#Unrequited Love is Violence

[kimiko24]

You've bitten far too many;;

[bardic-tales]

Title: Monster Made From Memories

Pairing: Bianca / Sephiroth

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2948

Fandom: Final Fantasy 7

Warnings: abandonment, abuse, body horror, demonic imagery, emotional breakdown, emotional manipulation, existential dread, gaslighting, graphic violence, hallucinations, intense sorrow, loss of agency, mind control, psychological trauma, religious references, supernatural elements, trauma flashbacks, unrequited love, vivid depictions of fire, vivid descriptions of injury. Whump focused

Summary: In a dream-scape, the One-winged Angeal torments and gaslights by changing the dream-scape to the Nibelheim Incident. Bianca confronts Sephiroth and takes back control, attempting to reach the man she once loved despite his transformation into the One-Winged Angel.

tagging: @megandaisy9 @asirensrage @arrthurpendragon @themaradwrites @prehistoric-creatures

@creativechaosqueen

1.

“The only ramen I had was from those from the grocery store.” As Bianca Moore sat across from Sephiroth, the sun beat down upon her and warmed her bare shoulders. The wind swayed the crimson ruffles of her bandeau bikini top, flipping the ruffles up and down as the red and white fabric of their picnic table umbrella fluttered. She swept an unruly lock of her wavy, jet-black hair behind her right ear.

The piercing cry of the gulls echoed overhead, and Bianca and Sephiroth watched the birds dive bombed each other for a stray fry or two. The food tumbled across the boardwalk as another seagull landed on the wooden boards and pecked at it. Occasionally, a bird flew off and landed on the edge of a roof of a quaint beach-side cafe, screaming at the sun-kissed beachgoers who walked by.

Bianca leaned back in her chair and placed her hands behind her head, threading her fingers through her hair again. Her black, see-through sarong parted at her hip. The soft fabric separated over the curve of her hip, exposing her right knee and calf that was crossed over her left leg.

“You really never had authentic ramen?” Sephiroth scoffed. His husky voice softened more at the word ramen, causing a small twitch within Bianca’s core. A coy smirk pulled on the left corner of his lips, brightened his face, as she knew he could feel the erotic sensation through their psychic bond. His cyan, feline-like eyes sparkled in the sunlight. The corners of his eyes wrinkled in amusement while his hip-length silver hair danced on the sudden breeze. “That’s blasphemy, my dear angel. I can’t have you only experiencing ramen through those instant noodles and that little silver package of seasoning. Real ramen is more rich.”

As she opened her mouth to speak, she noticed a sole black feather fall from the heavens. It floated down to her, dancing from side to side, as if it were a leaf upon a dead wind: the last defense of a colorful autumn turning into the frigid winter. She reached for the familiar but unknown plumage and picked it up, examining it, but it was her surroundings that gave her pause.

While these plumes usually gave her joy, there was something about this one. The feathers radiated an aura that caused Bianca to drop it. It burst into a wispy, black smoke and disappeared.

Everything around her froze, as if they were in a status field. The seagulls hovered in the sky above Bianca. Their wings suspended in mid flight as if time itself had stopped. As she looked towards the side, she noticed that even the waiter pouring drinks froze with a perpetual grin crossing his angular face. The coffee tumbled out of the carafe. The dark liquid froze like a waterfall amid a deep freeze.

“What’s going on, Sephiroth?” She returned her attention to her companion, but he didn’t respond. Like everyone who surrounded her, Sephiroth remained still. His mouth hung opened as he was amid a quip. Most likely, he was going to tease her more about her ramen preferences or lack thereof.

As she looked at Sephiroth, he didn’t move. He looked blankly forward with his eyes unfocused. The wind that had been blowing their hair around stilled, and Sephiroth’s long, gray hair lay limply over his shoulders and cascaded down his back to the seat of his chair.

What the hell is happening? Bianca thought. She continued to look around. It was as if she were the only person alive in the world: the only one who could move around freely.

She felt the soft touch on her right shoulder; the leather creaked as his gloved-clad fingers curled over her bare shoulder. As she jumped, her heart thumped wildly in her chest. So, she wasn’t the only one who could move. The leather felt cool to her skin. Strands of long silver hair flowed over her shoulder and mixed with her dark locks. As she looked down, her heart raced, threatening to beat out of her chest. Her eyes widened. Bianca didn’t move.

“Oh, what fun we had here, my angel.” The words were mocking: cruel whispers masquerading as affection while he leaned forward behind her. He leaned forward behind her, his breath caressing the shell of her ear. She trembled beneath his touch, reminding herself that the scene that was laid out before her had happened in the past and in another timeline. “All these emotions that we pretended to feel for each other here.

“But it’s time to stop pretending, dear Bia,” He continued. “I died at the reactor and you didn’t even shed a tear. Why is that? Why didn’t my death affect you?”

The cruelty in his voice cut through her. She turned her head slowly to look at him. She couldn’t breathe, as her breath seemed to be stolen from her now.

“Why?” Bianca closed her eyes, clenching them tightly shut. Her fingers clutched at the tablecloth. Her body shook. This man was part of her being — her other half — and here he was, staring at her with such madness within his eyes, such malice in his gaze.

But she remembered everything: every kiss, every embrace, and every heartfelt declaration. That was the price of being a temporal being. Every outcome shimmered before her mind’s eye, as if she were looking at it on the mortal plane.

“Is it not enough that you took everything from me?” Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Her breath now came out quicker in small, quick bursts: almost as if she were a dog stuck outside in the middle of a heatwave. Sweat dripped off of her chin face and down her chin onto the table that she had previously sat at. “Why show me the moments when I was so sure that we were in love?”

His cold eyes fixated on Bianca. Spreading across his flawless countenance, a smirk played upon his lips as he observed her. Her entire body pleaded for him to leave her and return her to the dreams’ illusions, as that was better than opposed to going about her life without him.

The cool seaside resort shifted instantly. Wooden buildings with pointed arches and mahogany framing greeted her, replacing the soft sound of waves lapping the shoreline and the women in tiny bikinis and men in board shorts. Each home’s alabaster plaster glimmered in the moonlight flowing down upon their bodies as the beam of light broke through the clouds high in the heavens above them.

Her eyes widened as their surrounding leapt in flames, the surrounding fires burnt brightly: the Nibelheim Incident. It painfully reminded her of her final experience with genuine love before everything was destroyed.

Her breath came in pants now, as she could not focus on him. The acrid smell of the wood burning saturated her surroundings. The burning scent of bodies overwhelmed her, as she felt as if she were going to be sick. Bile filled with her throat, threatening to burst out like a geyser. Despite the burning sensation, she swallowed it back. Her breath kept slamming within her throat, coming faster and faster as the flames circled around her and her surroundings burnt.

“Love, you say?” He spoke in a tone heavy with his enjoyment of her pain and suffering. “Such a pathetic sentiment. A concept you never truly understand, little angel.

“You think you loved this man?” As he leaned closer, his hair on her shoulder brushed against her cheek. “This hollow form of myself? You were a fool to believe that I ever loved you back.”

Their bodies glistened in the blazing light of the shared memories. With a relentless fury, the flames crept along the windows’ sills and frames, before suddenly springing to life on the roofs of the cottages.

As her body shook, the past consumed her. She could vividly remember the suffocating hopelessness she felt during that day, the profound failure of not being able to protect the townspeople from his rampage, and the excruciating grief that washed over her when he jumped from the reactor platform into the mako tanks.

“But it is amusing to watch how you flail about with your pathetic love.” Even though he crouched down to her level, he still towered over her.

Pathetic love? Something within Bianca snapped. She pushed down the sheer terror and misery that Sephiroth evoked in this moment. She stared at him, gazing deep into his feline-like eyes. A flutter raced in her chest: hope. It was tiny, but it was still there. She could feel Sephiroth beneath all the layers of corruption, influence, and madness.

2.

“That’s not true. We loved each other before you b-before you set our world aflame.” Bianca turned towards him now and cupped his cheek. Her demonic blood roared to life and fought his control over her. As she stared into his cyan eyes, she could still sense him — the man behind the One-Winged Angel and Son of Jenova—within their bond.

“You’re still in there.” Her hand still stroked his face, as she could feel the confusion seeping in through their bond. “I can feel you. Beneath the pain. Beneath the madness. Beneath the chaos. Like you, I too have a calling and destiny that I will answer it. I will free you from yourself and your mother.

Sephiroth took a step back and narrowed his brow at the feisty angel before him. Both of them knew that her demonic blood often dominated his and Jenova’s control, since her father was one of the original primordial demons, but he couldn’t comprehend the source of her immense power.

“It is true,” Bianca continued. “You may have changed, but in doing so, so have I. Our souls mirror each other. If there’s anyone who can save you from the chaos, it’s me: your angel.”

With a firm grip on his suspenders, she forcefully pulled him towards her, their lips meeting in a rebellious display of passion. Their kiss was a delicate balance of vulnerability and resistance, as their lips moved in a slow, tender dance.

The fires raged on around them, but her gentle touch on his cheek provided her a moment of solace. As the weight of the heat bore down on her skin, she found herself even more resolved in the conviction that she had to save him.

Her heartache lingered deep within, like a thick coating of molasses, but she refused to let it consume her, knowing that her mission to save Sephiroth required her full resolve. Yet, her heart clenched every time she laid eyes on him, making it nearly impossible to offer any help. He would have denied it, anyway. In death, he relentlessly refused to find rest or to join with the Planet. His anger and madness refused to let him rest.

“I cannot be killed,” she said, emphasizing her heritage as the daughter of Asmodeus and Seraphine. Strands of her saliva still clung to his lips, making them shimmer in the firelight. She stood. “And when you remain after the Meteor falls, I too will persist. I will spend eternity freeing you from your madness, if I must.”

Bianca now stalked towards him. She stared intensely into his eyes as her hips swayed as she walked deliberately while the flames of the fire flickered around them, making her seem as if she were a demon exiting hell.

With her head tilted up and her wings spread wide, she finally stood before him, exuding confidence and grace. Amidst the dying flames of Nibelheim, her feathers, a mix of purple and black, gleamed with an otherworldly beauty. As she emerged from the flames, she masked her true feelings, burying them deep inside. She concealed her pain of losing him five years ago beneath a stoic expression, making it invisible to his eyes. As she wrested her dream-scape from him, her eyes glinted with determination, and a powerful sense of empowerment overcame her.

Once more, the landscape shifted, revealing a breathtaking panorama of rolling hills and vibrant wildflowers. Behind the evergreen forest, a majestic mountain rose behind them, casting a shadow that made her feel small. This was the original home to the Biblical Nephilim: a race of ice giants that lived beyond the mountain range. In the forest, the sound of the cherubs’ fluttering wings accompanied the mesmerizing sight of their iridescent light, as Bianca stood firmly planted her feet.

Sephiroth’s eyes widened further as the fiery hell-scape of the Nibelheim Incident faded away, promptly replaced by the ethereal beauty of the Celestial Realm. His feet remained planted, but a deep frown creased his forehead. Their shared soul-bond revealed a cacophony of thoughts: a blend of bewilderment, rebellion, and, above all, seething rage.

“You are right, Sephiroth, though,” Bianca declared, quietly. Her voice may have been soft and husky, but there was a power to it. “You love to say how this and the Reunion are homecomings. It right here and now is. It’s your homecoming. While my concern for humanity and the Planet is significant, it is the harm done to your soul that weighs heavily on my mind. But fear not.

“I will save you, the Chosen One, the Son of Jenova,” Bianca’s voice resonated with conviction as she made her declaration. Her hand pressed firmly against her chest, feeling the rapid thumping of her heart, as it still clenched from sorrow.

How could she promise to save him? Five years prior, she had experienced failure. He had chosen Jenova, forsaking their love in favor of fulfilling his destiny. She couldn’t let him see the vulnerability that lingered in her eyes, a result of the impact his choice had on her. With a burst of black and purple smoke, Sephiroth vanished, leaving behind an eerie silence. Despite the immense sorrow of her soul, she found herself in a quiet recreation of her homeland. The night air was cool and crisp, providing a much-needed respite from the fiery and acrid atmosphere that lingered after the hell-scape he had conjured of the Nibelheim Incident.

The occasional hoot of an owl and the gentle rustling of leaves filled with a serene silence, interrupted only the dream-scape.

The last black feather gently descended from the Heavens, and Bianca sank to her knees, feeling the coolness of the moss and grass beneath her. Her hands trembling, she gently pressed them against her cheeks, muffling the sound of her sobs. With her palms pressed against the moss, grass, and feather, she hunched over and wept in silence. Every inch of her body shuddered and trembled, as if she had reached the brink of despair, but a glimmer of hope pulsed in her heart, as if it was her only chance to rescue him. His scent and feather provided her with a fleeting sense of comfort, although she remained unaware of the unfamiliar presence.

3.

With the world holding its breath, the air stood completely still as his black feather gracefully descended to the ground, resting on the cool moss beside her. But there, beneath the silence, a faint whisper lingered, barely audible, like a gentle breeze. A flicker of emotion crossed her face - a mix of regret, pain, and something unspoken.

Only a being as divine as her and Bianca herself could hear the ethereal whispers that resonated deep within her soul. In a spectral manifestation, Sephiroth materialized, his figure ghostly and translucent, extending his hand to gently wipe away a stray tear from her cheek. As she looked into his eyes, she was struck by the profound warmth that radiated from them, a stark contrast to Sephiroth’s previously menacing gaze. The moment he got close, she realized something was off. The aroma coming from him was completely unlike the Sephiroth who had just left her, but it matched the scent of the man who had fallen into the mako and left her in deep sorrow, confirming that he was not Sephiroth — or the Sephiroth that had fallen to Jenova and madness.

“Are you a dream? A vision of the past?” As she looked up, her eyes widened in recognition and joy when she saw her SOLDIER, a familiar smile on his face. Although he appeared identical to moments ago, a subtle radiance emanated from his eyes and his demeanor exuded an air of lightness. He existed in a liminal space between the detached SOLDIER and the sinister One-Winged Angel, an enigma that became intertwined with her soul.

As he bent down and brushed her cheek, she shivered from the warm connection: his touch was divine. Tears still coursed down her face, dripping off of her chin as she held onto the One-Winged Angel’s black feather.

“I am a fragment of a memory,” Sephiroth whispered to her. “A whisper of a soul. A fate that was once promised, but was cruelly snatched away.”

Her eyes, full of emotion, remained fixed on him as she continued to watch. Sephiroth’s ethereal form gracefully knelt before her, his long silver hair cascading down his shoulders and back. As she looked into his cyan eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of gentleness and sadness emanating from them. Once again, he tenderly brushed his fingers against her cheek, feeling the wet trails of tears on her skin, as if he wanted to remember every contour.

“But I am what was meant to be.” He continued to brush the tears away. “And yet, not what I am. I am a shadow of the man you once loved, but I am still him. And I will always come for you when you need me.”

[whimsy-wallfish]

{ help me be unblemished }

— 10. 14. 23.

dear, won’t you 

draw out my digestive tract?

can’t you cut me open and

do away with my innards?

I want to be 

bubblegum pink inside

- unblemished by blood and bile.

you could help me,

and you could so tenderly sponge the incision

- unburdening me from filth and flesh.

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

prompt - sponge

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

[anniecrestalover]

“No One but Her”

Summary: Johanna’s perspective from her victory tour all the way to post-Mockingjay. One-sided Joannie-centric. Angst. Lots of angst.

Chapter One.

I’ve always known I like girls. Just not a girl.

Especially not now.

Falling in love as a victor was a dumb decision. Unless they’re a victor themselves, you shouldn’t bother with it. And even if you do, kids was out of the question.

I never thought about love now, if I ever did at all. I didn’t plan on that, either.

That was until President Snow called me to his office right before my Victory Tour. What does he want from me now? He’s already killed my family. I don’t have a choice, so I have to go anyways, although it doesn’t stop me from having these thoughts in my head.

I enter his office and sit down.

“Ms. Mason.” His snakelike eyes flicker up to me. There is a cold, unbothered smile on his lips, like it says he knows what I’m thinking but simply isn’t threatened. And why would he be? I’m completely powerless against him.

I don’t say anything, simply raising an eyebrow. Snow takes the hint and continued on. “As you may know, your victory tour will be starting in a couple days.” He plucked a rose from the vase on his desk.

“I’m quite aware.” Is the first thing I say. My arms are crossed defiantly, but we both know who holds all the cards. The answer isn’t me.

“You also may know that we want all new victors to interact and mingle with the victors of other districts.” Why he’s taking so long to get to his point, I have no idea why. I cant say “Hurry up, old man!” as much as I want to.

I let a slightly exasperated sigh slip. “I also know that.” Snow must enjoy watching people get impatient and restless.

“Well, since you’re so up to date, I have a request of you.” Request, meaning a requirement that I have to complete or Snow will find another way to punish me and my defiance.

“And what is that?” I’m a bit curious, but I mask it with annoyance. Snow twirls the rose between his fingers, slowly, slowly, slowly..

“You have heard about the unfortunate situation regarding last year’s victor, I assume?” Of course I have. Everyone knows about Annie Cresta going mad after the 70th Hunger Games. She hasn’t made any appearances since her Victory Tour. I’m thinking Snow must’ve shoved her back to Four so she wouldn’t humiliate him further.

He doesn’t wait for me to say anything or retort. “I want you, when you get to District Four, to talk to her. Mingle in front of the cameras.” Out of all the victors? Her? Theres a silent question in my eyes.

“Well, we want her to appear the slightest bit normal for the Capitol. And the best way to do that is having her seem chatty and friendly with other victors.” And since I’m the recent victor, it’s gonna be me, is the unadded part.

Snow, once again, continues on without my input. “Your Victory Tour is in three days. I expect you to have come up with an answer by then. If not, I can send over some.. encouragement.”

Me and Snow both knew what “encouragement” meant. We also knew that those days to “think” meant nothing, because I’ll just be doing it anyways.

“No encouragement needed.” I don’t bother to hide the snark in my voice. He isn’t bothered. I get up out of my seat and leave without being dismissed. He doesn’t stop me.

Great. Now I’m forced to hang around the mad girl when there’s more important people to talk to. And for what, so she doesn’t humiliate Snow and the Hunger Games more than she already has?

I should just suck it up now, because I don’t have a choice either way, but I’ve always been an angry, hard-headed person.

[festeringfae]

I hate that you cannot simply have a group chat DM on this infernal website. Anyway, @dramaticfoils @clefairytea, I want to opt in to a new hyperfixation, is Persona 5 like a "as soon as you start your brain is eaten" thing or more of a "starts slow but by the time you realize that you are not only grasping the lore but you're also Invested in it you're already in the autism vibration zone"? Feel free to peer pressure/send temptation my way if you want.

[anidealistatbestburntoutatworst]

kunikidazai and shakespeare,,, what a duo

i leave it to the imaginative little ppl reading this to come up with a preface

dazai: “i love you, kunikida”

kunikida *brows furrowing a yearnfull sadness coming over him*: “dazai- you say you love rain, but yet you open your umbrella. you say you love the sun, but you always find a spot in the shadows. you say you love the wind, but you close your windows the first you hear of its rustling . these reasons dazai, are why i am afraid when you say that you love me too.”

[nobody-is-evil]

Dream, Why Don’t You Have a Snugglefest with Hob and Maybe You’ll Calm Down

Summary: Results inconclusive. Dream was calm during the snugglefest, but...

This is for the Feb prompt (Cuddle) Pollen for the @yearoftheotpevent.

Thanks to @littledreamling for being my beta.

I’ll reblog this with the link to the fic on ao3.

Warnings: non-consensual drug use that usually comes with the pollen trope, mentions of period-typical homophobia (in the form of fear of it), Dream is not nice to himself, sad/open ending

There is a fight going on right next to him. Hob Gadling fights the two smugglers that Lady Johanna Constantine brought in with her, two men named Michael Stoker and Tobias Underwood.

Dream does not pay them any mind. Mere mortals cannot hurt him. No, what is important is the discomfiting sensation of—something. He cannot place what affects him, but something is.

He feels...cold. His form’s head is aching. This body, like that of a fawn’s, struggles to keep him upright. Most worryingly, the Dreaming is fading away from him.

Lady Johanna Constantine’s words make their way to him, “...mix something into your drink.” He feels the weight of her gaze when she continues, “I’ve been assured it will work on your kind.”

No.

This is her work? Her petty hedge-magicking?

He grabs the seat of his chair hard enough to whiten his knuckles. It requires more control than it should not to growl and shout at her.

Few things should be able to affect one such as him at all, and less should be able to rip away all that makes him Endless and replace it with human flesh, but without his endless memory, he cannot remember. All that he can think about is the chill and how weakened he feels.

He falls out of his chair and to the floor on his knees, clutching his head with both hands to try to relieve the pain. His form protests even this position, swaying, and he presses one hand against the ground to steady himself.

(There is a thud that could only be the sound of Hob succumbing as well. The delay is likely from his immortality, but it could not stop the effects forever.)

Fingertips touch his shoulder. The heat is tangible through his conjured clothing. Dream yanks himself away, and his words come out as a hiss when he speaks through gritted teeth, “Do not touch me!”

His irritation is far more palpable than he usually allows himself. It is unbecoming of an Endless, if natural from a mortal.

“Oh, do not try to trick me. I know exactly how you’re feeling now.”

She cannot comprehend even a drop of the power he usually carries, evident in the way she attempts again to touch him—this time, directly on his skin. Dream resorts to crawling backwards away from her.

A footstep echoes across the room like a gunshot. For half a second, Dream fears (fears!) that one of her lackeys has awoken, but no—it is Hob. The sun washes his features in golden light, painting him as the archetype of an avenging angel as he charges at her.

In seconds, she has fallen limply to the ground. She does not move, so she must be in his realm—how galling it is to have to figure that out, like trying to understand another through the movements of her lips rather than her voiced words. He rashly attempts to reconnect to the Dreaming, but only strains his mind in the process, adding to the existing pounding in his head. He clutches his head again.

Hob’s voice comes from right next to Dream, “They could get up at any moment. We should leave.” (Dream has to dig his fingers further into his scalp.) “Can you stand?”

Can.

He.

Stand.

Dream rises unaided—for about half a second before he lurches to the side and has to grab onto the table. But that cannot be the end of his humiliation; no, his muscles fail him even with the help from the table, and he falls all the way back to the floor.

Hob does not offer help. This is not something Dream is unused to, but after fighting off his three attackers unasked, Hob seems like he would be the kind of person to do so.

Or, perhaps, Dream is complicating a simple zest for fighting.

“No. No, I cannot stand.” Each extra word is an arrow he rips out of his skin. “...help me...”

“...please...”

Hob says, barely audible, “Certainly.”

Even expecting the touch and watching his hands approach—

(Dream is not unused to heat. The power of an Endless has a similar effect, such that he seldom bothers giving his form in the Waking World a temperature in the range of humans. But without his power, all Dream has left is this body, this body that has never been anything but freezing, and from this perspective, even another mortal’s body heat is...hot.)

—he still flinches when he feels the heat they emit.

Hob retracts them as if he is the one burnt. “Are you sure?”

Grinding his teeth is a familiar sensation (the accompanying pain, not so much). Of course Hob would pay attention and be concerned about this body’s involuntary reaction. In his peripherals, he can see that his own limbs are shaking. “Do it!” Dream spits out.

The heat returns to the backsides of his knees and his upper back, and this time, it does not leave when he flinches. With longer than an instant to adjust to it, his body decides that it rather likes being warm. A good thing, as Dream is pressed against something that warms even more of him at once.

His body moves instinctively, seeking the configuration that allows for it to be in contact with the warmth the most. His head digs into the warmest spot of all, a little crook that he fits into so well, it is like it was made for this purpose.

And it is rumbling.

Dream cracks open an eye (that he does not remember closing) and is reminded that he is being carried by a human, Hob—who is laughing at him.

“You have regained your strength, old stranger. I could drop my arms and you would stay as you are.”

“Do not!” Dream tightens around Hob further. It is as he said; Dream’s strength is, inexplicably, back, though he still does not want to lose the nest of Hob’s arms.

Hob tenses in turn, voice dropping to an urgent whisper, “You must not speak so loud! If anyone sees that I’m carrying a man like this...”

It takes Dream a moment to realize that Hob is referring to him as a man, and longer to place his fears. “The anti-sodomy laws,” he realizes. “Then we shall not be seen. Concentrate on your destination.”

“What?” Hob asks, even though Dream can sense his daydream.

Dream manipulates the sand out of his pouch with more ease than usual—the difference between leading a dog with a leash and simply calling for it—and it surrounds them.

When it dissipates, they are inside his home.

“That is convenient,” Hob breathes, turning in the direction of the still-locked front door. Then he suddenly says, “Er, I’ll put you down, now,” and stops in front of his couch.

Naturally. Now that Dream is back to full strength, there is no reason for a mortal to carry him.

He allows himself to be released��up until he is reminded of how frosty it is outside of Hob’s arms. Then he retreats back up like a cat scrambling out of water.

Hob accommodates the aborted motion, though there is no small amount of confusion in his voice when he says, “My friend?”

Perhaps Dream could request that Hob light the fireplace? No, that would require him to let go of Dream. There is no distracting him from this. “It...is cold,” he admitted.

“Oh.” Hob seems to consider this. He takes to pacing down the length of his living room. “So, it’s not normal for you to be freezing to the touch?”

Dream corrects, “It is. The part that is unusual is that I feel the chill.”

Hob gasps. “This is because of what Lady Johanna mixed into your drink!” he exclaims at first with realization and then with righteous anger.

“Perhaps,” Dream agrees as though he already thought of that.

“Do you know—well, you’ll be fine, surely? How long before you’re back to normal?”

Dream considers this. He does not quite remember. “After a fashion, I shall. Between one and eleven hours.”

Hob huffs. “My endurance is not what it used to be. I doubt I can stay awake that long, let alone carry you the entire time, old stranger, even with how light you are.”

Hmm. Dream allows magnanimously, “Let it not be known that I would keep a...human from his rest. If you wish to recline, then we shall.”

Hob stops. His throat shifts as he swallows. “Thank you, my friend.”

The walk to Hob’s bedroom is silent. Dream does not pay any mind to the decorations—he is content to rest in Hob’s hold. They stop in front of his bed, and only then does Dream reluctantly drop down from his grasp onto it.

He immediately regrets it when the chill returns. It should be warm, what with all the bedding, but it is not. The memory of warmth slips away, like sand would slip out of his grasp in his weak condition, and it is only on conscious knowledge that he knows the heat will help and not hurt when Hob climbs into bed after him.

Once he is used to the boiler that is Hob again, Dream’s body seeks out the position that allows him to squeeze out as much warmth as he can get. Hob lays on his back, so Dream lays on his left side, with his left arm pinned underneath Hob and right arm crossing Hob’s chest. Like this, he can fit his head back into its rightful place in the crook of Hob’s neck.

Extra, much appreciated warmth comes in the form of Hob’s right arm down Dream’s back and his left hand in Dream’s hair. The repetitive movements calm him, succor almost enough to make him forget that this is not his natural state.

They lay in silence.

“It has been 25 minutes,” Dream says later. “You are not asleep. You are no closer to being asleep.”

The hands in his hair and on his back slow in their motions. “I’m not.”

Dream almost drops it and asks him to keep doing it, but he stands by his resolution to not keep Hob from sleeping. “Why?”

“These clothes are not made to be slept in,” Hob admits quietly. His next words come out in a rush, “But it’s fine; I’m sure you would not appreciate the time it would take me to change them—”

“Nonsense.” Dream barely has to use any of his sand to undress Hob. In an instant, he has left Hob in only his white underclothes (recognizing how many Dreamers fear being nude in public).

The change is immediate—Hob gives off heat tenfold, a hundredfold. Dream lets out a surprised purr. The only thing that is important is soaking up as much of this new, extra warmth as he can. He lets his instincts guide his body again and ends up laying on top of Hob.

If removing one layer of clothing yielded this result, what would happen if Dream gets rid of his own clothes?

He banishes them.

The influx of heat no longer feels like it can be attributed to just physical temperature. He feels simultaneously like he is underwater and like he is floating, like he is spinning and like he is still, like he is laying on Hob and like he is melting into him until they are just one being.

A slight shift underneath him brings him back down to Earth until he breaches the surface of the water.

“My friend,” Hob says, with a strained quality to his voice that Dream has never heard before, “you’re too—heavy, to be on top of me.”

Yet, Dream is simply too comfortable to move. This nest is perfect; there must be some other way to fix it. Hmm—of course. He calls a bit of sand and uses it to make his form as light as a feather.

Hob swallows again, and when he speaks, his voice is closer to normal. “Er...I thank you. This is considerably better.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

For a moment, silence reigns.

“Would you mind...” Hob is oddly hesitant. “I find that I can lull myself to sleep by telling a story. Would you mind hearing one?”

Dream has to stop the purr that tries to escape at this. Hob does not know who he asks, who he freely offers his stories to—he is ignorant of the implications. Instead, Dream reminds himself of the foundation of their relationship, “You would continue where we left off before we were interrupted?”

Hob lets out a chuckle at that. “If we’re to continue where we left off, I remember that you were about to tell me your name.”

That...is true. Hob has been very patient, has he not? 400 years is a long time for a human. Dream, relaxed because of his presence, cannot think of how he could be more worthy. “Very well.”

“I have many names. You may know me as Lord Morpheus, Shaper of Forms, Oneiros, the Oneiromancer, King of Dreams and of Nightmares. You likely know me as the Sandman.” Dream pauses at Hob’s sharp intake of breath, trying to choose whether to give him the name of Prince of Stories, before deciding against it. “My first and truest name is Dream of the Endless. Put simply, Dream. And I would be pleased if you would tell me a story.”

“...right. It’s wonderful to meet you, Dream.” Hob swallows once again. “I have to ask, do you know all dreams?”

This is when he usually corrects that he is all dreams. But he is not, not at the moment. “Perhaps.”

Hob’s hands find Dream’s back and hair again, resuming their ministrations. “Only, I would like to be the one to tell you about my life, in person. That is why we meet up. So, could you block mine out?”

That is a new request.

“I understand if n—” Hob adds in a rush before Dream cuts him off.

“I can.” For some reason, he is less reluctant to admit weakness now, “I am...disconnected...from the majority of my usual abilities. When I regain my full spread of powers, I will ensure that knowledge of your dreams is still hidden from me.”

“I thank you again, my friend.”

“The tale you promised me?” Dream prompts.

Hob starts, “This story begins many years ago...”

Dream listens attentively. In this state, without his endless memory, he does not know the story. It is a new experience, rare for one such as him. He sinks into peace, ataraxy, serenity, in the depths of Hob’s voice.

Dream of the Endless and Hob Gadling are at a meadow. There is nobody else around. They walk for a while, enjoying each other’s presence, before stopping on a hill.

Hob has a picnic basket. He lays down the blanket and arranges the food. The sun washes his features in golden light, painting him as the archetype of an angel.

While Dream stares at Hob, Hob stares back.

They stay like that for ages before Hob leans in to Dream—

The scene disappears from around him, his surroundings changing to that of his throne room.

Lucienne stands before him. “There you are, my lord.” She sounds perfectly composed, or would, to anyone except Dream. He hears the undercut of worry.

“I apologize for my absence.” What happened? He is disoriented...he was stuck in one facet of himself for some time, separated from his function.

Oh.

Myitzur pollen.

Most importantly, his powers are rapidly returning. If he does not address it immediately, he will further break his promise. “Find Hob Gadling’s books and remove them from the library. Put them where I cannot access them.”

“Right away, sir.”

Dream does not look away from her as she efficiently walks away. Only when she has fully left the room does he allow himself to relax.

She did not see what she interrupted. She could not have. Only 3 should know: Dream, Fiddler’s Green...and Hob. The Heart of the Dreaming will not tell; Dream does not mind him knowing. Dream has nothing to worry from him, unlike many other residents of the Dreaming.

Hob, on the other hand, will be most displeased with Dream. An hour, less than that, passed between making and breaking the promise.

Not to mention everything that happened before that. He allowed himself to be incapacitated by a mere mortal, had to accept help from another, and then went so far as to seek comfort from him.

Weak.

He should have kept his wits about him. Never again will he ingest food or drink from the Waking World, not even in the presence of Hob Gadling.

That reminds him. Dream removes the physical body he left behind.

Despite the fact that he is far less affected by the Myitzur pollen than he was before, he still shivers—a much too human reaction—at the loss of body heat.

He cannot allow himself to react like that. It is best if he does not think about Hob until their next meeting, both to reduce the anger Hob most certainly feels for him and to lessen the...feelings that he is having. He should never crave comfort.

Dream is decidedly still as a statue when he finally fully returns to normal, and the contents of Hob Gadling’s books are unknown to him.

———

Hob wakes up freezing and alone.

———

Omake:

“Do you know—well, you’ll be fine, surely? How long before you’re back to normal?”

Dream considers this. He does not quite remember, but, “It should not take long.” What is a reasonable range of time to an immortal human? “Between an hour and...eleven months.”

...

...

“Eleven months,” Hob repeats quietly.

Nope. What is the measurement of time just longer than an hour? “I meant to say days. Not months. Days.”

“I guess that’s better than eleven months...”

———

Reblogs, likes, reblogs that just say extra likes, etc. are all welcome!

[probablypining]

every time i think i’m pretty i remember you don’t want me and my reflection bares it’s teeth and jeers.

[crossbackpoke-check]

V random but I’m in my Brockpetey feels could I listen to your 46 60 playlist!!

of course!! the first playlist i mentioned in the tags is actually not mine—it belongs to ash @notthequiettype and is a soundtrack to their wonderful fic Lake Rules (go read it if you haven’t already!!! highly recommend!!!)

annnd this one is my personal brockpetey vibes playlist

happy listening!!!

[boingopilled69]

watch mojos top 10 most painful anime deaths

farsi translation: asheghetam, an intense expression of love in both romantic and close platonic relationships (if i wrote it wrong please tell me im trying to learn)

[edducard]

Would you mind if I wrote you a TomTord drabble...like do you have any specific requests..

I will slit my wrists for u if u give me a top tier bitches fighting over the stupidest thing but when alone w just them they just kind of sit in silence watching a movie like no words they just kind of look at the other every now n then n sometimes that Look is smn a little Different and then they get caught staring and look away all flustered and when asked what's wrong they start fighting like wtf bro ur so mean!!!!! but like edd can fucking SEE he can TASTE that tension brother u aint slick

[whimsy-wallfish]

-

done plotting "feast, dahlia"!!! my 50 page comic book, working on the page outlines now. ill share about the characters n setting soon -

--

tag / taglist -

empty - ask to be added!

--

[quality-on-a-patch-of-awesome]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & John "Soap" MacTavish Characters: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John "Soap" MacTavish Additional Tags: Angst, Lashing Out, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Swearing, soap and gaz say mean things to each other because they're sad, Author Has Played Call of Duty, author does not have a great grasp of writing the scottish accent yet, technically ghost is there too but he only has one line so i didn't tag him, gaz is stupid in love with price, soap is stupid in love with ghost, emphasis on the stupid, Mentions of Violence Summary:

Starting a fight with Soap would be so easy and so monumentally stupid given that he had been in a foul mood for days, for reasons unbeknownst to everyone, that had led to the entire base giving him a very wide berth. But the common sense that he usually prided himself on had long since gone out of the window.

Gaz is miserable and lashes out at an equally miserable Soap

[saintobio]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑.

rule #1: even if the world crumbles down in front of you, never, ever trust sylus with your heart. because even the fiercest flames can't match the danger of loving a man like him.

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. angst, smut, boss/assistant, 18+

♱ tags. villain!reader, reader works for onychinus, reader is not l&ds!mc, set in the N109 zone, unrequited love, profanity, petnames (kitten, baby doll, darling, sweetie), unprotected sex, throatfucking (m!receiving), cunnilingus (f!receiving), cum-eating, slight dom/sub play, spitting, hair-pulling, spanking, biting, choking, overstimulation, bondage, blindfolding, lots of jealousy, possessiveness, yandere themes, stalking, blood, violence, usage of guns, allusions to prostitution, killings, death, *coughs* that one harley+joker scene.

♱ notes. 8.2k words. inspired by this song bcos i can’t stop thinking abt him for days

“Boss is looking for ‘ya.”

It was already nighttime when you emerged from the library, only to encounter the eccentric twins, Luke and Kieran, lounging on the window sill as if they had been waiting for you to come out of your bat cave. They always donned their signature uniforms of leathered attire and beaked masks, an outfit reminiscent of Sylus’s mechanical crow, Mephisto. Behind their silhouettes, the red glow of the blood moon poured through the window, casting an eerie, crimson hue across the dimly lit hallways. Any normal person would have found such an atmosphere disturbing. 

But that was the N109 Zone for you—a dark, lawless, enigmatic place you called home.

“Is he in his room already?” you asked, quietly closing the door behind you. In your arm was a thick book, an archival file you had spent nearly two hours searching for. It contained records of historical events, of life before the Chronorift Catastrophe of 2034, before the Deepspace Tunnel was opened. Sylus had tasked you with finding the file for reasons he didn’t care to disclose.

A curious Luke tilted his head and swung his feet in the air as he pointed at the book. “Let me guess,” he began with a teasing tone, “Is that book some sort of Kama Sutra?”

Kieran’s snigger followed. “I bet it is, since it’s her birthday in a few hours.”

“Very funny,” was your quick retort. “It’s a history book, you idiots. Sylus needs it for something.”

The twins then let out a teasing coo. “Aww, so no birthday ‘fun’ for you?” asked Luke, “I thought sleeping with your boss would have its perks, too.”

Although his comment was meant to be a joke, you bristled at his jab at your professionalism. It had been a few years since you started this kind of relationship with Sylus, with him being your boss and the leader of Onychinus, and with you as his personal assistant and, well… escort. 

In and out of the N109 Zone, Sylus was a popular man for both good and bad reasons. His notoriety was mostly for his influence, and sometimes for his crimes. He was known to be unforgiving—a brute man who carried no conscience towards his enemies. One wrong move and you’d find yourself six feet under. Perhaps, that was what you admired so much about him. His aura, his domineering persona, his dangerous charm. He had mastered the art of seduction, the sin of hunger and desire. His power. There was no one like him. 

And so, you were the happiest woman alive when what began as an unrequited admiration eventually blossomed into something more. Spending more time with your boss played a pivotal role in gaining his interest towards you, because day-by-day he started to learn how much of an asset you could be for him. You were his prized possession. You were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Despite Luke and Kieran’s constant warnings of the abyss you were throwing yourself into, you were willing to be a pawn in Sylus’s game of chess. You wanted to be the Queen next to a King. Because that meant you were too valuable to simply set aside.

Yet Sylus was never one to clarify the nature of your relationship. He’d often say there was no need to clear up such a silly thing. All you knew was that when Sylus needed you, he had to have you. In all ways. He’d still act professional and distant depending on the audience. But behind closed doors, he spoiled you like a princess, treated you like a queen, and worshiped you like a saint. He was a sadistic, draconic man towards others, but he always had a gentle spot for you. Only for you. 

And that was a spot you would never, ever share with anyone else.

“Whatever. I gotta go see him,” you excused yourself from the two, just as one of them tossed a black box to you. “Is this my present?”

The twins jumped down from the window sill in perfect sync. “Advance happy birthday to the princess of Onychinus. Make sure to open the gift when boss is around.”

Your lips spread into a smile as you held the box in your free hand. Luke and Kieran giving you a gift was the last thing you would expect from them. “Why, thank you—”

“Yeah, yeah. You should go see him now,” said Kieran, pushing you forward by the shoulders. “Can’t keep boss waiting.”

By the time you reached Sylus’s door, the twins’ distant, mischievous chuckles then echoed down the hall. You couldn’t help but laugh and shake your head before grasping the door handles, stepping inside of Sylus’s bedroom with slow, measured steps. You didn’t know why you were nervous. As the door shut behind you, the familiar scent of leather, cardamom, and sandalwood immediately enveloped you like a fragrant, hallucinatory mist. However, his king-sized bed lay empty with the sheets still perfectly arranged. There were no signs of him anywhere, until the sound of cascading rainwater drew your gaze toward the bathroom, where his tall figure was visible through the frosted glass. He was engaged in a steamy shower, clearly unaware of the intruder that entered his room just now.

“Boss?” you called out, standing by his bed. “I’ll leave the file on your nightstand.” 

Receiving no response, you placed the book on the bedside table and waited for him patiently. Should you stay or should you leave? It usually depends on Sylus’s mood. There were nights where he wanted to be left alone, and nights where he craved your presence. His lack of response may be a sign to exit his room. But as you prepared yourself to leave thinking that Sylus purposely ignored you, a certain black velvet box resting on his nightstand suddenly caught your eye. Unlike the typical small box that might hold a ring, this one was more rectangular in shape and you were drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It was your curiosity that led you to touch the soft surface, wondering what lay beneath it.

Is it for me…?

“They say curiosity kills a cat.” Sylus’s deep, resonant voice broke your trance as he stepped out of the shower. Wrapped in nothing but a white towel around his waist, his muscular form was on full display as he approached you with assertive footsteps. Every curve of his muscle flexed as he moved. And his carnelian eyes sparkled with amusement, the corners of his thin, pinkish lips curving upward when he walked closer to you. “Touching my things without permission. Are you asking to be punished, kitten?”

Your heart raced as he closed the distance. Yet, maintaining composure around Sylus was a skill you had honed since the day you began working for him. “Oh, forgive me, master,” you merely teased. “It caught my attention.”

“Curious about the box or who it’s for?” he taunted, raking his fingers through his damp gray hair. Beads of water glistened on his bare skin, and you found your gaze wandering to his perfectly sculpted abs until you felt his finger lifting your chin up. “Eyes on me, honey. Don’t tell me you thought that velvet box was for you?”

So it isn’t? You suppressed a disappointed expression, but your clouded eyes betrayed you. “No, I… just curious.”

“Is that a sad kitten I see?” he asked, tilting his head to catch even the slightest changes in your expression. “You wanna open the box?”

“No, thank you.” Your stubbornness prevailed this time.

Sylus’s lips curved into a smile as he stepped closer, his arms wrapping around your waist and turning you gently. He then went on to open the velvet box and fastened a silver necklace around your neck. “Happy birthday, my darling,” he whispered into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as he planted a tender kiss on your shoulder. “That’s a red beryl crystal—one of the rarest gemstones in the world.”

Your eyes sparkled in awe as you touched the red pendant, feeling its exquisite value beneath your fingertips. Oh… to receive such beautiful, rare gem from the boss of Onychinus himself. You were too overwhelmed with appreciation as you turned and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Sy!” you exclaimed, your heart swelling at his effort. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

He returned your gaze with a smug look. “You better love it. I sacrificed two gold bullets just to get that for you, sweetie.”

“You…” Your eyes widened at the implication behind his words. Someone’s life was lost in exchange for your birthday gift. It was beyond your expectations to know that Sylus went to such macabre lengths just to surprise you, but banality was his worst enemy, and the last thing he would do was be called boring over things like birthday surprises. “...Well, thank you. I’ll treasure it forever, my love.”

“Now,” he said, abruptly breaking the sweet moment as he glanced at the other box on his bed. You realized he was scrutinizing the gift from the twins, which you had unwittingly left behind when you hugged him. His expression darkened slightly, clearly displeased at the foreign object on his bed. “Care to tell me where this is from? Or did some other bastard get you a present before I did?” he questioned, “Tell me his name, his identity. Give me his location.”

Chuckling, you cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s not what you think. Luke and Kieran gave it to me before I came here.”

Still unimpressed, he raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the box. “Who told you to receive gifts from other men?” 

“I…”

“Let’s see what’s inside, shall we?”

“I’m sure it’s just some…” you began, hurriedly untying the ribbon at the sight of Sylus’s growing pique. But as you opened the box, your mouth dropped in shock upon seeing a black lingerie set inside. An awkward laugh forced its way out of your mouth. Those two! “I… Ha-ha! They fool around too much. Don’t mind it. I’m just gonna throw it away.”

Sylus’s frown quickly transformed into a deep chuckle as he lifted the lingerie by the strap, his eyes widening with interest as he examined the lace corset. “Why don’t you try wearing it first, baby doll?” he suggested, an idea clearly forming in his mind. “It’s rude to toss aside a gift.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing, you thought, feeling your cheeks flush under his gaze. You almost lost your mind when he looked down at you with a roguish smirk, like he was an animal who’s about to devour his first meal in a long time. “You really want me to put it on?”

“Since it’s your special day,” he insisted, settling at the edge of his bed while keeping you positioned between his legs, “Let me help you with that.” His tone was more command than suggestion as he slowly unbuttoned your shirt, peeling it away from your body. “That’s it, be a good kitten. Just follow your master’s orders and you’ll do just fine.”

You felt his cold fingertips brushing against your chest as he slipped your blouse down, his hands reaching behind to unclasp your bra and set your breasts free. Instinctively, you shied away from the intensity of his gaze and covered your chest. But he was quick to grab your wrist, an eyebrow raised at your disobedience. “I’m sorry…” 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he mumbled in a deep, orotund voice before continuing to undress you. His hand now fiddled with your pants, unzipping and sliding it down your legs in a painfully slow way. To your surprise, he had also pulled your underwear down along with your pants, leaving your lower body as bare as it could be. “Looks like my kitten’s prepared,” he said with a lowly chuckle, his gaze locked on your freshly waxed lady part. “But I’ll take my time before I devour you.” 

Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand on where his shoulder and neck met. All your clothes were discarded on the floor and you were nothing but naked in front of the very man you so deeply adored. He alone was the most perfect gift for you. “Boss…” your voice came out like a whisper, “About your upcoming transaction with Mr. Davis. H-He agrees to meet at the nightclub this Friday.” 

Sylus displayed a devilish smirk, noticing your effort in opening a subject to distract yourself from the compromising situation he had put you in. Though, instead of shaming you further, he had decided to play the part. “I’m surprised you managed to bargain with him,” he praised, slipping in a black, lace underwear up your legs. It barely covered your folds, and with Sylus’s warm breath tickling your cunny, you knew that your underwear would only be ripped apart sooner or later. “But then again, it must be your… irresistible charm that made him agree to meet up,” with a pause, he made a twirling gesture with his finger. “Turn around for me, sweetie.” 

You did as told, chest rising and falling deeply as your boss began to tie the corset behind you. It was too tight, but he seemed to have liked it that way, because your breasts were almost popping out of the padding. “I-I… Is it supposed to be this tight?” you asked, hesitantly, “I can’t breathe.” 

“It’s perfect.” He let out a deep chuckle before suddenly pushing you down on his bed. The sudden force left your heartbeat somersaulting, the anticipation and nervousness rising deep within you as you looked up at his predatory gaze. “Now, for the best part.” 

Sylus whipped out a handcuff and a blindfold from his drawer, and his first action was to grab your wrists and lock it within the silver handcuff around the headboard. The very next thing he did was cover your eyes with the blindfold, tying it neatly behind your head to deprive you of one of your five senses. 

“Sylus—?” You weren’t sure what was happening now, and hated that you couldn’t see his handsome face because of the blindfold. Your vision offered nothing but darkness, blinding you from whatever Sylus was planning to do with you in his king-sized bed. There were sounds of fabric rustling around you, the sound of clothing dropping to the floor, and the wet, sloppy noises near your face. When you felt the tip hitting your cheek, you realized it was Sylus touching himself, leaving you to imagine how he was stroking his hard length in front of your face, preparing his cock for a wild night ahead. “Are you—”

“Shh.” Your voice was cut off after he held a strong grip around your jaw, forcing your mouth open before the taste of his cocktip started entering your mouth. Not even halfway in, you already gagged from his cock. He was too huge for your mouth—too thick, too veiny, too lengthy. But nonetheless, despite the threads of saliva that waterfalled on the sides of your mouth, Sylus still shoved his entire length in. He didn’t care if you had started choking from his monstrous cock. He was too focused on burying his member in and out of your mouth, hitting your uvula, and allowing for tears to escape your eyes. “That mouth of yours is heaven for me, honey,” he said, your chin on his hand as he released a deep, guttural groan. “Move your tongue around it.” 

“Mmh—ngh!” Even if you were getting asphyxiated, fucking your throat was one of Sylus’s favorite foreplays. And so, like the obedient kitty you were, you started bobbing your head along to the rhythm of his thrusts. You also moved your tongue in circles around his shaft, and Sylus’s moans got louder, turning you on knowing that you were doing great at pleasuring the love of your life. You couldn’t even taste him enough, your mouth was too sore and numb at that point. 

Not even long after, he started angling his cock to your cheeks as if he was desperate to feel every inch of your mouth. When he pulled away, you released his member with a pop, and the string of saliva ended up coating your chin. While you couldn’t move your hand to wipe it off, you did try to move your wrists around the handcuff wondering if you could set yourself free. 

“Trying to break free?” Sylus’s voice was so near your right ear, the weight of his body becoming heavier on top of you. “We’re not done yet, darling.” 

A sloppy, open-mouthed kiss quickly calmed you down. You allowed Sylus to explore your mouth with his tongue, letting him lap you up like a meal he couldn’t stop eating. And with every bite on your lower lip, you were whimpering like a helpless cat. “S-Sylus,” you begged, “S-Sy… I…”

“Hmm?” His mouth was now on your neck, suckling and nibbling on the skin until they would leave purple marks all over. 

“Mmh… I want you.” 

“Not so soon, birthday girl.” Sylus’s teasing led to him pulling away from you. Now, you were unsure of his next move. But your chest only continued to move in an unsteady rhythm, the lack of sight heightening your auditory sense as a compromise. 

The next thing you knew, his manly hands started kneading at your breasts. He cupped them with such a force that made you stop breathing for a moment, focusing the sensation of his touch as he slightly pulled the padding of your corset to peek at one of your tits. In an instant, his mouth was attached to your nub. His tongue licked around your nipple, flicking it playfully before sucking and biting on your mounds. 

“Haaah!” 

“The twins did well in delivering this gift to you,” he made a subtle remark, releasing your tit from his mouth. His movements suggested he was moving down south, down to where your crotch was, and he only confirmed your thoughts when he began spreading your legs open and pulling your underwear to the side. “Look at how wet that pretty pussy is.” 

You moaned at the feeling of Sylus’s finger toying with your entrance. “T-The twins,” you barely said, squirming from the coil you were feeling inside your body. “What do you mean they delivered… the gift? Was it your idea after all?” 

Too bad you couldn’t see his face, but you were sure as hell that there was a triumphant smile spreading on it. “How else would they know your bra size, kitten?” he replied in a low voice before surprising you with the feeling of his tongue moving inside your slit, “Only I have access to your body.” 

Fuck, fuck. You were going insane. “Mhm—ngh! Aah!”

Sylus’s mouth was rough against your cunt, the tip of his nose tickling your clit as he continued spreading your labia apart to give himself better access inside your pussy. He completely devoured your sopping cunt, grunting and growling like a rabid dog as he alternated between french-kissing your pussy to burying his digits inside. His three fingers orchestrated deep and fast movements against your walls, with each stroke inside earning a wild whimper out of you. 

“Haaah—! Sylus, I… I can’t hold it… anymore.” 

He found your sweet spot soon enough, and chuckled darkly as you tried to squirm like a pathetic little kitty under him. With your legs dangling on his shoulders, he resumed abusing your sore cunt by fingering your vulva until you were at your seventh heaven. And as soon as you felt the need to pee, you knew he’d only pick up the speed of his fingers even more. 

“I-I… Please, Sy… I’m…”

For the first time in your life, you felt yourself squirting all over his bed. Your hips raised itself involuntarily, legs shaking violently on top of his shoulders. The overstimulation was sending you to ecstasy, as if you were in a place where every pleasure in the world was given to you. In your extremely vulnerable state, Sylus chose to grab the opportunity and forced all eight inches of his member inside. He hushed your moans and whimpers by kissing you on the mouth, his lips encasing yours in a loving and passionate exchange. 

This was the most erotic you had been with him. 

“You’re so fucking sexy to me, Y/N.” His cock moved fast and hard inside you. You could even feel his member twitching as your tight walls gripped him like vacuum, milking him of his every seed until he was fully drained. His lips then trailed around your jawline, then onto the valleys in between your breasts while he went on to thrust even rougher than the last. He plowed his cock inside you like there was no tomorrow, rutting and rutting and rutting like he was desperate to reach his own climax. “This pussy… Can’t get enough of your sweet pussy, kitten.” 

“Ah—aah! Mmh—ngh.” 

“More?”

“Y-Yes… please!” 

“Harder?”

“Mhmm!” 

“Faster?” 

“S-Sylus!” 

“Such a nasty girl you are,” he quipped, your hips now gripped by his strong hands as he sat in bed, readying for the final position. “Next time, I’m gonna eat your ass.” 

Gosh. You were already feeling limp under him. And when you felt his hands ripping your panties off, you knew it was game over for you. He was a hungry beast whose desire for lust would make him the worst sinner in hell. You couldn’t contain the loudness of your moans and whimpers as Sylus started thrusting into you at an otherworldly speed, your cunt feeling the soreness of his every slam. The skin-slapping sound dominated his entire room as your slick coated his entire length. At that point, he began biting on your lower leg, his cock doing its last twitch deep inside your cavern. He was balls deep inside, his bollocks slapping against your pussy with every jostle. 

“C-Cum…” you pleaded, “Inside me… Please.” 

But to your disappointment, Sylus pulled out. You didn’t know where he was releasing his seed until you felt the warm liquid shooting at your stomach. Three times you had asked him to cum inside, and he still continued to refuse. You thought your birthday would have been an exception, but Sylus was too smart for that. He knew knocking you up would ruin his plans. Getting you pregnant would make him lose his chances with her. 

“You can sleep on my bed tonight, darling.” Sylus easily released your hand from the cuffs with his evol, and did his own effort in untying the blindfold around your eyes. Little did he know that your tired eyes actually carried pain inside. “Close your eyes now. I’ll take care of the rest.”

You watched as he walked toward his nightstand, oblivious to the pessimistic thoughts swirling in your mind. If only she never existed in his life. If only she was you instead. 

“Sylus.” You fixed your gaze on his face. “I love you.”

His eyes widened in panic for a moment before he masked it with indifference. It was as if your declaration had caught him off guard, as if your years of devotion hadn’t already made it clear how deeply in love you were. 

“You shouldn’t.”

~~

The N109 Zone’s most famous nightclub was alive with pulsating lights and thumping bass on a Friday night, a den of excess and shadows where shady deals and dangerous liaisons were also par for the course. Sylus was dressed in his signature dark attire, leaning against a plush booth in the corner, and the red glow from the neon lights flickering off his white hair and crimson eyes. Meanwhile, you, draped in a red revealing dress that accentuated your every curve, moved with foxy grace as you joined Sylus at the booth.

Let’s just say Sylus didn’t exactly approve of your dress tonight. He thought it was revealing too much skin that was supposedly for his eyes only. But ever since the night of your birthday where he didn’t return your declaration of love, you started rebelling against your boss. Everything he disliked, you did out of spite. You did them out of the bitterness boiling inside you. 

Across from you two, in a secluded corner of the club, sat Sylus’s business partner, a man whose sharp suit and cold gaze reflected a ruthless demeanor. The table between you was littered with documents and blueprints, a clear indication of the shady business transaction underway—an armory deal of massive proportions, weapons, and munitions that could alter the balance of power in the underworld. Sylus’s arsenal of weapons could already destroy Linkon City if he wanted to, but there was no fun in that. It would be too much an easy disposal.

Nonetheless, Sylus’s eyes sparkled with approval as he glanced at the stacks of weaponry displayed before him. “I must say, I’m impressed,” he remarked with a sly grin. “The quality of your armory is unparalleled, Davis. You really outdid yourself this time.”

The business partner, clearly pleased, gave a curt nod. “I aim to please. But payment in cash alone doesn’t always satisfy, does it?”

Sylus leaned back, his gaze shifting to you. You were just settling next to him, your quiet presence commanding everyone’s attention as the low neckline of your red dress drew admiring glances from his business partner. Sylus was quick to notice the man’s eyes lingering on your breasts, a hint of predatory interest flickering in the old man’s gaze.

“Seems like my partner here is quite taken with you,” Sylus mused, hinting at a dangerous edge in his voice. “How about it? Would you like something other than money for your trouble?”

Mr. Davis’s eyes never left you as he smirked, a flicker of greed clouding his gaze. It was obvious to everyone in that booth that the old geezer was undressing you with his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

Sylus’s smile grew sharper. “Y/N here is quite the treasure. If you’re interested, she could be yours for the night. Do what you want with her. What do you say?”

Unbelievable! Stunned by his words, you quickly turned to Sylus in protest. You couldn’t believe he was offering you like some whore to that old man, but you had to hide your disgust after meeting Sylus’s glowing carmine eyes shooting you a knowing look. Just play along and stay quiet, you could almost hear his voice in your head. 

Mr. Davis’s perverted gaze remained fixed on you, clearly tempted as he battled with the demons in his head. And at your boss’s signal, you were ordered to walk towards Mr. Davis apprehensively, sitting on his lap while keeping the disgust you were feeling from showing. His hand soon grazed your thigh, the other squeezing your breast. “That’s a tempting offer,” commented the old man, a triumphant grin on display, “But I’d be a fool to refuse a bad bitch like her.”

“Good,” Sylus said, his tone suddenly serious as he slid a sleek, black gun from the table. He idly toyed with the handgun, clearly unfazed. “Let’s finalize our deal then. I’ll just take this gun you’ve provided. Don’t mind if I do a little ‘quality testing’,” he added with a chilling smile, loading the magazine with .45 ACP bullets.

The business partner’s eyes widened in realization as Sylus’s hand tightened around the weapon. Panic soon flashed across Mr. Davis’s face before he desperately pushed you off his lap and scrambled to his feet, hoping to de-escalate the rift he had caused with the Onychinus leader. “Wait, Mr. Sylus! I-I didn’t mean to offend. I’m not going to steal your lady, I swear! Don’t—”

But just as you expected, Sylus’s expression remained cold and unyielding. With a swift, practiced motion, he pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was sharp and final, cutting through the pulsating music and leaving a deadly silence in its wake. Mr. Davis quickly dropped to the floor, his eyes wide open and the hole on the side of his head leaking with dark, red blood. 

Your eyes remained cool and detached as you watched the scene unfold, your expression too unreadable for the killer next to you. You’ve seen worse things while living in the N109 Zone, right? was Sylus’s inner thoughts as he placed the gun back on the table, his gaze steady while regarding the now lifeless body of his former business partner. The carpet was now drenched with an unsightly amount of blood. 

Just then, the twins, Luke and Kieran immediately swung the door open with a guarded stance, worried that something had happened to the Onychinus leader whom you all served under. But upon looking at Mr. Davis’s fresh corpse sprawled out on the floor, both twins merely shrugged it off, praising their boss for dealing with the old man in a brutal fashion. 

“Leave us for a while,” Sylus instructed the twins, pulling you closer by gripping your waist, “If any of Davis’s men try to come in, kill them with no mercy.” 

“Roger that, boss.” 

As soon as the door was closed, Sylus turned to you, you recognized a demonic glow in his eyes as he tugged at the neckline of your dress. “You,” he spoke under his breath, “are testing my patience.” 

~~

You weren’t sure how to feel about it.

Heck, you couldn’t tell if you were even turned on by it, but Sylus fucking you in front of a dead man did bring in a rush of adrenaline in you. This was the fourth time he had killed a man for desiring you, and while he would usually play it off and say he was just feeling bloodthirsty at the time those incidents happened, this was the first time he was compelled to actually touch you next to a man he had just mercilessly shot. It was as though he was trying to prove a point, that dead or alive, no other man would have the pleasure of having you. 

“S-Sylus,” you let out a whimper, knees beginning to feel sore as your boss continued to hit you from behind, hips snapping against your bum in a rough, merciless manner. A stinging sensation was soon felt on your butt cheek as Sylus sent a hard, crisp slap on your ass. “Mmh—!” 

His nails dug into your hips, jostling you forwards and backwards so your ass could meet the base of his cock with how deep he was plowing himself into you. You had already creamed around his member multiple times that night, too satiated by the possessiveness Sylus was showing towards you, and yet, the signs of him stopping seemed to be a far end of the line. 

“Did you enjoy my show, kitten?” he asked, a question borne from feelings of spite, “Did you like how he was gawking at your tits? Look at his pathetic face now. You see that?” 

Sylus grabbed you by the face and forced you to look at Mr. Davis’s lifeless body for a good minute. A minute to remember such a ghastly image for the rest of your life. And only after he was satisfied at the fright in your eyes did he start pulling you by the hair, only to then wrap a tight hand around your neck. You couldn’t breathe. You were choking from his hand, restrained to receive any bit of air down your throat. The strong smell of iron, gun powder, and leather was also beginning to intoxicate you, and you knew you were a minute away from passing out. But Sylus was too enraged to stop, his mind was a toxic fire you couldn’t easily extinguish and the only thing you could do was allow him to take his anger out on you. 

“Hnngh! Sy… Sylus…” you cried, moaning as his hard thrust almost sent you forward to his business partner’s corpse. The pressure on your windpipe was too strong that barely any sound came out of your mouth. “Sylus, I’m all y-yours, my love. Ah—aah! All… yours.” 

He did loosen his grip on your neck, because he had pulled you by the chin to spit into your mouth. A string of saliva connected your tongue to his, your chest undulating in heavy breaths as he began to grope your tits from behind. “Dress like a whore again,” he whispered a warning into your ear, “and I wouldn’t hesitate to treat you like one.” 

Your mind, too numbed by the overstimulation all over your body, couldn’t fully grasp the words he had just spoken. All you knew was that he pressed you further down the carpeted floor, with your ass high up and your body down low. The next thing he did was to spread your butt cheeks apart to gape at the exact hole he was destroying. 

Sore. Too sore. Too numb. Too… Too… “Sylus, I’m g-gonna…” 

“Fuck,” he cussed, accelerating his thrusts at an animalistic speed, his deep breaths turning into a guttural groan as he chased his high. His cum was thick when they landed on your face, and the taste was sweet and salty when he forced the rest of his cum onto the back of your throat. You gagged as he hit your uvula, drool oozing at the corner of your mouth as you choked and yet managed to swallow every drop of his semen. 

Like a good girl, for him. Always. 

You didn’t exactly black out afterward. You were caught in a liminal state, not fully awake but not unconscious either, as you collapsed onto the floor. Sylus discarded you like a toy he’d grown tired of. If you had been more aware, you would have immediately noticed the abrupt shift in his behavior. The sound of his fading footsteps made you realize that the man you loved so obsessively had just left you in that booth, right next to a dead man.

“Y/N?”

“Y/N. Hey, you okay?” 

The coat soon enveloping your body wasn’t Sylus’s; it belonged to one of the twins, and you could feel yourself being carried in his arms. 

“Luke…?” you murmured weakly. 

“No, it’s Kieran,” he clarified, since his older brother was occupied with disposing of Mr. Davis’s body. “I’m taking you home.” 

You clung to his shoulder, your heavy-lidded eyes searching for Sylus’s distinctive white hair. “Wha—? Where’s he? Where is Sy—” 

“Boss already left.” His words felt like a blow. “You know he’s dangerous when he’s angry, so you should just go home for today.” 

You tried to wriggle free from Kieran’s grasp, confused by the sudden turn of events. “But what did I do? Why is he angry with me?” 

“It’s not you, just… complicated,” were the last words you heard before exhaustion overtook you, unaware that you were now outside the nightclub. 

Continuing to squirm from Kieran’s hold, you cried, “What do you mean complicated!”

“Luke and I tried to warn you, Y/N,” he said, grimly, as if he felt bad for you. “You’re not supposed to mess with his emotions. Those feelings are reserved for another.”

~~

The night air in the N109 Zone felt heavy and suffocating. It had been a month since Sylus had abruptly cut off contact with you, leaving you in a state of uncertainty, overthinking, and anger. When he had asked you to take a break from work, you already found his command suspicious, and then the silence that followed was a deafening confirmation of your suspicion. No texts, no calls, and every attempt to visit Onychinus’s base was continuously met with cold dismissal. 

With this, you found yourself at your makeshift gun range, the repetitive bang of the shots echoing in the dimly lit space. The targets were riddled with holes, each bullet a release of your pent-up frustration. Your thoughts were a tempest of spiteful musings: how you should have maxed out his credit card for everything it was worth if you had known he was going to just dump you. The thought of doing so now felt petty, but it also served as a bitter reminder of how easily he had discarded you that night.

But amid your rage, a more serious thought began to surface. Sylus’s avoidance wasn’t merely a cruel game or a sudden whim; it seemed to hint at something deeper, something more troubling. Was there something he wasn’t telling you? Had something happened that he couldn’t or wouldn’t explain?

You should probably confront him, but you needed a sign. Barging into Onychinus’s base without prior notice would be a suicide wish, so you had to have a reason on showing up unannounced. A sign. You desperately needed one, and perhaps the universe was toying with you, but the very sign you were looking for came in the form of a mechanical crow that landed on the lightpost. Its red eyes glowed like lasers through the night, tilting its head as it looked at your way. 

“Caw! Caw!” 

“Mephisto,” you breathed a sigh of relief. Did Sylus send him to watch over you? 

With your confidence growing back, you decided to finally confront the situation head-on. This cold war would bring you nothing but a painful whirl of overthinking. And so, you returned to Onychinus’s base that night, your anger tempered by a new, steely resolve. As usual, the base was as imposing and foreboding as ever, its corridors silent except for the occasional echo of footsteps.

Where is everyone? 

As you neared Sylus’s quarters, your heart pounded with a mix of dread and anticipation. You approached his door, and through the thin walls, you could hear soft, unfamiliar voices. Your breath was caught in your throat as you recognized a woman’s voice, distinct and unfamiliar, but laced with a strange resonance that made your skin crawl.

“From the beginning, you trapped me here, forced me to resonate with you, and even said we’re ‘the same’... One wouldn’t treat a stranger like that, so… don’t tell me you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?” 

…

“You’re so gullible, kitten.” 

The twins, who were lounging nearby and keeping an eye on things as usual, saw you by their boss’s door and exchanged knowing glances. Luke, with his usual smirk, leaned in. “Oh, look who decided to show up. You’re just in time.”

Kieran, with a more serious tone, added, “He’s got a guest in there. A hunter from Linkon, with an Aether Core, no less.”

Your heart sank. The mention of an Aether Core was a dagger to your already shattered heart. Sylus’s connection to you had always been complex, but it was a lot different with this other woman he had been keeping an eye on for the longest time. They were marked by their shared Aether Core, which tied them together in ways you could never fully understand. To hear that he had met the girl he had been searching for with the same rare core was like a death knell.

“Since when did Sylus bring her here?” you asked the twins, struggling to keep your emotions in check. This was the real reason Sylus had asked you to take a break—he knew that the presence of this girl would push you to the edge of losing all sense of morality. For the first time in your life, he saw you as a threat. An enemy. 

Luke responded with a shrug. “A couple weeks ago after she leaked her information in The Nest. Boss has been trying to resonate with her, you see. So don’t mind their little bonding moments.” 

Kieran took the initiative to drag his older brother away. “We gotta get going. Don’t cause a scene, Y/N. You won’t like it when our boss is angry.” 

Disregarding the twins’ words, you pressed your hand against the door, the muffled sounds of conversation and the soft rustling of fabric seeping through. The realization of what this meant was crushing. Sylus’s soul was bound to this new woman in ways you could never compete with. And the anguish of this discovery broke you inside. 

Why? Why can’t it be me? 

With trembling hands, you turned the knob and pushed open the door just a crack to peer inside. The sight that met your eyes was enough to confirm your worst fears. Sylus was there, his attention fully on the woman from Linkon that he had pinned down on his bed, a tenderness in his gaze that had never been directed at you. 

Unable to bear the sight any longer, you quietly closed the door and retreated, and Sylus’s head turning in your direction only made you hide even further. You were already taking hurried steps before he could catch up to you. But then again, what kind of idiot would he be to leave that fragile girl alone to run after a woman he didn’t even care about? You were nothing but a placeholder for her, warming her seat temporarily before she finally came into the picture. And now that she was here, you were easily cast aside like worn-out clothing, no longer bearing any purpose for him. 

“…I hate you,” you muttered, the words barely a whisper as they escaped from your trembling lips. Running through the hallways had quickly become exhausting, each step felt like a drag with the weight of your emotions. “I hate you, Sylus.”

Your hands, shaking uncontrollably, grasped the Beryl pendant that hung around your neck. The sharp pain from the necklace’s chain digging into your skin only added to your anguish. And with a frustrated cry, you yanked the pendant off and hurled it down the hallway. The pendant skittered across the polished floor, its once-beautiful gleam now discarded like mere rubbish.

“What did we tell you?” The twins’ imaginary voices were mocking you in your head, their taunts reverberating through your thoughts as you headed out of the base with no footsteps following you behind. It became clear to you that Sylus had chosen to stay with the girl instead of chasing after you. “Just because boss gave you a chance, doesn’t mean he’ll actually date you! You poor thing! You’re just a game he likes to play!” 

“Stop. Stop!” You had to press your hands into your ear, suppressing the torture that your mind was creating.  

You decided to run away. Far, far away from Onychinus’s base. Far away from Sylus’s reach. 

Your footsteps echoed through the deserted streets, your mind still reeling in jealousy from the events you saw earlier. The image of the woman pinned under him, her dark hair and fair skin, had your hands shaking from the anger in your heart. She was as beautiful as he described, as radiant as he’d often whisper about in his dreams. And now that she was within his reach, did you really think he would let her go? 

~~

The night was cold, the air biting at your skin as you walked aimlessly, lost in a whirlwind of emotions and tortuous thoughts. The betrayal, the hurt, the lingering sense of being used—all of it churned within you, making your steps heavy and your heart even heavier.

“I… hate you,” you murmured under your breath. 

As you turned down a dark alley, a sudden prickle of unease crawled up your spine. You quickened your pace, but the sound of a second set of footsteps followed closely behind you. Panic set in as soon as you realized you were being stalked. 

Before you could react, however, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, blocking your path. The man’s eyes gleamed with malice, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “You no longer have Sylus to protect you,” he sneered, his voice dripping with menace. It was one of Davis’s men. “You're all alone now, and I'm going to make you pay for the death of our master.”

Fear gripped you like a tightrope, but before the man could take another step, a swirling mist of black-red enveloped him. The pressure of the mist seemed to squeeze his entire body, forcing him to his knees, his screams of terror cut short as if the mist were obeying commands from an unseen master.

You turned around, your heart pounding, to see Sylus standing at the edge of the alley. His domineering eyes bore into yours in a mixture of curiosity and cold calculation. “Should I kill this guy? Yes or no?” His voice was low and raspy. “My decision depends on you, kitten.”

Your gaze hardened after hearing the term of endearment he was now recycling with the hunter girl from Linkon. “I can handle him,” was your cold reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. You drew your gun with a swift motion and fired repeatedly, each shot bouncing in the narrow alley. The man’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Sylus watched you with an appraising look. “Impressive. Still feisty as ever.”

You then pointed your gun towards him, but keeping a safe enough distance. “Why were you following me?” you demanded, your tone cold as ice.

A chilling laugh echoed through the alleyway. “My own assistant wants to kill her boss? Now, isn’t that a spectacle?”

“Shut up!” you yelled, finger tightening on the trigger. “I don’t care if one bullet won’t kill you. I can shoot you enough times to make sure you’d at least feel some pain.”

Sylus sighed before reaching into his pocket and revealed the necklace, the red beryl pendant glinting in the dim light. “You forgot your gift,” he said, his voice softening ever so slightly.

You stared at the necklace, feeling a sting in your heart that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m not worthy of such a gift,” you replied monotonously, “Give it to her if you want. And also, take this night as my formal resignation as your assistant."

Sylus’s eyes widened, a rare look of surprise crossing his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. It seemed as if he was truly, genuinely stunned, caught off guard by your decision.

I can’t back out now. You repeated it like a desperate mantra in your mind as you turned and walked away, leaving Sylus standing alone in the dark alley, the necklace still clutched in his hand. You were done with his games, done with being played. You were determined to leave him behind, until suddenly, he vanished into a puff of black smoke. Dark feathers floated in the spot where he had stood moments ago. To your shock, he reappeared behind you, his hand forcefully grabbing your chin to make you look up at him.

You struggled, trying to wrench his hand away. “Let go—”

But he silenced you with a bruising kiss, locking his lips around yours despite your desperate punches to his chest. He only pulled away when he felt your warm tears streaming down your face, looking at you with a gaze full of unwanted sympathy. Sympathy that cut deeper than any blade.

“Are you happy she’s back in your life?” you choked out, your voice trembling as you stared at him with tear-filled eyes.

Sylus responded with a hesitant hum. “I am.”

You inhaled shakily, his answer shattering your heart. “Then, why are you here?”

“...I don’t know.” His crimson eyes reflected the sorrowful glow of the moon peeking from behind his head.

“Do you intend to keep me as your lover?” you asked, forcing him to confront his true intentions.

Sylus took a long, agonizing moment to respond, as if wrestling with a tumultuous storm of emotions—the pros and cons, the rights and wrongs. Finally, he spoke, and his words were a dagger to your soul.

“No,” he said at last, his hand retreating from your face. He stepped back and turned the distance between you into a chasm of heartbreak. “It’s been nice working with you, Y/N. I’ll send you a year’s worth of salary for your dedication to me. This should be the last time we meet.”

The weight of his words crashed down on you like an earthquake, and the full reality of your situation made it hard for you to breathe. Yes, it was a gut-punch. You were breaking in half, your heart shattering beyond repair because the pain was too much. It was all too much for a person to take, and it twisted something dark inside you.

“If I can’t have you,” you began, your voice shaking with an amalgam of rage and despair, “then no one can.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed. “Y/N, you won’t dare—”

“I’ll kill her,” you spat, your tone dripping with venom. Your vow was laced with a genuine resolve, as if it were a promise you had embedded in stone. “The next time I see her, I’ll end her in the most brutal way I can. I swear it.”

His eyes flashed with a sinister light, one eye emitting a faint glow like a candlelight in a dark room. “If you try to go near her,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “I’ll kill you first.”

A twisted smile spread across your face, and madness began to gleam in your eyes. Driven to the brink of insanity, you laughed—a wild, almost feral sound that scared even the rats hiding in the darkest places.

“Then, do it,” you challenged, the final thread of your sanity snapping as he raised a finger, and the tendrils of his black-red mist soon swirling around you and crushing your bones with its pressure. “You’ve already taken everything from me, Sylus. Finish what you started.” 

SECOND PART

[steveslevis]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian’s sister!reader - part 1 of 3

summary: it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you weren’t supposed to be your brother’s best friend’s mate, especially when that best friend is the same male who’s acted like you don’t exist for the last two centuries.

warnings: angst, very brief mentions of violence and abuse, azriel is oblivious and reader is angry, not much pining in this part mainly just angsty

A single band of golden thread, stretched from your soul, reaching out into an abyss. There was seemingly no end to the thread, no definite stop, just a shadowy mess that sent the thread into a disarray as it reached for your mate. 

Your mate. The male who had spoken maybe a full sentence to you a handful of times in the last few centuries. The male who was best friends with your brother, and acted as if you didn’t even exist.

Even in your younger years in Windhaven, it seemed Azriel didn’t even know you were there. Like you were a ghost, invisible to him in every sense of the word. 

Azriel didn’t ever really speak to anyone, though, so it wasn’t like you were an exception, he treated you like most everyone else. But you never had been able to shake the fact that he would nearly sprint out of a room if you were the only one in it, or that he would refuse to look you in the eyes when you spoke at dinner. It was like he couldn’t even stand the thought of being in the same vicinity of you, like he couldn’t stomach talking to you. 

And you were now bound to him, for the rest of eternity.

The bond had snapped for you immediately upon seeing the state of Azriel when they returned from Hybern without Feyre, when the entirety of their plan had gone up in flames, with Azriel in the main path of destruction. 

Seeing him in so much pain tugged at your heart, nearly ripping it out of your chest when you saw how ruined his wings were. It affected you so much that you ran out of the room when they first arrived, partially because of how much it hurt you to see him like that, and partially because of how distraught the bond snapping into place had immediately made you feel. You couldn’t bear to see your mate in so much pain, and you knew you didn’t trust yourself to be around when they inevitably put him into more pain while healing him. 

You kept to yourself for weeks after their arrival, only speaking to Rhysand and your brother when need be. 

Rhys was the first one to find out about your dilemma.

He called you into his study weeks later to talk about a mission, one he needed you specifically on for your daemati skills. While he explained the details, he could tell your mind was elsewhere, so much so that you couldn’t even stop him from getting past the pure obsidian wall you’d built up in your mind, the wall you never let anyone break down until that moment. 

Rhysand had given you a hesitant look when he stopped explaining the tasks in order to peer into your mind and capture your attention. He didn’t want to pry, only to get your mind focused by scaling his talon down the obsidian wall, which to his surprise collapsed before he could even attempt to breach it. But you nodded when he silently asked to see what had been keeping you so on edge, what had stopped you from helping Madja out with taking care of Azriel when they returned from Hybern, what had stopped you from engaging in conversation at dinner as of late.

A vision of a golden thread shrouded in black and gray shadows was sent to Rhys’ mind, along with a memory of exactly the moment you had been struck with the bond. 

“Have you told him?” he implored, though he seemed to already know the answer. 

You couldn’t even speak at that point, only shaking your head in response as tears brimmed your eyes when you thought of how fucked up it was to be bonded to someone who’d barely acknowledged you in the hundreds of years you’d known him. 

Rhys gave you a sympathetic look then, knowing the feeling of an unrequited bond all too well. 

You promised him about a thousand times that you wouldn’t let him find out, that you wouldn’t let the agony and sadness get in the way of the mission. You could prove yourself worthy and able to go on without thinking about how you might never get an accepted bond, you assured him that you could. He was still unsure when he agreed to let you go on the mission, but it was miniscule enough that any lapses in judgment wouldn’t be detrimental, so he agreed.

And you proved yourself, just like you said you would. You proved yourself over and over again with Rhysand’s missions, building up your mental shields stronger than they ever had been before. So strong, that the High Lord himself had a hard time cracking through them. 

You became a shell of what you were before seeing your mate in that near-death state, but you didn’t care. You needed to distract yourself in any way, shape or form that you could in order to forget about him, to forget that he’d never even taken a second glance in your direction. 

It got to the point where you became so shut off from reality that even Cassian, your brother known for paying no mind to female emotions, started to notice. 

You caught Cassian giving you inquisitive stares a handful of times during training and at dinners when your attitude was exceptionally reserved and demure, but never thought he would actually say anything to you. 

That was until he finally snapped, on the first dinner with Feyre back in Velaris, which just so happened to be the first dinner that Azriel joined in the weeks after Hybern.

You nearly fell out of your seat when you saw him in all his glory. There he was, standing at the end of the table, as beautiful as ever. He was almost fully healed, aside from a few scars littered over the membrane of his wings. 

Excited chatter filled the room as he entered, everyone falling into their rightful place in the Inner Circle, along with the newest members, Nesta and Elain. Though you were one of the longest standing members of Rhysand’s Inner Circle, you felt the most out of place in that moment.

The wine you’d been sipping churned in your stomach as you eyed the shadowsinger, who was sitting quietly across the table from you. You couldn’t handle it, knowing that he was your mate and he had no clue. You couldn’t stomach the thought of him finding out, of him potentially rejecting the bond. 

After a moment of silently wallowing in your self pity, you felt that familiar talon scrape along your mental shield. Rhys was requesting access to your mind, likely to give you some insight about this unrequited feeling based on his own experience. 

You rejected his request instead of letting him in, shooting him a quick glance before standing up abruptly, quietly excusing yourself with the reasoning that you weren’t feeling well. 

You rushed up the stairs, toward your bedroom all the while feeling like you were drowning. You needed air, fresh air, now. It was in that moment that you thanked the Cauldron for Rhysand putting you in the bedroom with a large balcony, one perfect for moments like this. 

Little did you know, your brother had stalked up the stairs behind you, worried after seeing the panic-stricken look on your face before bolting from the room.

You didn’t bother to close your bedroom door behind you, leaving Cassian the perfect opportunity to come in to check on you. You were out on the balcony in an instant, nearly gasping for air as the cool night breeze hit your face. 

“Hey,” Cassian called behind you, standing awkwardly in the middle of your bedroom. “You alright?”

“I don’t want to talk right now, Cass.” you retort quickly, shooting a glare in his direction before leaning over the metal railing as he furrows his brow. “I obviously don’t feel great at the moment.”

“Yeah, no shit. But that doesn’t warrant you snapping at me when all I’m doing is coming to check on you,” he presses, taking a step onto the balcony to stand by you. “It doesn’t warrant you ignoring me for fucking weeks now.” 

“What do you want me to say, Cassian?” you snap, throwing your hands up in defeat. “I—I don’t really know what kind of explanation you need from me, I just haven’t been in a talking mood these last few weeks.”

“Oh, bullshit.” he says, shaking his head at you. “I see you chatting with Rhys and Mor all the fucking time. You’re only shutting me out. What the fuck did I do?”

You take a moment to look up at your brother, finally seeing the hurt sketched across his features as he pleads with you, trying desperately to get through to you. 

“You didn’t do anything.” you sigh, letting your guard down as you realize how much you’d hurt your twin in the last few weeks. “I—I just am going through some shit right now.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” he says, nudging your arm with his elbow as a relieved but hesitant smile passes over his face. “I’m always here to lend an ear.”

“Are you sure?” you say, voice cracking as you internally accept that you’re about to change everything in Cassian’s life with four simple words. 

“Positive.” Cassian says, smile still on his face as he grips your shoulder to reassure you.

“Azriel is my mate.” you say bluntly, watching in silent terror as your brother’s face falls and so does his hand from your shoulder. “And he has no idea.”

——————————————————————

That was almost two years ago. 

Cassian took the news quite well, and became your biggest supporter when it came to dealing with the hardships of an unrequited mating bond. Even as he dealt with his own unrequited bond for a short amount of time, he still made sure to make it known that he still cared for and understood the pain you were going through. 

And now that the war against Hybern had been won, you could focus all your energy into training and missions Rhys would send you on. 

Rhysand knew you preferred to be sent on solo missions, that you worked better alone without anyone disrupting your focus. But, there were some missions that couldn’t be done alone. 

“You–This is a joke, right?” you say with a laugh, narrowing your eyes at the High Lord who sat across the desk in his office, raising his eyebrow at you as you laugh. “I work alone, Rhys.”

“I know you work best alone, but sometimes I can’t send you alone,” Rhys starts, giving you a sharp glare as you start to stand from your chair, “I can’t send you alone, not on this one.” 

“Why?” you pressed, pushing off the arms of your chair to move closer to the desk. “You haven’t even told me what I’m doing or where I’ll be going yet, so why should I even agree to it without knowing?”

The look the High Lord was giving you made you uneasy, turning your stomach in knots, but you persisted. You needed him to stop treating you like you were made of glass, like you would break, like you hadn’t been training with Cassian since you could stand. 

“I’m not a child anymore, Rhys.” you snapped, hands balling into fists as they pressed against the oak of his large desk. “I can handle whatever it is, without Azriel babysitting me.”

“I really don’t know–”

“Are you trying to torture me?” you interject, a pained expression crossing over your face, one of betrayal at the feeling of one of your longest friends trying to put you in such an uncomfortable position when he knows exactly what you’ve been dealing with over the last two years. “Are you trying to make me suffer, do you want me to –”

“I need you to go to Windhaven.” Rhys finally commanded, voice wavering slightly as he brought up the place you once called home, the place he knew would send you regressing into a lesser version of yourself. “I need you to go there, with Azriel.”

The mention of Windhaven sent a shiver down your spine, wings twitching in fear as you thought about the horrors you endured in your final years at the camp. Your sharp gaze flickered for a split second, mind running back to that cabin, to the flash of wings and clawing hands, to the male who did irreparable damage to your soul, to the moment you swore you’d never let a male hurt you again. With a shake of your head, you block the thoughts out, pressing that black obsidian wall back up to prevent yourself from breaking. 

“I’ll be fine on my own.” you say, putting your stern persona back into place, trying to make it seem as though you’re unbothered. 

“I need to send him with you, someone needs to watch your back.” he insists while shaking his head as his gaze softens, trying to get you to break from your hardened facade. 

“What about Cass?” you retort, shaking your head.

“He’ll be in Spring, he’s got business with Tamlin and Eris to attend to for me.” he quickly replies, shaking his own head. “Please, I need you to do this.” 

“I–I can’t.”

“Is the thought of being alone with me for two days that bad?” a voice comes from behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

Your mate, just the person you didn’t want to see right now. 

You whip around quickly at the sound of his voice, brow furrowed as you see him standing in the doorway. It takes everything in you not to sigh at the sight of him, at how damn good he looked, just standing there. You cursed yourself internally, wishing you could think about anything else besides how much you pined for him. Still, you had an image to uphold, an image of distaste for the beautiful shadowsinger standing in front of you.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, shadowsinger.” you snap, shooting a glare in his direction that sends a pang of guilt running down the one-sided bond. 

“I’m sorry?” he questions, raising an eyebrow at you, his face the poster child for cool composure as your rage boils in front of him. 

“You can barely stand to be in the same room for me for more than five minutes,” you state, crossing your arms matter-of-factly. “You quite literally leave any space in the house when I’m the only other person around.”

The thought of your mate, the one who was supposed to be at your side for all of eternity, leaving the room any time you entered made your blood boil and chest ache. You ached for him, you ached to feel his touch, to be loved by him. But he didn’t care about you, didn’t care if you lived or died. 

Seeing the anger in your eyes made Azriel stop in his tracks, something unfamiliar tugging at his heart as you seethed. There was a gnawing feeling in his chest as he thought about the last five hundred years, how he never paid you any mind. 

The truth was, he avoided you with every bit of willpower he had in order to restrain himself. He couldn’t be around you for more than a few moments without your overpowering scent filling his nose feeding his desire to tear you apart. Every time he was with you alone, he wanted to tear down any walls that he had and just have at you, to have you as his. He wanted you carnally, he wanted all of you, all of the time.

But that wasn’t the kind of male he was. He would never do such a thing to Cassian, his best friend. He couldn’t let himself have you just to fulfill his deepest desires, you deserved so much more than to be some one night fling. You deserved to be loved and cared for, to be protected at all costs. 

So he had ignored you, for almost five fucking centuries, because he thought he couldn’t give you what you deserved. He pushed out any thought he had about you, pushed away the urge to pursue you in any way, and pushed you away in the process. He knew you well from watching from afar, but to you it seemed as though you were the last thought in his mind, when in reality, you were the only thought in his mind at all times. 

“That’s not–” Azriel started, but the words fell on his lips as he watched your own pull into a frown, an expression that was much more broken than the anger that had crossed over your face when he snuck in. 

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought, you prick.” you said weakly, finally letting your emotions get the better of you. As tears pricked your eyes, you turned to Rhys once more. “I will not be going anywhere with him. I will be going by myself, or not at all. I am strong enough to do this on my own and I’m tired of being treated like a child in this court.” 

Rhys only stared at you as you stalked towards the desk once again, watching as your hands shook with pain. He showed no change in emotion as you spoke, fully in High Lord mode instead of the Rhysand you knew and loved. 

“I will be in my room, packing. When you’re done being a stubborn male and realize that I can do whatever the hell it is you need me to do, I’ll be waiting for further instructions.” you state, trying to choke back the tears that are threatening to flow onto the wood in front of your hands. 

The High Lord nods firmly in response, and you turn on your heels. Azriel is still standing in the doorway, but you don’t dare to look at him. You push past the shadowsinger, swiping your cheeks hastily as tears fall down them. As you pass, your wing brushes his in the lightest of touches. You swallow a gasp as they touch, a shockwave flowing through your wing and going straight to your heart. 

Azriel turns to gaze at you with wide eyes and you immediately know he felt it too. He felt the shock, the electricity between your wings, but not in the way you did. Not down the one-sided, golden bond that stretched toward him. 

Confusion spread over his face as he looked at you, but you turned away and rushed towards your room before he could fully process what happened. 

The rest of your afternoon was spent alone in your room, laying on your bed for most of the night as you stared up at the ceiling. You cursed yourself internally over and over again, wishing there were some way to change everything, some way to make you forget that you even had a mate. 

Over and over again, you told yourself how you weren’t worthy of the immeasurable love that came with a mate, how you would never be good enough for Azriel. 

It had always been like that for you, though. The feeling of inadequacy was a daily occurrence for you, it wasn’t a secret. Cassian knew it, and so did Rhysand, so you’re sure Azriel did too. You worked day in and day out trying to prove that you were worthy to your brother and the High Lord and everyone around you, regardless of the pain you put yourself in.

Rhysand knew you too well, and knew that you were all too serious about going on the mission by yourself, or at least without Azriel. After you left his office, he’d tried to speak to Cassian about accompanying you, but it was of no use, he was preoccupied. He didn’t want you to go by yourself, he knew you’d be scared just by being in Windhaven again, but he also knew that you being the one to go on this mission was the only hope. 

Your untraceable daemati skills were an impeccable weapon that couldn’t be replaced by Azriel’s shadows or Cassian’s brute force. Even the High Lord himself didn’t have daemati powers as stealthful as yours, so you were the best option when it came to figuring out who was trying to rebel. 

After much contemplation, Rhys eventually sent a concise and firm message to your mind.

I need you in Windhaven by dinner tonight, Devlon will be expecting you to be there. There are a few Illyrians that I need you to check in on while you’re there, Cass told me there are talks of rebellion led by Cormac and Bavlard. he explained, you should only need to be there for tonight to gather enough information, but plan to stay until tomorrow evening in case we need more intel. You’ll stay in the cabin as usual, I’ll be in contact regularly to check on you, since you’ll be on your own this time.

The last sentence had a smile flickering on your lips, happy that Rhysand was finally taking you seriously as a member of his Inner Circle and trusting you enough to send you on missions by yourself. Luckily, you were already packed so it didn’t take much for you to get ready to go. 

In less than an hour, you were dressed in your fighting leathers and on the balcony of your room. You waste no time in flying from the house, large wings spreading for the first time in what feels like forever as you make for the sky.

The breeze against your skin makes you sigh with joy, trying to enjoy the twinge of happiness that flying gives you as you make your way towards the place you once called home, the place you now call hell.

taglist: @paleidiot @tothestarsandwhateverend @impossibelle

[lalunanymph]

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

"as much as i would like to end your suffering, princess, i won't give you the satisfaction... you are going to suffer for a long, long time, just like i have."

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

⟡ fem!reader, royal au!, arranged marriage, reader is a florist in our world, mentions of terminal illnesses, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mentions of death, unrequited love, slow burn, enemies to lovers, mean!gojo, yandere!gojo, reader is called 'princess cerena', princess cerena is described as having pink hair and feminine features, reader is reincarnated as princess cerena, body swapping, isekai, isekai-d reader, talks of classism, misogyny, ideations of suicide, talks about self-harm, attempts of suicide, mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, suggestive mentions, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of conceiving, language, tension, more tba...

⟡ crowned prince!gojo satoru x princess!reader

ACT 1, SCENE 1: MIRI'S REPRIEVE

ACT 1, SCENE 2 — THE TUNNELS

ACT 1, SCENE 3 — THE VILLAGE

ACT 1, SCENE 4 — THE THRONE ROOM

ACT 2, SCENE 1 — THE INFIRMARY

ACT 2, SCENE 2 — THE SICK BED

ACT 2, SCENE 3 — THE WINDOW LEDGE

ACT 2, SCENE 4 — THE GALA

ACT 3, SCENE 1 — THE HEDGES

ACT 3, SCENE 2 — THE BREAKFAST ROOM

ACT 3, SCENE 3 — THE GLASSHOUSE

ACT 4, SCENE 1 — THE LIBRARY

ACT 4, SCENE 2 — THE CHURCH

ACT 4, SCENE 4 — THE HIDDEN COTTAGE IN THE FOREST

ACT 5, SCENE 1 — THE WEDDING

ACT 5, SCENE 2 — THE MARKET SQUARE

ACT 5, SCENE 3 — HOME

ACT 5, SCENE 4 — SPRING RETURNS

©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost or claim as your own.