kept everyone from arm's reach, yet you somehow managed to instead be within his arms.

He supposes he should reward your efforts, at the very least.

Diluc brings your shared blanket up closer for the two of you. To perhaps shield you from this cruel world, he muses to himself. To be the only one to see such a sight. He continues staring at you with a tenderness that he believes you deserve from him.

He thinks he couldn't fall any more in love with you. But when you smile in your rest, soft and warm and full of life. Well, Diluc sighs as he holds you closer. Maybe there truly is no limit in loving someone as great as you. Someone who makes him believe that he alone is worthy to be held. To be held by someone like you.

"You are the reason why I dream, my love."

Xiao thinks that you are utterly ridiculous. You only remember to call his name when you are falling midway from a tall peak from Jueyun Karst? Did you not think of calling him when you were out trekking so that he could come with you to ensure your safety? Or even before that, when you first went out of the inn to go?

The wind around you moves with a great swiftness that it's almost hard to miss, but you can recognize it anywhere. He grabs you, quickly holding you in his arms. Xiao looks down at you in disappointment, quickly moving to the ground to rest his feet on. You open your mouth to speak, to defend yourself. But even before you can, his narrowed eyes quickly shut down any word you wanted to say. You opt to give him a sheepish grin in return.

His eyes instantly soften as you smile at him. How? He furrowed his eyebrows at you. How could a mortal like you not have any regard for your own safety? Why risk your life with no insurance that you'll get out unscathed? Or at the very least, alive?

He pulls you closer to him without meaning to, without realizing. He refuses to bring you down to the ground. To let you leave his arms. His breathing is ragged, his arms shaking at the countless thoughts that plague his mind. What if you never called out his name? What if Xiao couldn't hear you, couldn't save you?

Xiao's grip tightens on you more, yet he is careful to not hurt you.

You stay silent, not wanting to disrupt Xiao's thoughts. Your hand moves up to his cheek, rubbing circles in an effort to calm him. Xiao flinches at your touch. You slowly retract your hand away yet he leans towards your hand. Wanting your touch. Knowing that you are safe in his arms.

He stares at you, eyes vulnerable. The one thing he hated showing to anyone. Showing how he, as inhuman as he claims to be, cares. That you brought a weakness he desperately tries to hide. That you are a weakness.

"Be careful next time, my light."

Kazuha thinks you are beyond precious. The both of you are admiring the view of the sea from the Crux, nuzzled up to one another. The Crow's Nest (you once jokingly called it the Kazu's Nest with how frequently he goes up there) is the perfect place for the two of you to cuddle without the rest of the crew spotting you. To escape their endless teasing. Especially from Captain Beidou.

You absentmindedly play with his hair, the ponytail now loose as you continue running your hands through it. He chuckles softly at your mindless actions. You truly are adorable, aren't you? Kazuha muses to himself. He wishes he could write a poem about this very moment, to memorialize it. To engrave it onto his very memory.

Yet, he does not. He stays silent. He knows that it's enough that you are with him, that you are content in his embrace and that he is in yours. That no manner of poetry is enough to encapsulate his deep affection for you. To express his joy in being with you. To somehow portray your very essence in a few words.

He knows it's near impossible to summarize you, that would be unfair to your divine beauty. Can a single word even begin to describe who you are to him? Wondrous, heavenly, or maybe even godsent? Kazuha shakes his head in dissatisfaction. No, those aren't the right words either.

The sea rocks the boat and you squeak while gripping his clothes, afraid to move suddenly with the boat. Kazuha smiles at you, patting your head. You grin back at him, releasing your grip on him. Yet Kazuha quickly grasps your hands in his, earning a small gasp from you. He chuckles again, his eyes so full of love. Almost bursting out of the seams.

You laugh with him, and he looks at you like you're his entire world. Kazuha thinks he can finally have a way to describe you. You, the person whom he always wants to rest with. His one constant in his life of being a vigilante and vagabond. The one person in his entire life that he knows that no matter what he's faced, what he's experienced, will always be with him no matter what. That you are the one person he ever truly wanted.

Kazuha brings your hand close to his lips, kissing them delicately.

"You are my home, darling."

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[edenesth]

Until Death Claims Us

Pairing: vampire!Hongjoong x human!reader (+ a bit of boyfriend!Seonghwa x girlfriend!reader)

AU: vampire au

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You were a fool to believe you could save him. You should have heeded everyone's warnings to run, but now you found yourself in need of saving—from him, the very embodiment of the devil.

Genre: angst, horror

Rating: Mature (M)

Trigger Warnings: violence, implied sexual assault, emotional abuse, kidnapping, gore and blood, coercion, isolation (being trapped/cut off from loved ones), substance use, death, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

A/N: Happy Halloween, folks! This contains dark themes and is not my typical cutesy little romance fic (been feeling violent lately), you've been warned.

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"You're being such a good girl today," he taunted, pulling back slightly from your neck. The skin was bruised and ruptured from his relentless biting, a trail of blood staining the silk of your robes. "I wasn't expecting this—especially after the little show we put on for your poor loverboy yesterday. What was his name again? Park Seonghwa, wasn't it?"

You lay still beneath him, your gaze fixed on the familiar ceiling you'd come to know all too well during each struggle, each time he took you against your will.

"It's over, Hongjoong," you murmured, and his grin only widened as he licked his bloody fangs, mocking. "Over? For whom? You know you're mine, don't you? I'm not letting you go. Not now, not ever, my pet."

A small smile crossed your lips. "Exactly. I'm counting on that. I don't plan on leaving without you either. I won't let you hurt or threaten the people I love again—my boyfriend, my brother, my best friend..."

His eyes narrowed at your words. "What are you—" But before he could finish, the poison you'd ingested began to take hold, creeping through him bit by bit. He gasped, his hand clutching his heart. "Wh-what have you done?"

You chuckled bitterly, a trickle of blood trailing from your nose. "Wolfsbane and monkshood, enough to kill us both within the hour."

He gasped at your words. Vampires were immune to many things, but the herbs you'd named were among the deadliest known to any living thing—even to his kind. His claws flew to your neck, tightening as he growled, "Are you out of your goddamned mind, woman?!"

You smirked humourlessly. "Go ahead. End me now. It'd be a mercy."

Realising the force of his grip on your throat, he released you quickly, a shaky hand brushing your face as he noticed the blood trickling from your nose. If the poison was already taking a toll on him, your mortal body must be suffering a thousand times worse. "Do you really hate me this much?"

You shook your head, pulling your face away from his touch, but he only grasped you again, forcing you to meet his gaze—just as forceful as ever. That was the Kim Hongjoong you knew. "You're joking, right? You took me from my family, my friends, my… my lover, and forced me to stay by your side, to be fed on and used as you pleased. What else could I feel for you?"

He furrowed his brows, the pain in his chest intensifying as he struggled to keep his focus. "But, darling, I did it because I love you. I've told you over and over. If you weren't so stubborn, you could've been my queen. I was going to turn you—"

Tears of disgust welled up in your eyes as memories of this endless nightmare resurfaced. Weeks, months… you'd lost track. Maybe your family would know how long you'd been gone. "Love? You call this love? You don't torture someone you claim to love. You don't even know what that word means, you monster!"

Regret.

Immense, suffocating regret was all you felt. It had consumed you from the moment you'd fallen into Hongjoong's trap, ensnared by his cunning words and dark allure.

It hadn't always been this way.

⸸

"Ow!" you yelped, clutching your scraped knee as you eased yourself into a sitting position, recovering from the clumsy fall. You should have watched where you were going, but your mind had been lost in thought, still sulking over your cancelled plans. Your boyfriend had last-minute work obligations, leaving you disappointed after you'd looked forward to your date all day. Worse still, both your brother and best friend had their own commitments, so you were left to walk home alone, wishing Seonghwa were there to pick you up.

"Hey there, you alright?" a warm voice interrupted, and you looked up to see a stranger standing beside you, his hand extended politely, yet without touching.

And that was how you met him, on a chilly autumn evening. Kim Hongjoong had been so kind, so gentle, as you spilt your frustrations to him. He listened with a soft smile, guiding you to a nearby bus stop, supporting you with a careful hold, and tending to your wound with a small bandage. Before leaving, he draped his coat around your shoulders, leaving you with a comforting warmth.

How sweet of him.

What you didn't know was that as he walked away from you that night, his soft smile faded, replaced by a dark scowl. His fists clenched at his sides, and he cursed himself under his breath. He had planned to drain you right there on that empty street; it was the sweet scent of your blood that had drawn him to you in the first place. But the moment he saw you—eyes wide, vulnerable, and tangled in frustration—something inside him shifted, and he had done something he'd never done before: he spared his prey.

Had it been any other woman, she would have lost her life in an instant. It went against his nature to let a meal walk away unharmed. But you had been different somehow, your innocence tugging at some long-buried part of him he'd rather keep forgotten. "Pathetic," he muttered, disgusted with himself, before casting a glance over his shoulder, watching you as you disappeared from sight, his coat still wrapped around you.

"Another time," he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing with resolve. If he saw you again, he wouldn't hesitate.

Another time, human.

"Babe? What's this?" your beloved's voice called out, and an instant smile lit up your face as you turned to greet him that evening. "Hwa, you're home!" But as you tried to rush to him, a sharp pang in your knee held you back, and his eyes quickly caught the slight wince. In an instant, he was at your side, Hongjoong's coat discarded on the chair beside you.

"What happened? Are you okay?" he asked, worry furrowing his brow as he knelt beside you, inspecting the bandage.

You laughed sheepishly. "I may or may not have tripped over my own foot. But a kind stranger helped me out—he's the one who gave me his coat." You nodded toward the garment that Seonghwa had been eyeing earlier. "He found me by the side of the road, got me to a bus stop, and made sure I was alright before he left."

Guilt flashed across your boyfriend's face as he cupped your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "I'm so sorry I had to cancel, baby. It's my fault you were out there alone. Does it still hurt?"

You shook your head, leaning into his touch. "Not anymore. You're here now, and that's all that matters."

His expression softened as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Well, I'm just relieved someone was there to help. Good thing that man found you."

At the time, you nodded in agreement, warmth spreading through you at the thought. But if you had known then what you knew now, you would have wept, realising that this was only the beginning of a nightmare you could never have anticipated.

⸸

Falling into his orbit had been so easy.

"It's you!" you beamed as you stepped out of your workplace, your face lighting up at the sight of the kind stranger who had offered his coat and helped you just days before. The man smiled, his expression warm and charming as he nodded.

"It is me. I was just passing by and noticed you finishing up your shift," he said. "Heading home now?"

You nodded, stepping closer. "I am! And I actually have your coat all cleaned and ready, but I didn't bring it with me today. I can return it to you next time you pass by."

He chuckled, his gaze unwavering. "Why wait? I'll walk you home now, and you can give it to me there."

Maybe you should have been more cautious about leading a stranger to your doorstep. But he was your saviour, after all—surely you could trust him… right? If only you had thought twice back then, if only.

"Would you like to come in for a bit? It's a little chilly outside; let me just grab your coat real quick," you said, hurrying inside, leaving the door open behind you as you went to find it. Unhurried, the vampire stepped in, his eyes alight with satisfaction. Your scent filled the space, sweet and intoxicating. He took a slow breath, biting back the urge to sink his teeth into you right then. How awfully trusting you were—it made him want to draw this out, savouring the game.

He wandered into your living room, pausing at the wall lined with photos. His gaze darkened slightly as he took in the images of you with another man, holding you close, kissing you in some. Ah, yes, the lover. His lips twisted in a faint sneer, though when you returned with his coat folded neatly in your arms, he met you with a polite smile.

"Let me guess," he said smoothly, pointing to a photo, "this must be the lucky guy who had to cancel on you that night?"

You glanced at the picture and nodded, smiling. "That's him—my boyfriend. He was really grateful you were there to help me out."

Hongjoong's grin widened ever so slightly, amusement flashing in his eyes. "Grateful, is he?" he murmured, his voice silky, almost too smooth.

But you missed the glint of slyness in his tone, sending him off with a wave and a warm smile. Later that night, the vampire clutched the coat to his face, breathing in your scent with a low growl, his grip tightening. He hadn't realised until now how intoxicating the pull was, but he knew one thing for sure: this coat would never leave his grasp again—not until he had you for himself.

Once again, he had spared you.

But this time, it wasn't mercy—it was control. He'd see just how long you would continue to trust him, let him in. And then, he thought with a twisted smirk, he would show you exactly who he was as he drained every drop from you.

If you thought that would be the last time you'd see him, you were sorely mistaken. Almost every evening after that, he would appear outside the cafe just as your shift ended, leaning against the lamppost as though he'd been waiting.

"Want some company on the way home?" he'd ask, his voice always gentle, words wrapped in warmth as he mentioned it was on his way anyway.

And so, you'd let him walk beside you, night after night. He always seemed to know just what to say, as though he could read your mind. Every word was perfectly timed, his soft laughter like music that drew you in before you even realised it. He began to open up about his life, weaving tales of heartbreak and loneliness that tugged at your heart, his voice so sincere that it was easy to believe him.

"They say life is easier with someone who truly understands you," he'd murmur, eyes dark and searching as he glanced your way. He'd mention how it felt to be isolated, misunderstood—and somehow, it felt like he was talking to you, like he was a lost soul just waiting for the right person to come along.

And he'd pause, his gaze softening. "It's rare to find someone who… just gets it, you know?"

You'd nod, heart aching, wanting so badly to be that someone, to fill that void you thought you saw in him.

You had no idea then that he was slowly slipping under your skin, blurring the lines of trust and intuition until you found yourself more invested in him than you ever thought possible. That he wasn't seeking connection or friendship—he was weaving a web, each thread perfectly placed. And all along, his hunger lay just beneath the surface, patiently waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

If only you had known what it meant to be the "friend" of a vampire.

⸸

Then there was that night in the park.

You'd found him sitting alone on a bench, his figure slouched, his head bowed as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. His expression was distant, empty, as he stared down at his hands—hands that seemed unblemished but, if only you'd known, had just left a trail of lives snuffed out too soon. No human could have sensed it, but his hunger for you was unmatched, something primal that no other blood could satisfy, not even the hapless souls he'd claimed just hours before.

But you, blissfully unaware of the darkness around him, only saw someone you thought of as a friend. Someone you might save, if you showed him kindness. Your heart ached at the sight, and you quietly sat beside him, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers were cool against yours, a chill that settled into your skin, but you brushed it off as a sign of the evening's autumn air.

"Everything alright, my friend?" you asked, your voice soft, filled with worry you didn't understand.

He didn't even glance up, yet he squeezed your hand lightly, as though your presence had grounded him. "I… I think I might've done something I'm not exactly proud of," he murmured, his voice trembling just enough to pull at your heart.

You sighed, your thumb tracing small circles on his hand, offering him a gentle squeeze without pressing him to share. "It's okay, Joong. I… I know your life hasn't been easy. Whatever it was, you probably had no choice." You gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Nobody's perfect. I just want you to know you'll always have a friend in me."

As you spoke, he finally looked at you, but there was a sharp glint in his eye, a brief, almost predatory gleam that flickered just for a moment. And though you noticed the faint trace of crimson near his collar, you dismissed it as a trick of the streetlight or perhaps a stain from a spill. Why would you have thought any differently?

What you didn't know was that every word, every gesture, was like fuel to his fire. He'd lured you in, time and again, feeding off your kindness, growing closer with each moment, all the while concealing what lay beneath that soft, gentle exterior. And you, too blinded by trust, saw only the broken soul he wanted you to see, never realising just how deeply you'd fallen into his hands.

If you'd known what he was hiding, you'd have run. But then, if he had his way, running wouldn't have saved you.

⸸

Regret. Deep, suffocating regret washed over you as you recalled how blindly you'd trusted a stranger you barely knew, dismissing every warning from those who loved you.

"Babe, I really don't have a good feeling about this guy you've been talking to," Seonghwa murmured one evening, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you washed the dishes. "I know he helped you that night, but his actions lately…"

You'd bitten your lip, drying your hands before turning to embrace him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I know it seems strange, Hwa, but he honestly just feels like someone who needs a friend. Maybe I'll introduce you two someday."

You had brushed off his concerns, convincing yourself you were just being overly cautious. How could you have known then what lurked beneath Hongjoong's warm smile and attentive gaze? The way he listened, the kindness in his eyes—it all felt genuine. But now, those memories were shadowed by the haze of your own naivety.

Thinking back to Seonghwa's concerned eyes and protective arms, the ache in your chest deepened. He had only wanted to shield you, to keep you safe, but you'd shrugged off his worries like scattered autumn leaves that night in the park. How could you have ignored the instincts of those who loved you?

You remembered your brother's warning too. "He knows you have a boyfriend, right? Then why is he still so…" he sighed, catching the frown on your face. "Just be careful around him, noona." His brow had been furrowed, his voice tinged with the protectiveness you’d come to expect from him.

Even your best friend had weighed in. "Gurl, he's hot, single, and lonely? Maybe he could use someone like me as a distraction!" she teased, laughing before her face turned serious. "But honestly, your brother and Hwa are right. You don't know him that well. Stranger danger, babe. You shouldn't be so trusting."

At the time, you'd laughed it all off, buoyed by a sense of invincibility in your own trust and optimism. But now, standing face-to-face with the darkness beneath Hongjoong's charm, the weight of every ignored warning settled heavily on your conscience. He'd played you, twisted your kindness into his own weapon, feeding on your good intentions to serve his own dark needs. If only you had listened.

⸸

"I find myself in a dire situation and in need of your help. If your words are sincere and your care for me as genuine as you've claimed, then please, come to me at once."

You should have heeded their warnings on that fateful day. As you picked up the note outside the cafe, your name scrawled across it, you noticed the handwriting—almost ancient, as if penned with a quill. It was signed by Hongjoong and carried an urgent request for you to come to his residence immediately.

As you read, questions flooded your mind.

First, why had he never exchanged numbers with you? Did he even own a phone? You realise now you've never seen him with one. His communication felt so… archaic. Perhaps he was simply a fan of old-fashioned ways, though the thought brought little comfort.

Then there was the urgency—what could he need you for so desperately? If he'd come all the way to leave the note, why not just speak to you? It struck you then that he'd never entered the cafe, never bought a drink, or even lingered to chat.

And the address… secluded in the middle of nowhere. Why would he live so far from everyone? A shadow of doubt tugged at you, urging you to reach out for advice from those who cared about you. But against your better judgement, you let the image of his pleading, dark eyes linger in your mind. Before you knew it, you were on your way, heart racing with anticipation and dread.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the echoes of your loved ones' warnings circling through your mind. Yet you pushed them aside, drawn by an inexplicable pull to see him again. It was as if you were stepping toward a dark abyss, its presence invisible yet pressing close. The setting sun cast long shadows, stretching as if to hold you back. But the illusion of connection, once so warm and real, propelled you forward.

As you reached his residence—a grand, ancient mansion, the air turned colder, a chill that crept down your spine. You paused at the door, dread settling in your stomach as if the very walls whispered the warnings you'd ignored. Was this a terrible mistake? You took a deep breath, pushed aside your hesitation, and knocked, the sound seeming to dissolve into the gathering twilight.

"You're here, at last, my dear," he murmured, voice dripping with sarcastic satisfaction. He turned, and in an instant, the false warmth vanished, twisting into a grin that revealed razor-sharp fangs.

"I've been waiting. And I'm starving."

⸸

Has it been days... or weeks?

"Wh-what the hell are you doing...?" you choked out, pressing a trembling hand to your neck to staunch the blood trickling from the bite he'd left. You were sprawled across his bed, barely able to move, every ounce of strength drained from you. Above, he stood with your phone in hand, snapping photos of you with a twisted, relished focus—capturing every vulnerable angle as if he were savouring an art piece on display.

"Making a collection to send to your little boyfriend, of course," he said, tone laced with mockery.

Your heart plummeted at the mention of Seonghwa. "N-no..."

Hongjoong smirked, his eyes dark and cold. "Oh, don't worry, darling. He wouldn't dare interfere if he knew what was good for you. And you'll behave yourself too, won't you? Wouldn't want anything happening to your precious family and friends, after all."

It hit you then—the grim reality. Your life as you knew it was over. He was a centuries-old monster, a bloodthirsty fiend who had you completely at his mercy. You were a mortal trapped in his web, no longer a person but a mere vessel to sate his hunger and whims.

Escape was a fleeting dream; you were too weak, too vulnerable. But in the dark corners of your mind, one thought persisted—an escape of a different kind. If you could somehow slip from this existence, you might at least put an end to this misery. Yet a lingering fear held you back: Seonghwa, your family, your friends. Were they still out there, searching for you, hearts heavy with worry? The thought of them stepping into this nightmare in a desperate attempt to find you gnawed at your soul.

You could take any fate for yourself, but the idea of your loved ones in harm's way was a weight you couldn't bear. So you swallowed back the dread, praying that they would find peace, that they would move on, even if you couldn't.

⸸

"Smile, darling. Loverboy has come to see you."

You gasped, a weak cry escaping your lips as his weight pressed you deeper into the mattress. You could barely push back against him, every ounce of strength drained, yet you clung to the disbelief—he couldn't have brought Seonghwa here. Not to witness this, not to see you in this state, drugged and used as Hongjoong's plaything. It had to be another one of his twisted games.

But as you turned your head to the window, horror struck you. There, just outside, stood your boyfriend. His eyes were wide, a mix of shock and agony contorting his face as he registered the scene before him: his first love, his entire world, bare and broken beneath another's hands.

A strangled sob left you as you watched him stumble back, his gaze a shattered mess of disbelief and betrayal. And then, without another glance, he turned and fled. The monster above you let out a dark chuckle, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips before pulling back with a smug, twisted satisfaction.

"And there he goes," he murmured, the words dripping with poison. "That should do it—no more foolish rescue attempts, no more endless searching. Just you and me, my dear. Don't worry; I'll take care of you from now on."

You lay there, his words echoing in your mind, the last remnants of your heart breaking into pieces. Your tears spilt freely, soaking the pillow beneath you as the reality sank in. With your boyfriend now gone, the final shred of hope and sanity within you slipped away. Yet, beneath the ache, something sharper flickered to life—a resolve you hadn't known you could possess.

The emptiness left you with nothing to lose. Hongjoong thought he'd finally won, thought he had you in his grasp forever. But he didn't know the lengths you'd go to escape him, the price you were willing to pay.

As your tears dried, you knew—if this was to be your end, he was going down with you.

⸸

Staring down at the wolfsbane and monkshood you'd collected, carefully wrapped in a small piece of parchment, your hands trembled. This was it. Once you took them, there would be no going back—the amount you'd prepared was enough to kill a bloodsucker within an hour, let alone you, a mere mortal. You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself to swallow the bitter herbs.

But just as you brought the packet closer, footsteps echoed down the hall, deliberate and unhurried. Heart racing, you hurriedly tucked the packet beneath the bed, barely managing to slide it out of sight as Hongjoong sauntered into the room, his gaze settling on you with that ever-present glint of sadistic amusement.

"Aww, look at you," he purred, eyes narrowing with mock sympathy. "Missing loverboy already, hm?" He let the words linger, watching the tension twist in your expression. "I am sorry he might not return the sentiment. Not anymore. Maybe you should just focus on me, darling." He crawled onto the bed, his movements slow and taunting, each slithering inch bringing him closer until his familiar, bone-chilling embrace enveloped you once more. The kind of hold that wrapped around your very spirit, pulling you down like an anchor.

The image of Seonghwa's face, etched with horror, surfaced in your mind, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. How could he have been forced to see you like this? Swallowing hard, you clenched your fists, determined not to give this monster the satisfaction of seeing your tears.

But his lips grazed your neck, chilling as they pressed over the bruised, unhealed bite marks that would likely never get the chance to heal. A shiver raced down your spine. The coldness of him… It was like every hope of escape was slipping further away.

"Joong…" you whispered, voice barely audible. You felt him freeze for a moment at the sound of his name, the way you'd once used it back when you'd believed his act. Back when you'd truly cared for him. The silence stretched, the flicker of tension you'd caught in him melting back into amusement.

"Before I came here... before all of this…" your voice cracked, but you forced yourself to continue, needing to see if there was even a fraction of humanity left in him. "Was there ever one moment where the side you showed me was sincere?"

His eyes darkened, amusement shifting into something almost unreadable. His expression stayed carefully composed, but his grip tightened, as though he sensed the question held more weight than he was prepared to deal with. For a moment, you thought you saw something there—guilt, maybe, or regret? But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that cold, detached gaze.

"Oh, my poor, naive love," he murmured, voice soft but devoid of empathy. "Sincere? That side of me was whatever you wanted it to be. And it did its job beautifully, wouldn't you agree?" His lips curled into a smirk, as though he savoured the pain reflected in your eyes.

With that answer, a profound calm settled over you, solidifying the choice you'd been struggling with. He had no redemption. No humanity. And soon enough, he'd feel what it was like to be powerless, too. The herbs were just beneath the bed, waiting to release you both from this wretched game.

And it would be soon.

⸸

Your own recklessness had led you here; there was no one else to blame. And yet, the thought of Seonghwa tightened painfully around your heart. He had been everything—the one you imagined beside you in every future, the light in all your darkest moments. Now, he was left only with the haunting image of you powerless, taken by the monster who loomed over you.

The vampire had turned your suffering into a twisted show, a grotesque performance designed to break every last bit of faith Seonghwa held for you. How could he possibly still love you after witnessing this? How could anyone?

But perhaps that was for the best. If it meant he'd let go of the desperate need to search for you, you could leave this world knowing no one would mourn your tainted existence. And with that bleak acceptance, your resolve crystallised. Hongjoong had unknowingly given you all the tools you needed, and you were finally ready to use them. The knowledge from his library, the herbs in his greenhouse—all his arrogance had left him exposed.

You'd consumed more than enough of the poison just before his feeding time, driven by a singular determination to end this—no more hesitation.

The venom surged through your veins, dizzying yet invigorating, each heartbeat counting down to your final moments—and his. You focused on that thought as his grip on you began to waver, his dominant presence starting to crumble as the poison took effect.

As your vision began to blur, clarity sharpened in your mind. This wasn't just an escape; it was vengeance. The thought fueled the last remnants of strength in your body.

"Do you feel that, Kim Hongjoong?" you whispered, forcing your voice to hold steady despite nausea clawing at you. "This is the end for you, and I'll die knowing you'll never hurt anyone else again."

He looked down at you, disbelief flickering into grim acceptance, and then, to your surprise, a small grin crept across his lips. He lay down beside you, fingers reaching out to entwine with yours. "You sly little fox… this is why I love you so much. No one else could have done this to me, no matter how they tried. At least we'll be together in the afterlife. I may be dying, but I'll die happy knowing I've won over Park Seonghwa."

The poison surged stronger with every heartbeat, each pulse dragging you deeper into the icy grip of darkness as the final remnants of your strength began to fade. "You're delusional, Kim. You'll have me... only until death claims us."

⸸

"No! No, it can't be!" Seonghwa's voice tore through the night, raw and desperate as he tried to break free from the arms restraining him. His screams cut the air, his cries echoing in the vast, empty silence that had settled around the mansion. But the police officers, your brother, your best friend—everyone held him back from reaching you… or what was left of you.

If only you could have held on just a moment longer. The sirens had drawn near, filling the air with the promise of help, of escape, but they'd come too late. Your boyfriend had done the only thing he could, knowing that a rash attempt to rescue you would have meant his death too. He'd left after seeing you one last time, shattering as he took in the horror of your suffering, knowing you'd endured all this while he searched tirelessly for you.

Now, at last, he was here, hands still reaching out for you, ready to bring you back into his arms—but all that was left was an empty, still form entwined in the lifeless arms of the very monster who'd stolen you from him. His sobs were relentless, tearing from his chest as he stumbled forward, pleading, his body wracked with the pain of a thousand what-ifs.

If only he had fought harder to keep you by his side. If only he hadn't cancelled that night. If only he'd never let you cross paths with Hongjoong. The blame—merciless, relentless—wrapped around him like a noose, each regret tightening its hold.

This ache would follow him, a cycle of blame and guilt that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He would never be the same.

I'll join you soon, my love.

This has got to be one of my personal favourites, I do love me some sadistic shit from time to time. Hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 |

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho |

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline |

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1 |

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha |

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte |

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar |

@bunny4yungi @zl-world

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