#WHEN I AM IN CONTROL OF THE DIRT/MYSELF

[ame-to-ame]

:|

[teaboot]

Question that I suspect is autism related

I have, on more than one occasion over multiple decades, been told that I “need to have the last word” and that I “have a response for everything”.

Additionally and in a similar vein, I’ve been told that “everything is an argument with you” and I “always have to say something”.

When I was a little kid I was bad at conversations. People said stuff I had no opinion on or didn’t need follow-up and so I wouldn’t answer and they’d get bored. And eventually through trial and error I figured out that if someone said something to me, all I had to do was say something related back, and the interaction could go on as long as it needed to.

But then as a teen- and now as an adult- a number of people (mostly people I’ve found to be very delicate and particular about things in a sort of need-to-be-in-control authoritarian way) have expressed the identical observation about how I naturally try to converse, and I’m not sure what to do about it.

And the thing is, I have a sibling that talks like this too. We bicker all the time. He changes his own opinions seemingly at a whim for the purpose of being contrary, and it’s impossible to make a statement or observation out loud without him contradicting it, and even when he is demonstrably, factually wrong about something, he will dig his heels into the dirt and defend his stance to the grave.

And like. I hear myself responding, or adding on to people’s comments, but I don’t hear the ‘arguing’ they describe, or the contrarian habits of my sibling. Even when I’m paying attention and being bery careful not to follow up too much or speak too often or disagree or correct something that isn’t important, I get called out for “picking a fight”. They say something, I answer, they reply, I continue, then seemingly out of nowhere they snap. I think everything’s fine until suddenly it isn’t.

And so I guess my question is, how can you tell if you’re a contrary sort of person? How can you tell when to respond or follow up on a person’s statement and how do you know when to leave it in silence? Does everybody see me this way, and is it only people who are already short-tempered who are willing to say it?

I honestly don’t really have that much to say, and half the time I don’t even really want to talk at all, but I’ve been told countless times that I “just seem to like the sound of your own voice” and have to just be “tuned out after a while”. So if it isn’t necessary and I don’t even want to, why am I doing it?

Is there a reason I’m like this? Why is my sibling like this? How do I stop talking when there’s nothing to say, and how can I tell the difference between a conversation and an argument before the other person visibly snaps?

I’m a full grown adult

[shouyuus]

hello rain!!! no pressure but i was wondering if you happen to have any thoughts about caleb being younger than us? <3

FUCK IT. we bAWL -- 18+, mdni, slight age gap, rough-ish sex pls note that in chinese gege/jiejie/didi/meimei are often also used in romantic connotations and do not denote incest!

younger!caleb who gets huffy whenever you call him "kid" or "kiddo", and even after you see him again, even after he's become colonel, the fact that you still see him as little boy from your past irks him. because how is it after all these years, after everything he's done to climb the ranks and prove himself to you, that you still see him as... the same little kid that used to follow you around like a lost puppy?

younger!caleb who's not afraid to get whiney, to call you jie jie... and drag it out, because he knows that you've never been able to deny him. and sure, he's got like a solid foot on you now, but he can't help the tug in his chest or behind his navel whenever you smile up at him, reach up to pat his cheek and tell him that he's doing a good job. he wants to nuzzle into your palm like he used to, fish for more praise, like he used to.

younger!caleb who has zero compunction with cornering you up against the wall, pinning your hands to the sides of your head, bearing down over you, and when you ask "c-caleb -- what're you doing?" whispering "c'mon, jiejie, you're a smart girl.. you tell me what i'm doing... can't you tell? after all this time? how much i've wanted you?"

younger!caleb who still whimpers when he kisses you for the first time, because god, he's dreamt about it for so long, imagined it so many different ways. he's pictured it in a million different scenarios, but the real thing trumps all of that, outdoes it by miles and miles and miles. he thinks he can kiss you forever, wouldn't mind never taking a single breath again if it meant being able to kiss you like this.

younger!caleb who teases you, when you're finally together, pulls you into his lap and asks "jiejie... don't be shy -- tell me, have you thought about this too?"

younger!caleb who coaxes you into his bed, so gentle with you till he's got you pinned, right where he's always wanted you (and he has always wanted you) -- and then, you see the switch flip, the darkness flicker across his eyes as his grip tightens, and suddenly, all your limbs feel just a bit heavier than before, your breath coming in short, abortive gasps. you keen against the pressure of his thigh slotted between yours, and he watches you with hooded eyes.

"gods... you're so beautiful like this... even better than i imagined..."

somewhere in the haze of want and half-caught memories, you try to push back against him. he only grins, a sadistic slash of his lips, an expression you barely recognize.

younger!caleb who is just a bit rougher than he'd like to be, but he can't really control himself, not when he's dreamed about it for so long -- his fingers digging into your hips, your body rocking with every single one of his thrusts. and you're perfect, so fucking wet and tight for him, the way you whine over his cock as he'd bullied it into you the first time, the way you bit your lips, your gaze almost reproachful as he rubs a thumb along your cheek the way you used to with him, wiping away a smudge of dirt, soothing some other unseen hurt.

"fuck -- jiejie -- you feel so good --"

"c-caleb -- mm -- n-not so hard --"

"ah... sorry, am i hurting you? i -- i didn't mean to but..." he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, rocking his hips into yours, tugging your thighs to hike them higher around his waist, "c-can't really help myself -- not when you're sucking me in like you want more --"

younger!caleb who wipes you down after with a hot towel, is so attentive, and just a tad bashful, clearing his throat as he helps you tug your panties back on.

"i... i got a little carried away -- i didn't actually hurt you... did i?"

you rub at your wrists, peering up at him before letting out a soft laugh.

"no, you didn't but... then again, you were always misjudging your strength, even when we were kids."

he chuckles, dropping onto the bed next to you, knocking his shoulder against yours.

"yeah... there was that one time we were play-fighting and i shoved you way too hard --"

"-- and that time you were trying to push me on the swings and ended up almost launching me into space --"

caleb groans, dropping his face into his hands.

"i thought granny was gonna murder me -- thank god you only sprained your wrist."

you laugh, nodding, lost to the tide of memories rushing in. you cast him a sidelong glance.

"caleb?"

"hm?"

"have you... i mean -- all these years... are you still..." you trail off, uncertain of how to ask him the thing you really want to know.

younger!caleb who knows implicitly what you want to ask, who smiles, leaning in to cup your cheek and press his forehead to yours.

"am i still the caleb you knew from all those years ago?" he asks, his voice low. you suck in a breath, holding it still in your chest as he sighs.

"no... i'm not. but..." he pulls back ever so slightly, his eyes a star-shattered sea, "if that's what it takes to make you stay with me this time then... i'll be whatever you want me to be."

you hiccup, watching as his expression changes. a flutter of something settles in the base of your stomach -- be it fear or trepidation or just the gnawing feeling of uncertainty.

you shake your head, pushing the feeling aside.

"i just want you to be... you, caleb. that's all i've ever wanted from you."

he's quiet for a long moment. and then --

"only if you promise... you won't love me any less."

the flutter in your stomach builds into something a bit more ominous -- bigger and darker and all-consuming. there's a hollowness in his eyes that you think has always been there, but you've just been too naive to recognize.

greed, or maybe hunger.

you don't know how to answer him.

you just tug him down, and kiss him instead.

[selfloverrrrrr]

The Kidnap.

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, protected sex, use of condom, Kidnapping, biting, size difference, BDSM, Yandere Gojo, protective, jealous, obsessive, reader is Toji's adopted daughter....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Gojo's pov

The war between me and Toji Fushiguro had reached its boiling point. Blood spilled, alliances broken, families torn apart. It wasn’t business anymore. It was personal. For years, Toji had been a thorn in my side — stealing shipments, sabotaging deals, murdering my men, and daring to exist like an equal. When I got to know....I wanted to break him completely. But recently, my informants had delivered a very interesting piece of information:

Toji had a daughter. A daughter carefully hidden from the public eye. Protected. Guarded. Untouched by the blood and violence her father thrived in. Y/N Fushiguro. She was Toji’s greatest vulnerability — the only soft spot in the monster’s heart. The one thing Toji tried to keep outside of his dirty world. And that was exactly why I decided to strike there.

It wouldn’t just be an attack.

It would be humiliation.

It would be power.

It would be checkmate.

When I entered the room that morning, my men stepped back with respect. This was supposed to be simple. She was the daughter of my biggest enemy — Toji Fushiguro — the man who had betrayed the syndicate, taken money, murdered allies, and laughed at my warnings. This was supposed to be leverage. Nothing more. But when I opened the door and saw her—Curled under the covers, her breathing soft, her lashes fanned across her cheeks, her lips slightly parted — my chest tightened in a way it never had before. For a brief second, my usual coldness faltered.

Beautiful. Delicate. Vulnerable. The enemy’s daughter. I clenched my jaw, but inside—What the hell is this? I did not fall for anyone. I controlled. I ruled. But something about her twisted my insides. I stood there for a long moment, silently watching her breathe. Then I turned, locking the door behind me as I left without a word. I wouldn’t admit it. Not even to myself.

Y/n's pov

An hour later, I woke up. The first thing I noticed: This wasn’t my bedroom. The second thing: There were armed men outside my door. The third thing: I was PISSED. Storming out like an unhinged tornado, I made every guard panic as I shoved, slapped, and cursed my way down the hallway. “Who the hell are you people?! Do you have any IDEA who my father is?!” I shouted, jabbing one poor guy in the chest. “Y-Yes, ma’am—” he said. “THEN WHY THE HELL AM I HERE?!” I smacked him across the face. The entire hallway went silent. Another one tried to intervene. “Please calm down—” SMACK. “I’M CALM!” I declared.

They told me the way. Without knocking, I kicked open a massive oak door. Gojo was inside having a serious meeting with his top lieutenants. Charts, files, weapons — pure mafia business. Until I crashed in like a hurricane. “WHICH ONE OF YOU BRAIN-DEAD MORONS KIDNAPPED ME?!” The men froze. Their faces turned pale. All eyes turned to Gojo. “This? This is the one who kidnapped me? This beanpole scarecrow looking ass?” The room went dead silent. Gojo blinked. One of his men started coughing, trying to suppress a laugh. I kept going. Rage in full throttle. “You look like you bleach your hair with toilet cleaner.” “Your face is like... like a malfunctioned anime character.” One man nearly choked on his water. Another covered his mouth, trembling.

Gojo sat there completely still, face blank, but his eye twitched ever so slightly. I folded my arms, glaring at him like he was dirt. “My father has scarier wrinkles than your entire personality.” One man burst into laughter before Gojo shot him a single glare, making him shut up instantly. Gojo finally spoke, voice flat. “…Are you done?” I looked at him up and down one last time. “Yes. I’ve seen enough.” Then I turned around, leaving the meeting room dramatically as the door swung behind you with a loud BANG.

Evening fell over the mansion like heavy velvet. I was pacing back and forth inside the guest room-slash-prison they dumped me in after my dramatic roast session earlier. I thought I won. I thought I humiliated him so bad he wouldn’t dare face me again. Oh… how wrong I was. KNOCK. KNOCK. I froze. The door creaked open slowly. And there he was. Gojo Satoru. In all his terrifying glory. Now that I wasn't half-asleep and rage-blind, I really saw him.

First realization:

He was MASSIVE. He was easily 6'3. A literal skyscraper of muscle, broad shoulders, strong arms, and long legs. The veins on his forearms looked like roadmaps. His black button-up was tight around his chest, sleeves rolled up slightly, showcasing very non-skippable gym sessions.

Second realization:

I'm cooked.

“Good evening, little hostage.” His voice was smooth. Mocking. Dangerous. I swallowed. Suddenly, all the insults from this morning felt… distant.

My brain:

CALL HIM BLEACH HEAD AGAIN. INSULT HIS FACE.

My mouth:

“H-Hi.”

He took slow, heavy steps inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click that sounded way more threatening than it should’ve. Now it was just me and him. No guards. No escape. Gojo smiled down at me like a predator who finally caught his prey.

"You were very... expressive this morning," he said, voice low. I forced a nervous laugh. “Y-Yeah, I tend to get a little, um... passionate?” He leaned forward slightly, towering even more.

Gojo: “Malfunctioned anime character, was it?”

Y/n: “T-To be fair, sir, I was very emotional.” I was sweating.

Gojo: “Toilet bleach hair?”

Y/n: “Everyone makes mistakes.”

Gojo: “Beanpole scarecrow?”

Y/n: “Character growth! Personal development!” You waved your hands frantically like you were talking your way out of a police interrogation. Gojo’s smirk widened. He was thoroughly enjoying this. I stepped back instinctively as he stalked closer, leaving me pressed against the wall like a tiny cornered kitten.

He leaned down, face inches from yours, his deep voice dropping even lower “You don’t seem quite as brave now, princess.” My whole soul left my body. “So…” he drawled, voice smooth like silk. “I look like a malfunctioned anime character?” I waved my hands. “No no no, listen — I love anime! I mean, you’re more like… um… like a… main character! Yes! Like, tall, mysterious, uh… intimidating— I mean, not in a bad way! Very professional! Respectfully terrifying, you know?” He raised one perfectly sharp brow. You smiled like a desperate hostage. “Did I mention tall? So tall. Very... tall.”

“And toilet bleach hair?” he whispered, smirking. I broke into full panic mode. “Oh my god no, sir! I mean, your hair is beautiful! Angelic, even. Platinum! Like… like snow! Expensive snow.”

My brain:

THIS IS FINE. EVERYTHING IS FINE. TOTALLY FINE.

My mouth:

“… You smell nice.”

For a moment, even Gojo blinked in surprise. I internally screamed at myself. DID I JUST TELL THE KIDNAPPER HE SMELLS NICE??He chuckled, low and amused. “Do I?” I nodded furiously. “Yep! Yep! Like... expensive soap.”

“Like expensive soap, yes!” I repeated, praying to every god I've never believed in. “Probably custom imported from Italy or Switzerland or... wherever mafia people get their soap!” Gojo’s smirk widened, absolutely eating this up. “Oh, so now you’re an expert on my hygiene habits, princess?” I nodded frantically. “Yes! In fact, you're the cleanest kidnapper I’ve ever met!”…which, thinking about it, was not the flex I thought it was. Then he suddenly went quiet. His smile faded.

Oh no. OH NO. “You know,” he said, voice dropping into something dark and dangerously soft. “You’re pretty comfortable for someone whose father wants my head served on a fucking silver platter.” my heart stopped. The color drained from my face. “In fact,” he whispered, leaning in so close his breath ghosted against my skin, “your father will probably kill me the second he finds out you're here.” My lip quivered. Oh my god I'm going to die. I'm going to die because I called a literal mafia boss a scarecrow beanpole bleach-head. “B-But you won’t let him kill you… right?” you squeaked. “Because you’re, you know… strong. And handsome. Very… extremely… overwhelmingly handsome.” he whispered “You know, Y/N… you’ve said some very creative things about me.”

My voice cracked as I tried to defuse him with panicked cheerfulness “All misunderstandings, sir! Heat of the moment, sir! Love makes people say crazy things — not that I love you! Nope! Definitely not—” He cut me off“Love, hmm?” His sharp grin widened as my face turned to horror. “I mean—I meant like, in general! Not you specifically, I mean like people—humans—love makes people crazy—like your hair! NO! I mean not your hair! Your hair is great—” I replied.

My brain:

STOP TALKING. STOP TALKING. SHUT. UP.

Gojo’s voice dropped dangerously low. “You called me ugly.” he said. “That was a poor life choice, sir.” I replied. “You slapped my men.” he said. “They looked slap-able, sir.” I replied. “You humiliated me in front of my entire organization.” he said. I could feel my soul packing its bags. “I can apologize profusely, sir.” I replied. “Oh no, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning even closer, his breath ghosting my ear, “it’s far too late for that.”

Gojo paused. And then whispered in that bone-chillingly calm tone “I should kill you.” my face dropped. “H-h-haha, w-wait, what?” I stopped mid sentence when I realized what he said. “I should kill you,” he repeated, like it was casual dinner conversation. “It would send a clear message to your father, wouldn’t it? That Toji Fushiguro can’t protect his own daughter.” My lip quivered. My vision blurred for a second. “I… I have allergies…” I blurted stupidly. Gojo blinked at that one. Even he was briefly confused. “Allergies?” he asked. “Y-yeah! To, um… dying.” I replied. “Allergic to dying. Very allergic. Like… fatal levels.” I'm crying now.

“W-Wait! Wait, wait, wait, sir… p-please—listen! I-I can be useful!” I said whatever came to my mind. Gojo tilted his head with a lazy grin. “Useful? In what way, sweetheart?” I swallowed hard. My brain scrambled for options. “I mean… you know...” I slowly ran my hands down my own sides, flexing whatever curves I had like my life depended on it. “I-I’m not just a hostage… I can offer… other services.” Gojo arched one perfect white eyebrow. “Other services?” he asked. “Y-Yeah. You know… like… I mean, you’re a busy man, sir. You have needs.” my voice cracked slightly, but I kept going like a total lunatic.

“S-So instead of killing me... I could, um, relieve some of your... daily stress?” I watched him blink once. Twice. Then his lips slowly curled into the most amused, unholy grin I've ever seen. “Daily stress, huh?” he asked. “Y-Yes, sir. Like… anytime, anywhere. Total stress relief package. I come with perks! Loyalty! Privacy! Great flexibility!” I even did a small hip sway like a failing stripper trying her absolute best.

Inside my head:

WHAT THE FUCK AM I EVEN SAYING.

PLEASE GOD STRIKE ME DOWN RIGHT NOW.

Gojo was eating it up. He leaned one palm against the wall beside my head, towering over me as I shrank under him, still trying my absolute filthiest “I-I swear I won’t say those things again. N-No more bleach hair. No more malfunctioned anime jokes. You're very handsome, sir. Extremely hot. Like, the hottest mafia boss. The hottest man. In history.”

He chuckled. “In history?” he asked. “YES. Cleopatra would cry seeing you.” I even tried batting my lashes dramatically. “You really are desperate not to die, huh?” he asked. “I have so much to live for, sir. So many... talents.” And then. I still don't know why I said that. “You can use me, sir... like however you want. You want sex? Boom — I’m here. You want a lapdance? Done. You want me to pretend you’re taller? I’ll say you’re 7 foot. You want me to moan your name while making you coffee? EASY.” I said it. I actually said it. I wanted to die from pure humiliation but I just kept smiling like a maniac. “But—” he smirked wickedly, “—I’ll definitely keep that little... offer on file.” And with that, Gojo finally straightened, turned around, and strolled toward the door like he didn’t just mentally destroy me. Right before exiting, he looked over his shoulder and winked “Sweet dreams, my personal stress reliever.” The door shut. I immediately collapsed to the floor, gripping my chest, hyperventilating. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. I whispered to myself “I just offered myself as a sex coupon. What is wrong with me?!”

It had been a few days since the incident. Since I — in an act of pure survival instinct — offered myself up like some desperate sex voucher to the scariest man I’d ever met. And somehow... I was still alive. Which I guess was good? Though every second here felt like walking on a landmine. Today, I was sitting alone with Shoko — one of Gojo's high-ranking men. Well, technically his right-hand woman. But honestly? She was kinda cool. Calm. Unbothered. A bit terrifying, sure, but at least she didn't stare at me like I was his next meal like Gojo did. She lit a cigarette, exhaling smoothly. "So, how's life with the boss?" she asked, deadpan.

I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out of my head. "Oh, you mean him? The bleach-headed disaster?" Shoko chuckled under her breath. “Go on.” she said. “I hate him....He looks like a failed sex experiment. I don’t even know what went wrong in that lab, but whatever it was — someone should’ve pulled the plug immediately.” Shoko’s lips twitched but she stayed silent. “His ego is bigger than his forehead. And that’s saying something.” I said. “...True,” she nodded, puffing smoke. “His face looks like God was drunk while designing him. One minute: ‘oh let’s give him pretty eyes!’ The next: ‘let’s stretch his entire head like a bobblehead!’” I was getting bolder, my voice rising.

“You know what he reminds me of?” I leaned closer, whispering dramatically. “Like if a mafia boss, an anime villain, and a discount Calvin Klein model had a threesome—” I said. “—and regretted it immediately,” Shoko finished, finally letting out a soft laugh. “EXACTLY!” I was on a full roast roll now. “He walks around like he invented oxygen. Like, congratulations on being tall — you want a medal?!” Shoko just smiled silently, not saying a word. Her eyes slightly flickered to something behind me. “What?” I asked, confused by her look. “Why are you smiling like that?”

"Nothing," she said calmly. "Do continue." “I mean, even his name—Satoru Gojo—it sounds like a brand of designer toilet paper—” “—soft but dangerous.” Shoko nodded again. I burst out laughing, waving my hands. “RIGHT?! That’s perfect. He’s exactly like—” Then I stopped. Because I noticed it. The... presence. That icy-cold, spine-melting pressure that filled the room behind me. My stomach dropped to my ass. Very, very slowly, I turned around. And there he was. Gojo Satoru. Leaning against the doorframe. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. Glacial blue eyes locked directly onto me. I froze. Shoko, the traitor, calmly stood up, flicking the ash off her cigarette. “Well… I’ll leave you two to it.” She smiled like she had front-row tickets to a car crash.

And with that, she slipped out of the room like smoke. The door closed. Click. Then another noise. Lock. My entire body locked up. I felt my throat go dry as Gojo pushed off the door and took slow, deliberate steps toward me. The heavy sound of his dress shoes echoed in the dead silence. One. Two. Three steps. “Failed sex experiment?” His voice was calm. Too calm. I laughed nervously, waving my hands. “O-oh, you heard that? Haha! You know, jokes! Classic hostage banter!” He kept walking. “Designer toilet paper?” I backed up until my legs hit the bed behind me. “It’s a... compliment in some cultures?” He tilted his head. He was right in front of me now. I was cornered. His tall frame loomed over me, eyes dark, but his lips curled into that goddamn smirk. “You know.....I was thinking" he said.

"Oh please don't think" I whispered and he raised an eyebrow. "I-I mean.... What were you thinking?" I asked with the most fake sweet smile possible. "About the offer you gave me..... And I thought how generous of you to offering me to fuck you.... So I wanna do it today.... Now" He said. "WHAT??????!!!!" I almost screamed. "Yes" He said looking at his shirt as he started unbuttoning his shirt. "WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT.... WAIT" I said as I fell on my butt on the bed. "Hmmm" He said and continued undoing his shirt.

He took off his shirt and threw it on the floor. To be honest...... HE'S LOOKING HOTTTTT!!!! "Look, Gojo–" Before I could complete my sentence he grabbed my waist and pushed me on the bed with himself. I was caged under him. "Say Satoru when you scream it" He said and crashed his mouth on mine. He pulled me closer. His hand slid to my chest and squeezed it. I gasped. He pushed his tongue more inside my mouth. I licked on his tongue and sucked on his mouth. I CAN'T BELIEVE I JUST DID THAT! But oh god..... He looks so hot. Yes I did say worse things on his face.... But from inside I was afraid to accept how he was making me feel all the time.... So when it's my fate who am I to refuse?

I grabbed on his shoulder as he tear off my night gown. He trailed open mouthed kisses from my jaw to chest. I moaned. He didn't let me catch another breath and sucked on my boob. I grabbed his hair and moaned loudly. I heard him groan on my chest. He sucked on my nipple, circling his tongue around it.... Teasing it, sucking it. My toes curled at the way he was sucking on my chest. He pressed his crotch forward on my cunt. And I could feel he was rock hard. I pushed my hips up to press on it harder. He groaned louder.

He couldn't control it anymore. He sat up and pulled down his pants. His dick is too big. Precum dripping from the head which is red. I was getting wetter by looking at it. He pulled the drawer beside the bed and took out a condom, ripped off the packet with his teeth and quickly put on the condom on his cock. Then he crawled back over me. He spread my legs apart and ripped off my pantie. "Fuck. I wanted touch this so badly" He whispered. Oh... Gentleman~.....But why does he has condoms in his drawers?!

"Why do you have condoms in your drawer?" I asked him. He was lining his cock on my cunt. He looked up at me the after a second he smirked. "Why?.... Jealous?" He teased. My face heated up so fast. "Maybe I keep them here for fucking other girls....you know,I've plenty of them" He whispered. Something inside me twisted. "The go fuck those whor–" I couldn't complete my sentence.... He pushed his cock inside. I moaned loudly "FUCKKK!!!!". It sounded like scream more than moan. "I bought them after the day you offered to have sex with you" He whispered and started thrusting. Desperately.

As if he was waiting for it for a lifetime. "Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck" He moaned between thrusts. My back arched, eyes rolled back, mouth wide open. My nails are scratching his back. It feels too good. My mind is going dizzy. All I can hear is wet slapping sounds. "Fuck, satoru...harder please!!!" I screamed. "As you say baby" He replied. He supported himself on his right hand and grabbed the headboard with his left hand and started thrusting harder. He went faster and faster, harder and harder. My eyes rolled back. How can a human go that fast?! I dig my nails on his back. He went on that pace. In a moment I heard a sound of wood breaking. The top part of the headboard broke in gojo's hand.

He kept thrusting and threw that broken wood on the floor. Then grabbed the mattress to support his left hand and he went harder. IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?!?! I moaned so loudly like my life depends on it and bite on his neck. My fingers hurts from scratching his back. In a moment one leg of the bed snapped. I hugged him as tight as possible. It didn't take more time to make me cum. After I came cunt squeezed around his cock tightly. He groaned loudly and pushed his hips forward. He came. He ran his fingers through his hair, went up and pulled out. He looked at me only to see me already passed out. He his fingers on his neck where I bite him and chuckled to himself. That's not the last time we did it.... It happened again and again.

Gojo’s Men POV

We’ve seen many things. We’ve seen Gojo kill men with a single snap of his fingers. We’ve seen him make the most feared mafia bosses grovel like dogs. We’ve seen him dismantle entire empires before breakfast. But this? This was different. It started this morning. We were all standing outside the meeting room, waiting for boss’s orders. As usual, serious. Silent. Tense. Then—

SLAM.

The door BURST open. And there she was. Y/N. The only woman on planet Earth who apparently had a death wish. “SATORU GOJO!” We all collectively flinched. She just… yelled his full name. We exchanged horrified glances. Does she not value her life?! Did she forget who she was screaming at?

The boss, sitting at the head of the table, blinked. Then casually leaned back in his chair, that cocky grin on his face. “Yes, darling?” he asked. We prepared ourselves for the nuclear explosion. But oh no — it was worse. She marched straight up to him, ignoring every dangerous man in that room like they were invisible. “YOU PROMISED ME WE’D GO OUT YESTERDAY. AND YOU CANCELLED. AGAIN.” Her voice was pure fury. We braced for her immediate execution. Instead....The great, terrifying, untouchable Gojo Satoru…Apologized.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry. I got caught up with business. Please don’t be mad.” We all blinked in unison. WHAT. “I’ve been waiting all day!” she continued, arms crossed like an angry wife. Gojo stood up, hands raised, trying to calm her like she was a ticking bomb. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear. Dinner. Anywhere you want. I’ll buy out the whole damn restaurant if you want me to.” Our jaws collectively hit the floor. Is this real life? Is he… begging? She huffed. “You better.” And just like that, she spun on her heels and stormed out, leaving a room full of frozen mafia men.

And this morning? This morning officially broke us. We gathered at the courtyard for Gojo’s daily training. Like always, he was doing his early morning pushups, shirtless, his muscles flexing like some god of war. Dead silent. Focused. Not even daring to breathe too loud. And then she appeared. Wearing her short pink robe, rubbing her eyes, yawning. “Satoru, you’re up early again.” We stiffened immediately. All eyes on her. She casually walked over to him while he kept doing pushups. We braced ourselves. Was she gonna touch him? Dear God, no one touches him. And????..... SHE. SAT. ON. HIS. BACK.

WE ALL FROZE. SHE SAT ON HIS BACK. DURING HIS PUSHUPS?! Every man here thought they were about to witness a live execution. Gojo satoru has killed people for touching him! We silently prayed for her soul. 'Rest in peace, ma’am.' But then...HE KEPT GOING. Without blinking. Without even reacting. He just continued his pushups like nothing happened, as if she wasn’t adding extra weight onto him. “Comfy, sweetheart?” he asked, casually. “Mhm,” she hummed, swinging her legs like she was sitting on a park bench. Our brains couldn’t process it. This was Gojo Satoru? The man who once blasted an entire army of underground men for one of them accidentally brushing against his jacket sleeve. The man who sliced a traitor’s throat for interrupting him mid-sentence. The man who ordered us to burn a rival’s headquarters because they didn’t bow fast enough.....

And here he was…Letting this girl sit on his back like a human backpack and calling her sweetheart? Did anyone kidnap him and replace him?????

Y/N��s POV

His lips were warm. His hands were everywhere. His breath mixed with mine, making my head spin. I was on his lap, my legs wrapped around his waist, grinding against his crotch, desperately . Every time I moved, I felt him getting harder, groan softly, gripping my hips tighter like he was trying not to lose control. “God… you’re gonna kill me one day, baby,” he whispered against my lips. I laughed breathlessly. “That’s my job, isn’t it? Torture the big bad mafia boss.” I said. “Mm. You do it so well.” He said kissing down my neck, biting softly, his voice raspy and dark. “You were made to ruin me.”

We were both completely lost in each other's mouth. His shirt was half open, my top hanging off one shoulder, heat building between us like a goddamn wildfire—BANG! The door BURST open. Both our heads snapped toward it. And there, standing like a deer in headlights, was one of his men — poor bastard named Keiji. Wide eyes. Mouth hanging open. His whole soul leaving his body in real-time. “I—I—Boss—I’m—I—” He stuttered so hard I thought his brain was physically crashing. Gojo’s hand twitched on my waist. He clenched his jaw. “Keiji.” His voice dropped into that terrifying calm. The one that usually meant 'You’re already dead.' Keiji immediately dropped to his knees on the floor. “PLEASE, BOSS!!! I SAW NOTHING!!! NOTHING, I SWEAR!!! PLEASE—DON’T KILL ME—PLEASE—I’VE GOT A FAMILY—I HAVE KIDS—I—I—I’M BLIND NOW!!! I CAN’T EVEN SEE ANYMORE, I SWEAR!!!”

I could literally feel Gojo’s bloodlust rising beneath me. His grip on my waist tightened. His stare cold as ice. “You walked into my private quarters. Without knocking.”gojo said. “I—I THOUGHT IT WAS URGENT, BOSS, I SWEAR!!!” keiji replied. Keiji started fully sobbing now. I could hear his teeth chattering. “You know what I do to people who see things they’re not supposed to.” gojo said. “I—I—PLEASE—PLEASE—"keiji tried to beg. Shit. He was about to kill this poor man. I looked at gojo and forcing him to look at me. “Satoru,” I whispered sweetly, softly pressing my forehead to his. “Don’t. Please. Not tonight.” His murderous eyes locked onto mine. He didn’t speak. His jaw flexed hard. There was a long pause. I could hear Keiji’s terrified little gasps as he waited for his fate. Finally, Gojo sighed heavily — still glaring at Keiji. “....get out.” gojo ordered. Keiji's head shot up.

“T-THANK YOU, MISS Y/N!!! THANK YOU! YOU’RE AN ANGEL!!! A GODDESS!!! I—I OWE YOU MY LIFE!!!” He scrambled to his feet so fast he almost tripped, bowing repeatedly, practically kissing the floor. “I—I WON’T SAY A WORD!!! YOU HAVE MY SOUL, MISS Y/N!!!” And then —he bolted out of the room like his ass was on fire. As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, I exhaled, still sitting on Gojo’s lap. Gojo just stared at me — half amused, half irritated. “You keep saving people from me, princess.” he said. “Well…” I gave him a playful smirk. “Someone’s gotta balance out your body count.” I replied. He raised one brow, his dangerous smile returning as his hands slid back to my hips. “You just love making me weak, don’t you?” he asked. I leaned in, whispering against his lips “Every single day.” and then his mouth crashed back onto mine again, pulling me even closer.

That day gojo wasn't home. And all of a sudden I could only hear the sound of bullets. The door blasts open. There stood my dad. Toji. He brought me back home. He was totally normal until he got a call from someone....I don't know who it was and what he/she said. Toji sat there, silent for a long time, eyes sharp like a knife. His jaw clenched, rage boiling under his skin. And beside him, my uncle — Noya Zenin. The man I hated my whole life. He tried to ruin my life so many times but never been successful.

He's Leaning back in his chair like this was some kind of twisted entertainment. Toji's voice finally broke the suffocating silence. “Tell me one thing, Y/N.” I swallowed, barely able to breathe. “W-What…?” I asked. “Is it true?” His voice was low. Deadly calm.“What are you talking about…?” I asked. “DID HE FUCK YOU?!!”He roared, slamming his hand against the table. I flinched hard, my chest rising and falling in panic. “N-No— it’s not— I—” I couldn’t even form words. The truth burned in my throat, but fear sealed my lips.

He stood up suddenly, towering over me. His fist flew —Slap! The slap threw me to the floor. The sharp sting burned across my cheek. My ears rang. “You disgusting girl.” His voice dripped with venom. “After everything I’ve done for you.” Noya stepped in, voice cool and mocking. “You know what I don’t get, brother?” He smiled like a viper. “You raised her like your own, gave her everything. And how does she repay you? By spreading her legs for your biggest enemy.” “Noya, please… I—I didn't—” I sobbed, my voice trembling. But he kept going, eyes full of fake pity. “This is what happens when you give girls too much freedom, Toji. They go chasing after power. I told you the day you adopted her that she's not worthy of being adopted by you. And now? She saw Gojo’s wealth, his name, and thought: ‘Maybe I can become his little whore.’" Noya said with a smirk. “N-No! It's not like—” I tried to speak.

I cried, trying to crawl toward Toji, but he shoved me back with his foot like trash. Noya leaned closer to him, voice even lower, like he was savoring every word. “Honestly, if she wants to be a whore, let her be one. Sell her. That’s what she’s good for now, isn’t it? We’ll make good money. I’m sure plenty of men would pay millions just to sleep with Gojo Satoru’s girl.” noya said evilly. I froze. My entire was body numb. “No… no… please…” I sobbed harder, my entire face wet with tears. Toji looked down at me like I was nothing. “You’ve brought shame to this family. You’re not my daughter.” Toji said. I couldn’t breathe. “P-please, father—Please don’t sell me....”

I tried to reach for his hand.He yanked it away like I was poisoned. “You are nothing to me.” His next words crushed my soul completely “Noya. Do whatever you want with her. Sell her whatever you want.” toji said. Then he turned and walked out, leaving me on the cold floor, shaking, broken, abandoned. Noya’s laugh echoed behind me. “Well, well, little whore.” He crouched down, gripping my chin cruelly. “finally ruined your life....not only that now THE GOJO SATORU would be humiliated as well.....can't wait to see his face when the majority of underground men gonna say that they've slept with his girl on his face.....can you imagine? I'm the one who's gonna ruin his name and reputation”

I was thrown into the dark room like garbage. The door slammed behind me with a heavy metallic clank. The sound of locks clicking shut made my blood freeze. I scrambled up, heart pounding, hands shaking. My body trembled not just from fear — but from the cold air hitting my exposed skin. Noya made sure I was dressed like this. Thin. Barely any fabric covering me. “Please…” I whispered at the locked door, banging my fist. “Don’t do this… please open the door! I beg you!!” I begged. No response. Then… I heard him. The man. He stepped out from the corner of the room. Tall, greasy black hair slicked back. Eyes hungry. Filthy. His smile twisted, lips curling like a snake sizing up its prey. His breathing was already heavy as he eyed me up and down, licking his lips like a starving animal.

“Well, well,” he chuckled, voice slimy. “The famous Gojo Satoru’s toy… all for me.” He slowly started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a pale, sweaty chest. “Didn’t think Noya would deliver so quickly. God, you look better in person.” I backed up until my spine hit the wall. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. “No… no please… please don’t touch me… please—” He didn’t care. he laughed. “After I’m done with you, there’s a whole line waiting outside.”he said. His hand shot out and grabbed my hair roughly. I groaned. “NO— PLEASE!!” He dragged me toward the bed. “STOP IT— SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!” I cried out. He threw me down on the mattress. My stomach flipped with fear.The man pulled his belt off with one hand, the other pinning me down. “Be a good girl now.” He smirked. “I paid a lot for you.” I was scared....this can't be happening! And then—BOOM!

The door exploded open with a violent crash, shattering into splinters. The man in front of me froze. I saw him. Gojo. Standing at the doorway. The man’s face went pale instantly. “G-Gojo— Satoru— I— I didn’t know— they said she was for sale, I-I didn’t—” he started babbling. Gojo pulled out his gun from his pocket and....Click. The man’s body collapsed to the floor, lifeless. The room went dead silent. Then he turned to me. He rushed to me, and hugged me. “I’m here, baby. You’re safe now.” he said. I sobbed into his chest, gripping his shirt like my life depended on it. I told him everything... Every single thing. I picked me up and carried me out. He Told his men to kill everyone outside and took me to his car.

Gojo's pov

I opened the door of my car and put her inside. I walked to the other side and went inside the car and started driving the car. My blood was boiling. I felt as if someone was tearing my skin apart. How fucking dare they?! I won't be able to breathe properly until I make them regret every single thing. Checked my phone my men sent me the location Toji and Noya are. I looked at y/n beside me. She was sleeping peacefully. I looked forward and turned the car towards the location. I'll make them suffer..... Especially Noya.

As I reached there. I went outside and locked the car. I walked towards the mansion. There's no men outside. How stupid of them. I walked inside. I know this mansion. I used to come here when we used to be dealing partners. I know damn well where Toji is right now. I walked towards the room and kicked the door open. Toji looked at me. "Hmmm.... Gojo Satoru it is" He said with a smirk. Then looked behind me. "No man? I'm surprised" He said. I walked towards him and grabbed him by his shirt and punched him in the face. He turned his head to look at me again and I punched him again. "HOW FUCKING DARE YOU, YOU HURT HER?!" I said.

"I see where's this going" Toji said and grabbed my shirt to throw me on the floor but I kicked his stomach before he could do that. He crashed on the table behind him. "You son of a bitch!" He said and walked towards me. He tried to punch me and I caught his hand and twisted it. "Does it hurt?.... Good because it'll hurt more" I said and then grabbed his hair and smacked his head on the table. The table broke. We both fell on the floor. His head started bleeding. Noya entered there. It took him a minute to process what was going on. Then he ran towards us. I punched Toji's face again.

Noya grabbed me trying to pull me away from Toji. I went up from there. I looked at noya. His face was making my blood boil. I grabbed his shirt and pushed him against the wall behind him. He chuckled. "All these for that cheap whore?" He said. I clenched my jaw and punched his face. Again and again. "Don't talk about her with your fucking filthy mouth" I said and threw him on the floor. "You know I always wanted her to be our family maid..... But couldn't do that... So... Thought to sell her as a whore.... She looks like one tho" He said. And that's it. Something snapped inside me.

I went down pressed my knee on his chest and started punching his face brutally. Blood started spilling from his nose and mouth. I'll kill him. I grabbed his jaw and throat to twist it. He grabbed my hand trying to stop me and mumbling something. Suddenly I felt an arm around my throat. I realized it was Toji from behind me. I groaned as he choked me. I still didn't let go of noya. I'll kill him no matter what happens. But Toji tightened his arms with more strength. My vision started blurring. I almost couldn't breathe anymore. I'm still trying to twist Noya's head. But I can't get enough strength to do that. My vision was about to go blank when.... *BANG*

Toji's arms loosened. His body fell on the floor. Someone shot him in the head. I gasped for breath. I could breathe again and can see properly again. I looked up to see who shot Toji. "Your welcome" He said with a smirk. Suguru. How did he get here? But before that I looked down. Noya looking at me with wide, scared eyes. I twisted his without thinking anything. Then I took out my gun from my pocket and shot him three times. "Woah....aggrasive" Suguru said. I signed, then laughed and went up and stood in front of him.

"How did you get here? " I asked. "Your men called me and told me you went to kill Toji and Noya all alone and you ordered them not to come and help you. I was like ok, so much of Gojo thing. Then they told me that it's for a girl. And I was shocked that you became a simp for someone... And I had to see it so I got the location from them and came here....and woah. I saved your ass" He replied. I chuckled "yeah... Thanks.... Whatever" I said. "So.... Who's she?" He asked. "Toji's daughter" I replied. "Toji had a daughter?" He asked as we walked towards our car. "Adopted daughter" I replied and we got inside my car. "I see" He replied. "She's lucky" He said. "No.... I'm lucky" I said looking at y/n who's still sleeping peacefully. Then I started the car. "Yeah.... Simp" Suguru said and we both laughed.

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💗

[leighsartworks216]

Trespasser

dragon!Sylus x blind!oracle!Reader

Series Masterlist - Next Chapter

I've been dying to share this FOREVER!! It's still not done, but what is done has been broken up into sections, so I'll be posting it chapter-by-chapter (probably weekly?) and hopefully I'll have it done and not leave it to die in the graveyard

@alfredosaws it's finally fucking here babeyyy

Warnings: blood, injury, panic, kidnapping, heights

Word Count: 1,191

Main Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You gasp for air, wincing as sharp stones prick at your bare feet. You’re scared to stop. Terrified of what could happen to you if you do. These people you’ve known your whole life, hellbent on “punishing” you, for something you have no control over.

You trip over something. You’re not sure what, but you cut up your hands pretty bad trying to save your face from hitting the dirt. Or… what kind of rocks are these?

You hold your breath. You listen. All you hear is the rapid thudding of your own heartbeat. No footsteps. No shouting.

Are you… free?

The exhaustion catches up to you. Your lungs burn, your chest aches. You can’t get up, too weak to run any more. So you fall. You collapse onto your back. The heat of the sun warms your face as you heave and wheeze, fighting to breathe normally again. You cough, mouth dry. You didn’t think to bring anything; you couldn’t. You had to get out of there as fast as possible to preserve yourself. Nothing else mattered outside of that.

But now you’re realizing just how futile your position is:

You have no idea where you are and you can’t go back.

You have no food, water or shelter.

You have nothing to defend yourself with, nor any idea if something is going to attack at any second.

And you’re blind.

Your groan under your heavy breaths. “Fuck.”

You sense the presence before you hear it. You bolt upright, clutching at the stitch in your side.

“You’re trespassing.” The voice is deep, dark. Dangerous. The hair on the back of your neck raises.

“I’m sorry. Just- if you can point me in the direction of the next civilization, I’ll leave.”

The stranger scoffs. “There are punishments for trespassing,” he warns. The threat in his voice hangs heavy over you.

You pull off the symbol of your faith from your neck and hold it out where you believe he is standing. “This is all I have. Take it to spare my life and I promise I will never come back.”

The silence is stiff. Stifling. You frown, tilting your head to listen closer for any sound of the stranger. Did he leave? How could anyone be so silent?

“Hmph. A blind mortal. Where are your owners, little thing?”

You bristle at the insinuation. The threat of death is forgotten entirely, overshadowed by your anger. “Excuse you, sir! I am my own being, perfectly capable of taking care of myself! I am not a pet to be owned!”

“Some capabilities,” he drones, teasing and unimpressed. “Do you plan on eating the gravel and drinking the sand to survive?”

You drop your hand, anger fizzling out. The symbol of your faith, hand carved from the heartwood of an ancient tree tragically felled, clatters hollowly against the stones. “My life was more important to save. I could not spare a moment longer on anything else.”

You listen closely as the rocks shift under something’s weight. The sun’s warmth is hidden from your skin. You feel something hard slip in the loop of the necklace and you let it go on instinct.

The stranger hums in thought. “This is the symbol of Astra, is it not?”

“It is.” You nod. “I’m his chosen.”

“Meaning?”

You tilt your head up at him. “You don’t know?” You open your mouth, but quickly shut it again. You just got chased out of the city for precisely this reason. Are you so recklessly prepared to force yourself into that same situation again? At worse odds?

He chuckles sardonically. “You have such a feisty mouth on you, but now is when you choose to shut it?”

“I just…” You lower your head. You have never been good at lying. The last time you lied, it was to tell a young man that his wife would survive childbirth. Astra had punished you then, and you have sworn yourself to the truth since. “I am surprised anyone doesn’t know about Astra’s Chosen. You must not be from the city.”

“No, I’m not.”

The sun touches your face once more. The rocks shift in front of you, beside you, behind you. You pray Astra will not allow you to die here. You know he will not hear you; he doesn’t listen to his puppets.

“Tell me what it means.”

“Will you let me go if I do?”

“Depends on what you decide to tell me. I may just enjoy keeping a little thing like you around.”

You glare, aiming it over your shoulder and up toward the voice. His steps falter. “Stop calling me that. I have a name, just as I am sure you do.”

You cannot run, you cannot hope to have any chance of survival out here alone, nor hope to survive whatever this stranger deems punishment. If you must die, you will not die a liar.

You sigh as you face forward once again. Your palms are covered in scraped skin, flecking away from the sensitive under-layer. Thin lines of blood show just where the unusual rocks have cut into you. You pick idly at the flesh and answer his question: “When Astra chooses someone, they become gifted with foresight. Through us, He shows glimpses into the future, prophecies of what is to come.

“Now,” your voice wavers slightly, uncertain, “will you let me go?”

Something wraps harshly around your waist, pulling you from the ground. You struggle, your back held firmly around something solid and warm.

The ground disappears beneath your feet.

You scream in innate fear. You dig your nails into the thing around your waist, trying to break free from its grasp. For all you knew, the stranger was about to drop you into a nearby pit or canyon. The idea of surviving the fall and being forced to die slowly with broken bones and in agony makes you fight harder, trying to kick at him.

The stranger huffs an annoyed sound by your ear. “I wouldn’t struggle so much, pet. You might make me drop you.”

Your head spins, trying to figure out which way is up. You cling desperately to the thing around your waist (is this an arm?) and allow your legs to fall limp, pulled by gravity. “Where are we?!” you cry out. “What are you doing?!”

Gusts of air blow past your face, cooling your skin from the hot sun - wherever it may be now. The arm holds onto you tighter, nearly crushing the air from your lungs. “I’m taking you home.”

Ice floods your veins. “Home?”

“My home, pet,” he corrects harshly. It instills no peace within you.

The wind stills. Something touches your feet, solid and firm beneath you. The ground again? You fall to your hands, knees buckling with relief as soon as the stranger lets you go. Your whole body trembles. You can’t seem to get it to stop. All you can do is cling to the ground and urge your mind to stop spinning, stop grappling with the fact that you were in the air somehow, and focus on reorienting yourself.

“I found a new treasure.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red

[aspenmissing]

Hihihi, well hello there.

I'm so happy, that you added BG3 to your list! (Thx to the person, who asked the question 🙌)

So, without further ado, here is a little fluffy request:

Reader and the BG3 character are at the early stage of their relationship. Which means: They are currently unaware of the insecurities from their partner.

When they find some alone time for each other (at an hidden corner at campside / while strolling through a city etc.) they start sharing some of their insecurities with their partner.

Either Reader or the BG3 companion is sharing her / his insecurities with their partner. This is up to you which fits the best in each scenario 🫶

Reader / BG3 companion is listening quietly or maybe sharing some of their own thoughts. Reader / BG3 companion are thankful for their help and getting a little emotional (in their own kind of way of course)

After their talk they realize, that they've got a little bit closer and share a little kiss or hug 🤍

ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛɪᴇꜱ

ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ | ᴋᴀʀʟᴀᴄʜ | ʜᴀʟꜱɪɴ | ɢᴀʟᴇ | ʟᴀᴇ'ᴢᴇʟ | ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡʜᴇᴀʀᴛ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 4349 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛɪᴇꜱ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ʙᴀᴋᴀɪ! ᴄᴏɴɢʀᴀᴛꜱ ᴏɴ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ʙɢ3 ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇʀ!!! ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜ��ᴛ ᴀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ɪᴛ ɪꜱ!!! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ!!! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ | ᴋᴀʀʟᴀᴄʜ | ʜᴀʟꜱɪɴ | ɢᴀʟᴇ | ʟᴀᴇ'ᴢᴇʟ | ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

ASTARION

The campfire crackled softly in the quiet night, casting flickering shadows that danced across the trees and stretched out over the uneven ground. The warmth of the flames was a stark contrast to the cool night air brushing against your skin. Nearby, Astarion sat on a fallen log, his pale face glowing orange in the firelight, his silver hair slightly tousled. He looked less like the razor-sharp, confident vampire rogue you’d come to know in battle and more like someone caught in a rare moment of stillness.

You sat beside him, knees pulled up close to your chest, your fingers absently tracing patterns on your own forearm. The usual playful banter and teasing that filled your time together had melted away, replaced by a quiet calm. Neither of you seemed eager to break the silence, as if you both sensed that this fragile peace was something precious, something worth holding onto.

The fire’s crackle was the only sound besides the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. You felt Astarion’s gaze flicker to you, sharp and searching, but there was something different in his expression tonight—something softer, more vulnerable. You shifted slightly, turning to meet his eyes.

“You know…” His voice was low, almost hesitant, barely louder than a whisper. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’m just a monster wearing a charming face.”

You blinked, taken aback. The quick-witted, cocky facade he usually wore had never betrayed such uncertainty before. “What do you mean?”

He glanced down at the fire, jaw clenched as if wrestling with his thoughts. “Not just what I am—being a vampire, a predator—but who I am. Underneath all this… this mask I put on for survival, for control.” His pale fingers traced idle shapes in the dirt by the fire’s edge. “I wonder if the real me is… broken beyond repair. Or worse, unworthy.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words settling in your chest. You’d always known there was darkness in Astarion’s past, but hearing him admit his own doubts so openly was new. You reached out, hesitating just a moment before brushing a stray lock of silver hair back from his forehead. The gesture was gentle, a silent offering of comfort.

“I get that,” you said softly. “More than you know. I’ve always carried this fear… that I’m not enough. That no matter what I do, I’m just waiting to disappoint someone. Or worse, myself.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours, and you saw the usual sharpness and guarded arrogance replaced by something raw and real. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How much weight we carry inside us. Secrets and scars we bury deep. We don’t always show them, because maybe we’re afraid—afraid that if anyone really sees them, they’ll run. Or worse, laugh.”

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. “Yeah. I’ve hidden a lot behind smiles and jokes. But sharing it like this… it makes it feel less heavy. Like maybe, for once, I don’t have to carry it alone.”

Astarion’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile, the kind that reached his eyes and warmed his whole expression. “Thank you, my dear. For listening. For not running away when I get… tangled up in my own darkness.”

“Always,” you whispered. “You’re not alone.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty or awkward—it was comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that maybe, just maybe, you were both learning how to trust again. The fire’s glow softened your features, and for a moment, you felt like you could see past the masks and scars to the person beneath.

Slowly, almost instinctively, Astarion leaned closer. His breath was warm against your skin, carrying the faint scent of the night and something uniquely his own—earthy, wild, and strangely comforting. His gaze never left yours.

“I think…” His voice was thick with something unspoken, almost fragile. “I like this. Us. Like this. Not just as comrades… but something more.”

Your heart fluttered like a bird trapped in your chest. You swallowed hard and met his gaze, your own voice barely above a whisper. “Me too.”

He smiled again, softer this time, before closing the small distance between you. His lips brushed yours — a kiss gentle and sure, hesitant at first but filled with a promise. It spoke of trust, of hope, and of two damaged souls beginning to heal through each other.

When you pulled apart, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cool air. The fire crackled steadily behind you, a steady heartbeat in the dark.

“I’ve never done this before,” he murmured, voice low but steady.

“Neither have I,” you admitted, warmth flooding your cheeks.

Astarion’s fingers curled around your hand, squeezing it gently. “But maybe that’s why it’s… important.”

You squeezed back, feeling a sense of peace you hadn’t known in a long time. The night felt less dark, the future less uncertain. Together, you had taken a small but profound step — closer, connected, and ready to face whatever came next.

KARLACH

The bustling sounds of Baldur’s Gate surrounded you both, but somehow, the two of you carved out a quiet space between the noise — the chatter of merchants haggling, the clatter of horses’ hooves on uneven cobblestones, the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer, and the occasional shout from a street vendor fading into a gentle murmur behind you.

Karlach walked beside you, her usual fierce energy softened by the warm glow of twilight and the calm steadiness of your presence. The city’s fading light caught the copper tones in her wild hair, and for once, her fierce gaze seemed less like a challenge and more like a question. You noticed the way she occasionally stole glances at you, her usual bold confidence replaced by a flicker of hesitation that tugged at your heart.

After a few quiet steps, you both came to a stop near a small stone fountain tucked away in a narrow side alley. Water spilled gently over the moss-covered edges, catching the last rays of sunlight and sparkling like scattered stars. The soothing sound of the flowing water seemed to soften the air itself, offering a calm refuge from the city’s restless pulse.

“Hey,” Karlach said quietly, her voice lower than usual, rough and raw beneath the surface. She reached up awkwardly, fiddling with the worn strap of her leather armor as if it were a shield against the words she was about to say. “There’s… something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Her gaze dropped to the rippling water, and when she met your eyes again, there was a vulnerability there you hadn’t seen before. “Sometimes I wonder if people see me as… just the big, scary barbarian. Like, they don’t really see me. Just the rage and strength. It makes me feel… kinda lonely. Even around friends.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the confession. Karlach — the warrior who faced down demons and armies without flinching — revealing a crack in her armor. It made your heart ache in a new way.

You stepped closer, reaching out to lightly brush your fingers over her arm, grounding her and yourself. “I don’t think you’re alone,” you said softly, your voice steady but gentle. “I see the real you — the one beyond the armour and the scars. You’re so much more than just rage and strength.”

She gave you a small, almost shy smile, one you didn’t see often. “Maybe. But that’s what everyone knows, isn’t it? The fury, the fight. It’s like there’s no room for anything softer. Like that part of me doesn’t exist.”

“That’s not true,” you said firmly, your hand lingering for a moment before you gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re fierce, yeah, but you’re also loyal, caring, and you fight to protect. That’s not just rage — it’s love. And I see that, every day.”

Karlach’s gaze softened, and she studied your face as if trying to memorize every detail. Then, as if the words had unlocked a door, you felt the air grow heavier with unspoken thoughts. Your voice dropped, barely a whisper. “I sometimes worry I’m not strong enough.” You hesitated, glancing away for a moment, vulnerable. “Not strong enough to keep up with you, or to protect the people I care about. It’s silly, but it’s there.”

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then she shook her head, stepping closer until your shoulders almost touched. The usual fire in her gaze was tempered with warmth. “No. That’s nonsense. You’re tougher than you realize. You don’t give yourself enough credit. I’d follow you into any fight. Don’t ever think you’re not enough.”

You looked back up, meeting her steady, unwavering gaze, and a rush of gratitude and something deeper bloomed in your chest.

“But…” you said softly, “you say that to me. So why don’t you put that same logic into yourself? You’re the one who says you’re just a scary barbarian.”

Karlach’s smile faltered, her eyes flickering away as she bit her lip, the familiar bravado cracking. “Because it’s different for me. I’ve seen what I’m capable of. Sometimes I worry that’s all I am.”

You reached out again, cupping her cheek gently, your thumb brushing the soft curve beneath her ear. “No,” you said, voice steady and sure. “You’re so much more. I see it — every side of you. And you deserve to believe that too.”

Her eyes glistened with unspilled tears in the fading light. She drew a shaky breath, her armor feeling suddenly heavier as if she was shedding a burden by simply admitting it aloud. “Thanks,” she whispered. “For listening. And for being here.”

You smiled, warmth radiating through your whole body. “Always.”

For a long moment, the city around you seemed to melt away. The distant noises faded until it was just the two of you — two souls leaning on each other, closer somehow than ever before.

Slowly, Karlach leaned in, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead. Then, without hesitation, she pulled you into a warm, protective hug, arms wrapping around you like a shield. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she rested her head against yours. “We’ve got each other.”

You melted into her embrace, grateful beyond words. The night sky stretched overhead, stars beginning to prick through the dusk. And in that quiet moment, the weight of the world felt a little lighter, the future a little less daunting — because you faced it together.

HALSIN

The soft rustle of leaves overhead and the gentle ripple of water lapping against the shore filled the quiet clearing by the lake. It was a rare pocket of calm in the midst of their turbulent journey—a sanctuary untouched by the weight of the outside world. Halsin didn’t hesitate, his cloak sliding from his shoulders and falling with a soft thud to the grass. Without a second thought, he peeled off his shirt and trousers, revealing the well-worn strength beneath his skin. With a serene smile, he stepped barefoot into the cool, clear water, sending small waves spreading outward.

Y/N lingered on the shore, fingers nervously tracing the hem of their own shirt. Their gaze was fixed on Halsin’s ease, the way he moved with unguarded grace and a quiet confidence that seemed to belong to the very forest itself. Yet inside, a knot tightened around their chest, heavier than the weight of any armor. Their clothes suddenly felt like chains, a shield they weren’t quite ready to cast aside. The thought of baring themselves so openly—physically and emotionally—made their heart race.

Halsin glanced back, catching the hesitation in their eyes. His voice was gentle, warm like the sun filtering through the canopy. “Come on. The water’s good. It’ll clear your mind.”

Y/N swallowed hard, cheeks flushing—not just from the morning chill—but from something deeper, more tangled. “I… I don’t know,” they murmured, taking a tentative step forward, then stopping short at the water’s edge.

Without a word, Halsin stepped out of the water, droplets cascading from his hair and shoulders like liquid silver. He reached out a steady, reassuring hand. “No rush. We have time. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as they looked down, their fingers fiddling with a loose thread on their sleeve. The quiet stretched between them, carrying the weight of unsaid words. Finally, voice soft and a little shaky, they began. “I guess... I’ve been holding back more than I realized. Not just from the others—sometimes even from you. Sometimes, I feel like I’m not enough… or maybe I’m too much. Not what you expected. It’s hard… hard to just be myself, especially with someone like you.”

Halsin’s expression softened, his deep eyes full of warmth and patience. He said nothing, only listened, giving space to those fragile confessions.

“I’m scared,” Y/N admitted, voice barely above a whisper, “that I’ll mess things up, or that you’ll see all my flaws and... walk away.”

A long pause followed. Then Halsin stepped closer, his hand gently reaching up to brush a damp strand of hair away from Y/N’s face. His touch was careful, tender—like he was handling something precious.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for trusting me with this. I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to hide—especially not from me. Not now, not ever.”

Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, relief and gratitude washing over them like the cool water. The tight knot inside their chest loosened, replaced by something new and fragile—closeness, understanding, a promise they were beginning to feel but hadn’t yet named.

Without thinking, Halsin leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss to Y/N’s forehead—a soft, grounding touch that said everything words could not. Then, gathering them into a warm embrace, he held them close as if silently promising safety, acceptance, and a future they could build together—flaws and all.

The lake’s gentle lap against the shore was the only witness to their quiet, unspoken vow, the world around them momentarily held at peace.

GALE

The fire crackled softly between you, its amber glow painting gentle flickers across Gale’s face. The camp was hushed—everyone else had long since retired to their tents, leaving the night to stretch quietly around the two of you. You sat on a fallen log beneath the wide canopy of stars, the forest alive with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant calls of night creatures weaving a natural lullaby.

Gale shifted beside you, his fingers nervously twisting the edge of his cloak. You watched him carefully, heart quietly tightening at the subtle tension in his posture. He usually wore that calm, assured mask—the confident arcanist, the man who seemed to command magic and fate alike. But tonight, something felt different—fragile, almost hesitant, like a candle flickering against the wind.

The silence between you stretched longer than comfortable, filled only by the soft crackle of flames. Finally, Gale’s voice broke through the stillness, low and tentative.

“I… don’t often speak of this,” he began, his eyes flickering upward to meet yours, seeking some unspoken permission. “But since you’re here…” He inhaled deeply, steadying himself against the weight of his own thoughts. “There’s always this fear, lurking in the back of my mind—that the magic inside me isn’t a gift, but a curse. That I’m… dangerous. That someday it might consume me completely.” He gave a small, wry smile, but the shadow beneath it was unmistakable—an edge of bitterness, of self-doubt. “Sometimes I wonder if anyone could truly accept me, with all that baggage.”

You said nothing, letting his words settle in the space between you, like fragile glass on the verge of breaking. Carefully, you reached out, your hand finding his. Your fingers intertwined softly with his, warm and steady, a quiet promise that you were here to stay.

Gale’s eyes softened at the gesture. Without a word, he shifted closer, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. Slowly, as if seeking refuge, he lowered his head until it rested gently in your lap. The warmth of him grounded you both—the vulnerability raw and unguarded in this simple act of trust. His breathing slowed, matching the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat.

You let your fingers trail through his dark hair, soothing and slow, as if trying to smooth out the worries tangled there. The sensation was calming, like weaving quiet magic without spells, and you could feel the tightness in him loosening—inch by inch, breath by breath.

“Thank you,” Gale whispered, voice thick with something fragile—gratitude, relief, perhaps even a hint of hope. “For listening. It’s… rare, to find someone who doesn’t recoil or run when I’m honest about my fears.” He swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his voice like a fragile thread. “I think… I’m glad it’s you.”

Your heart tightened at his confession, a tender ache blossoming in your chest. You looked down at him, so open and real, and felt something stir deep inside. “I’m glad it’s me, too,” you said softly, your voice a quiet anchor.

His breath warmed your skin as he lifted his gaze to meet yours again. Slowly, he raised his head, and you leaned down, closing the space between you. Your lips met in a kiss that was soft and tentative at first, like stepping lightly on new ground. Then, as if the world around you had faded to silence, it deepened—a quiet exchange filled with all the unspoken hopes and promises you hadn’t yet found words for.

When you finally pulled back, Gale’s eyes shimmered in the firelight, vulnerable and full of something new—something fragile and beautiful.

“We’re closer now, aren’t we?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers lingering in his hair a moment longer, reluctant to break the connection. “Closer,” you agreed, your heart full.

A quiet laugh slipped from him, genuine and light, and then Gale slid an arm around your waist, pulling you gently into a hug. The world outside the campfire’s glow faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in the warmth of the night—and the growing connection that neither of you had expected, but both quietly cherished.

The stars above bore silent witness as the fire died low, but between you and Gale, something sparked bright enough to light even the darkest paths ahead.

LAE'ZEL

The tavern buzzed with life—laughter spilling from every corner, the sharp clink of mugs raised in toasts, and the low hum of boisterous conversation. The rest of the party, weary from the day’s long march and skirmishes, had settled into their usual revelry, voices growing louder as the night wore on. Somewhere, a bard strummed a lively tune, encouraging another round.

But in the quieter corner, shielded by the flickering shadows of the hearth and a tangle of well-worn tables, Lae’zel and Y/N sat side by side. Their shoulders brushed lightly, a small comfort neither had yet spoken of aloud. There was a gentle tension, a fragile thread of something new weaving silently between them—still unspoken, still unclaimed.

Lae’zel’s sharp eyes flicked toward Y/N, her gaze lingering longer than usual. The harshness that often marked her features softened in the warm glow of the firelight, revealing something more vulnerable beneath the surface. Lately, they had spent more time together—moments stolen from the chaos—and with each, the weight of their unspoken feelings pressed a little lighter.

Y/N met her eyes and offered a soft smile. “You seem quieter tonight.”

Lae’zel’s fingers clenched lightly around the rim of her mug, knuckles whitening. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, in a voice that was almost a whisper, she confessed, “I have… thoughts I do not often share. It is strange to speak them aloud.”

There was no judgment in Y/N’s eyes, only curiosity and warmth blooming quietly inside their chest. “You can tell me.”

A breath. A pause. Lae’zel’s sharp gaze fell to the scarred wood beneath her hands, shadows flickering across her face. “I worry I am… too harsh. Too proud. I fear I push away those who might care for me.” Her voice grew softer, almost fragile. “In my life, I have been expected to be strong at all times. To never show weakness. But sometimes… I feel small. Alone. Invisible.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the rare admission. Slowly, they reached out, their hand brushing against Lae’zel’s with gentle reassurance. “That’s not weakness, Lae’zel. It shows you have humanity.” Their thumb traced slow circles on the back of her hand. “And you’re not alone. I feel that way too sometimes—like I have to hide parts of myself just to be accepted. Sometimes, I wonder if people would like me less if they knew the real me.”

Lae’zel’s eyes lifted, shimmering faintly with unspoken emotion. The usual fierceness softened into something raw and real. “You listen.” Her voice broke slightly, the strength behind her words tempered by gratitude. “I… I am thankful.”

Y/N’s smile deepened, the warmth spreading between them like a slow-burning fire. “I’m thankful too. For you. For this—whatever it is that we’re building here.” Their fingers tightened slightly, holding her hand with quiet certainty.

Around them, the tavern’s noise seemed to dim, the rowdy laughter and music fading into a distant hum as they leaned closer. The moment hung suspended—delicate, electric. Lae’zel’s lips met Y/N’s in a soft, tentative kiss—brief but full of promise. It was a kiss that spoke of trust, of understanding, of a growing bond neither dared name but both felt deeply.

When they parted, Lae’zel’s hand rose, resting gently against Y/N’s cheek, her thumb brushing over skin flushed by the firelight and the closeness. “We have grown closer this night.”

Y/N’s breath caught, their heart full and aching in the best way. “Yeah.” Their voice was barely more than a whisper. “Closer than I thought possible.”

The two leaned into a warm, quiet embrace, holding onto the fragile newness of what they shared. Outside their little sanctuary of calm, the tavern thrummed with life—the world spinning wildly on. But here, in this corner, time slowed. They were just two souls, stronger and braver together.

And for the first time, neither felt quite so alone.

SHADOWHEART

The sun hung low over the village rooftops, casting long, lazy shadows across the uneven cobblestones. Warm amber light spilled from windows and flickered on the walls, blending with the scent of baked bread and the faint smoke of hearthfires. Around them, the village was settling in for the evening—laughter drifted softly from a tavern, children’s voices faded into the distance, and the steady shuffle of feet on stone marked the slow retreat of day.

Shadowheart and Y/N walked side by side, their footsteps falling into an easy rhythm. The silence between them wasn’t empty but comfortable—like the quiet that exists between two people who are still learning to fit together. Shadowheart’s usual sharpness softened in the fading light, her eyes glancing sideways toward Y/N with something unspoken, something tender.

For a while, neither spoke. Y/N’s fingers brushed occasionally against the fabric of their cloak, a nervous habit Shadowheart noticed but didn’t comment on. The peaceful village noises seemed to cocoon them, creating a little pocket of calm where time moved slower.

Finally, breaking the silence, Y/N’s voice came low and hesitant. “Hey... can I tell you something?”

Shadowheart tilted her head, curiosity flickering behind her guarded gaze. She didn’t speak, but her steady presence was an invitation to continue.

Y/N took a slow, steadying breath, their chest rising and falling with quiet determination. “Sometimes... I worry. About not being enough,” they said, voice barely above a whisper. “That maybe... I’m too much. That if people really saw who I am, the parts I try to hide... they wouldn’t stick around.”

Shadowheart stopped walking, and Y/N mirrored her, the bustling village noises falling away to a gentle hush. Shadowheart’s gaze was unwavering, her eyes dark pools of quiet understanding.

“I’m not saying this to ask for sympathy,” Y/N went on, voice trembling slightly now, “but it’s a weight. One I don’t always know how to set down. Carrying it alone feels... heavy.”

The silence stretched between them, tender and fragile. Shadowheart’s fingers moved, almost of their own accord, reaching out to find Y/N’s hand. Her touch was soft but sure, fingers curling gently around theirs as if anchoring them in place.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” Shadowheart said, her voice low and steady, like a promise made just for them. “Not with me.”

A flicker of something raw and vulnerable broke through Y/N’s carefully guarded calm. A small, grateful smile cracked their lips, eyes shimmering with the shimmer of unshed tears. “Thank you,” they whispered, voice thick with emotion. “For listening. For... just being here.”

Shadowheart gave a subtle nod, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She stepped closer, closing the space between them until the world around them seemed to shrink. With gentle certainty, she pulled Y/N into a warm, lingering hug. The faint scent of herbs and earth clung to her, grounding Y/N in a way words never could.

The embrace felt like a shield—quiet, safe, and real.

When they slowly parted, their eyes met again, searching and soft. Shadowheart’s lips brushed gently against Y/N’s in a tentative kiss—a fragile promise of trust, of something quietly growing between them. It was tender, hesitant, but full of a hope that neither had dared to voice until now.

Fingers still entwined, they resumed their slow stroll through the village, the amber light wrapping around them like a shared secret. Each step felt lighter than before, as if the weight of unspoken fears had lessened, replaced by something rare—a connection forged in quiet courage and gentle understanding.

And somewhere in the fading light, beneath the ancient rooftops and the fading murmur of the village, something new began to take root.

[edenmemes]

arcane (s2) sentence starters

ep1 - 8. warning for spoilers !

❝ everybody wants to be my enemy. ❞ ❝ you’re our leader. they follow you. i follow you. ❞ ❝ i've seen miracles spring from the hands of mages many times, but so often, they turned to horrors. ❞ ❝ why does anyone commit acts others deem unspeakable? for love. ❞ ❝ in my experience, no one in power is innocent. ❞ ❝ i don't wanna hear another word out of your mouth. ❞ ❝ i keep telling myself that you're different. but you're not. ❞ ❝ i haven't insulted your intelligence. do not insult mine. ❞ ❝ if you see the opening...take the shot. ❞ ❝ it's me. your vile villainess. the author of your nightmares. ❞ ❝ you have no inkling what family is to me. ❞ ❝ our paths diverged long ago. it was affection that held us together. ❞ ❝ i'm done blaming myself for your mistakes. ❞ ❝ there's one thing i know in my bones. there is no force in this world that can control you. ❞ ❝ your talents can be used to build, instead of destroy. ❞ ❝ no beast is more savage than man. ❞ ❝ i am the dirt under your nails. nothing's gonna clean me out. ❞ ❝ the dirt was on both our hands. ❞ ❝ stick your head in the dirt if you want, but this fantasy you've been living out here, it's not gonna last forever. ❞ ❝ now people avert their gaze when i roll by. ❞ ❝ still giving me the silent treatment, huh? ❞ ❝ you think it's so easy? to turn your back while your city looks to you for salvation? ❞ ❝ playing coy doesn't suit you, love. ❞ ❝ is it bad that i'm making friends with my demons? ❞ ❝ can i do the right thing for the wrong reason? ❞ ❝ ever since you dropped into my life, it's like i put on glasses. ❞ ❝ jeez, lady, you crazy? talking to dead people. ❞ ❝ sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind. ❞ ❝ that's a past life, kid. and it was about as sweet as last year's milk. ❞ ❝ why is peace always the justification for violence? ❞ ❝ haven't i done you enough favors? ❞ ❝ i must say goodbye to this place now. to you. ❞ ❝ you got that look in your eye again. what are you planning? ❞ ❝ people have lost their heads for less. ❞ ❝ everyone in my life has changed. promise me you won't change. ❞ ❝ wrath must be met with wrath. ❞ ❝ what you've stolen…is more precious than any gold. ❞ ❝ i apologize for the intrusion. i was attempting to sneak in. ❞ ❝ address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut. ❞ ❝ this is what you asked for. heavy is the crown. ❞ ❝ and then what? you take what you need, hang me out to dry? ❞ ❝ do you realize how easy it was for me to track you down here? ❞ ❝ awful, isn't it? losing a loved one. ❞ ❝ i'm sorry. i’m not comfortable trusting our fates to chance. ❞ ❝ you think it's so easy? to turn your back while your city looks to you for salvation? ❞ ❝ whether i'm pulling the pin or not, everyone who gets close to me dies. ❞ ❝ you walk along the edge of danger and it will change you. ❞ ❝ your youth betrays you. patience is a product of age. both of which i possess in abundance. ❞ ❝ we gotta choose right now whether we're gonna throw in the towel or make a stand together. ❞ ❝ i had a different name back then, you know. ❞ ❝ when will you admit that this is just one of your fantasies? ❞ ❝ my arrogance led me to take on more than i could handle. ❞ ❝ such force must be a final resort. ❞ ❝ in my experience, only guilty men answer accusations with silence. ❞ ❝ every time it seems like we might catch a break. ❞ ❝ you're a monster. why? why do all this? ❞ ❝ i must ask you to surrender your weapons. this is a place of peace. ❞ ❝ i still think it's a dumb idea. but i guess you won, and a deal's a deal. ❞ ❝ it’s nice to know there are still good ones left. ❞ ❝ i promise, it's the last offer you're gonna get. ❞ ❝ no matter what i do, i just can’t seem to die. ❞ ❝ maybe i underestimated you. maybe you have the strength i do not. ❞ ❝ you don't actually need my help. you haven't for a long time. ❞ ❝ like it or not, we're in this mess together. ❞ ❝ compassion. hate. two sides of the same coin. ❞ ❝ i have a plan. you’re not gonna like it. ❞ ❝ come closer, will you, babe? ❞ ❝ i'd feared i wouldn't have the chance to speak with you again. ❞

❝ you here to finish me off? ❞ ❝ i thought you were on our side. ❞ ❝ what is up with you? you've been out of it all day. ❞ ❝ as good as it feels to pour everyone's drink, you need to fill your own cup every now and again. ❞ ❝ you must destroy it. it corrupts. consumes. ❞ ❝ sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind. ❞ ❝ we do not lament a warrior's death. we avenge it. ❞ ❝ for the gifted, arrogance is the ultimate threat. ❞ ❝ why do you persist? after everything i've done? ❞ ❝ you're not alone. look at my shadow right behind you like a ghost. ❞ ❝ there is nothing to gain from this senseless bloodshed. ❞ ❝ i choose wrong every time. and because of it, i've lost everyone. ❞ ❝ go. before i do something i regret. ❞ ❝ i don't wanna lose what makes me "me" chasing some wild dream. ❞ ❝ i'm gonna find a way back, with or without you. ❞ ❝ i'm sorry. i've been an idiot. and an ass. you're hurting too. ❞ ❝ one's thoughts are more easily gathered in isolation. ❞ ❝ all right, out with it. what do you want from me? ❞ ❝ hey, in case i don't remember to tell you tomorrow, you've always meant the world to me. ❞ ❝ you ever wish you could just stay in one moment? ❞ ❝ if you're here to kill me, make sure to finish the job. ❞ ❝ i think beneath that mask you're scared. ❞ ❝ i must say that since i've met you, i've truly lived. ❞ ❝ never seen you give up on anything. ❞ ❝ i have the feeling that you'll be running this place soon. ❞ ❝ i think beneath that mask you're scared. ❞ ❝ i'm choosing to fight. and i pray that you will join me. ❞ ❝ this place will grow on you. you'll see. ❞ ❝ you're never gonna give up on me, are you? ❞ ❝ i think the cycle only ends when you find the will to walk away. ❞ ❝ hating you…i've hated myself. i just don't have the energy for it any longer. ❞ ❝ greatest thing we can do in life is find the power to forgive. ❞ ❝ oh, don't get all mushy on me now. ❞ ❝ i'm always with you. even when we're worlds apart. ❞ ❝ just 'cause you're having a bad day, don't take it out on me. ❞ ❝ look at the price of your ambition. you've sacrificed everything. ❞ ❝ you taught me the best lies come wrapped in truth. ❞ ❝ i feel like i woke up in the wrong universe. ❞ ❝ oh, spare the sympathy. ❞ ❝ uh, you do realize code phrases don't work when you make them up on the spot? ❞ ❝ desperation is the doorway to oblivion. ❞ ❝ it was a mistake to come here. ❞ ❝ this will have consequences. ❞ ❝ i know it's my fault that i'm here all alone. ❞ ❝ if you choose to flee, don't stop running. ❞ ❝ go and make some mistakes. you live and you learn. ❞ ❝ let me guess. you think i'm holding myself back. ❞ ❝ i have people back home who need me. ❞ ❝ i’m sorry i haven’t been around. ❞

[damseljamsel]

Tala Moon

Dear Diary,

Hello! My name is Tala Moon, and I have no idea how to be human! I've been traveling for so long....perhaps running from myself, or humanity....or both. But lately something seems to have changed deep inside of me and I'm not sure exactly what...?

The earliest memory I have is leaving my parents cabin and wandering into the woods. They were fighting again, both high and starting the ramp up to inevitable violence, and I just remember being scared and thinking hiding in the woods would be a good idea. That was the day I was bit.

The memories are a blur, fever and pain were all I knew. Then when I thought I could no longer take it, I turned into a wolf. As a wolf I let instinct take over. I fed from wild game, I drank from rivers, and I slept in the dirt. I spent my childhood as a wolf. Subconsciously, I must have realized survival would be easier as a wolf, or maybe I didn't want to turn back.

Years later, I slipped into human form again. It was accidental at first, as a wolf I was caught in a trap one day. Before I knew it, I was human, using my hands to work myself free. I began to switch between the forms to whatever was easiest.

Then it all came to an end. One day I was spotted by hunters, a dirty and naked girl who became violent when they approached. The police were called, and I was institutionalized. I had to learn to be human again, but most importantly I learned to hide the wolf. On the day I was released, I swore that never again would I let myself be controlled, ever again.

I am Tala Moon, and I named myself. Tala for the Native American wolf, and Moon for that which I follow everyday of my life. I have explored many lands and avoided many humans. I have never met another like me, and I find myself yearning....for something....but for what? Maybe you can help me figure it out, diary!

-Tala

[soulofapatrick]

Fighting for Control - Rhysand x female reader

Summary: Rhys finds you training and you challenge his insufferable ass

Words: 3.9K

Notes: I am alive, sorry for being MIA for so long - I've been down with the flu for a week or so 😭

Y/N's POV

The late afternoon sun bathes the training arena in a golden glow, the heat sinking into my skin and mixing with the satisfying burn of exertion. Each punch I throw lands with a solid thud against the padded dummy, and I imagine it’s an Illyrian male with one too many smug comments. The mental image fuels my strikes, sharper, harder, faster—until I finally step back, breathing heavily, and shake out my arms.

I shift my weight, readying myself for another go, when the faintest prickling sensation tickles the back of my neck. Someone’s watching me.

I turn, slowly, scanning the empty terraces above the arena. Empty—except for the male leaning lazily against a stone pillar, silhouetted in the sunlight like some arrogant statue come to life.

Rhysand.

His midnight hair stirs in the soft breeze, and even from here, I can see the smirk tugging at his mouth. He looks unfairly perfect, his tailored shirt rolled up to the elbows, exposing forearms I stubbornly refuse to admire. His violet eyes lock on mine, and there’s a distinct, infuriating glimmer of amusement in them.

“Enjoying the view, High Lord?” I call, resting my hands on my hips.

“Immensely,” he replies, his voice carrying effortlessly over the distance—low, smooth, and laced with wicked humor. He pushes off the pillar, sauntering toward me with all the grace of a panther on the hunt. “Though I’ll admit, it’s much more entertaining when you’re scowling. You have this adorable little furrow in your brow when you’re frustrated.”

My scowl deepens on cue, and his laugh rings out, warm and rich and utterly maddening. “See? There it is.”

“I could arrange for you to see it up close, Rhys,” I say sweetly, though my tone drips with challenge. “Say, by smashing your face into the dirt.”

“Such violence.” He presses a hand to his chest as if I’ve wounded him, but that grin of his only widens. He’s close now, close enough that I can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the mischief practically oozing from every pore. “But if you wanted my attention, darling, all you had to do was ask.”

I snort, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair out of my face. “Please. You couldn’t keep up with me if you tried.”

“Bold words for someone who just spent five minutes attacking a dummy,” he counters, his voice teasing, though there’s something sharper lurking beneath it.

That spark of competitive fire ignites in my chest. “And here I thought the great Rhysand didn’t need to inflate his ego any further. Tell me, High Lord, do you actually have the skill to back it up? Or do you just rely on your magic to make up for the lack?”

His grin sharpens, wolfish. “Are you challenging me, sweetheart?”

“Depends.” I step closer, tilting my head as I eye him. “Are you scared?”

“Scared?” He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head like he’s indulging a reckless child. But there’s a gleam in his eyes now—bright, electric, and entirely too dangerous. “You’re either incredibly brave or terribly foolish.”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” I shrug, deliberately casual, though my heart is already pounding. “No magic. No wings. Just you, me, and good old-fashioned hand-to-hand.”

Rhys takes another step, and suddenly he’s looming over me, all dark power and infuriating smugness. His voice drops, low and velvety. “You really think you can take me on?”

I meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down even as his scent—night-chilled air and cedar—threatens to fog my mind. “I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises.”

He studies me for a moment, the corners of his mouth curling into a slow, wicked smile. Then, with a lazy flick of his wrist, he shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto the stone floor. “Alright, darling. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

I don’t give Rhys time to settle. The moment he’s rolled up his sleeves, I’m already moving, throwing a sharp jab aimed directly at his perfect, insufferable face. He sidesteps with a grace that borders on casual, like he’s stepping out of the way of a falling leaf rather than dodging a strike meant to wipe the smirk off his face.

“That’s cute,” he drawls, his voice rich with amusement.

I grit my teeth and pivot sharply, aiming a kick toward his ribs, but his hand shoots out faster than I can track. His fingers curl around my ankle with maddening ease, holding me in place like I’m a kitten trying to swipe at a lion.

“Careful, darling,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, as if to study my form. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself. I’m rather fond of your legs, you know.”

Heat rises in my cheeks, though whether it’s from anger or the way his thumb brushes lightly against my ankle, I can’t say. I twist my leg free with a growl, spinning back to put distance between us.

“You’re insufferable,” I snap, rolling my shoulders to shake off the tension coiling there.

His grin widens, the sunlight catching on his teeth. “And you’re predictable. Shall we try again?”

I don’t answer. I lunge forward again, trying to be faster, sharper, unpredictable. I throw a series of punches, each one aimed to force him back, to make him work for his victories. For a moment, it seems like I have him; his weight shifts, his footing adjusts—but then his hand snakes out, seizing my wrist mid-swing.

“Not bad,” he murmurs, pulling me off balance. Before I can recover, he’s behind me, twisting my arm gently but firmly behind my back. His chest presses against my shoulders, solid and unyielding, and his breath ghosts against my ear.

“But not good enough.”

The low rasp of his voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I don’t even bother to suppress the snarl that escapes me. I stomp down hard on his foot, grinning in satisfaction when he hisses through his teeth. His grip slackens just enough for me to wrench free, spinning to face him once more.

“That’s more like it,” he says, shaking out his foot with an exaggerated wince. His eyes sparkle with mischief, a flicker of heat simmering just beneath the surface.

He’s toying with me. I know it, and he knows it. But I can’t help myself; the challenge in his gaze stirs something reckless in me, something that refuses to let him win.

We fall into a rhythm then, strikes and blocks, feints and counters, the sounds of our movements filling the space around us. His laughter rings out every time he dodges or counters me, a low, infuriating melody that fans the flames of my frustration.

“You’re quick,” he says, effortlessly deflecting a punch. “But you telegraph your moves. Like that little shift in your shoulder just now.” He ducks beneath my next strike, adding with a wink, “You’re giving me too much time to admire the view.”

My cheeks burn, my temper flaring hotter. I push harder, striking with all the strength and precision I can muster. But no matter how fast or clever I think I’m being, he’s always a step ahead, always one movement away from sweeping my legs out from under me.

And sweep them he does. Again.

I land flat on my back with a grunt, dirt clinging to my skin and hair. Before I can move, his boot hovers just above my chest—not pressing, not pinning, just a reminder that he’s still in control.

“Need a break, darling?” he asks, his voice laced with mock concern. “Or shall we keep going? I’m happy to wait if you need a moment to—”

I slap his boot away and scramble to my feet, my breathing ragged, my pride thoroughly bruised. “I’m going to wipe that smirk off your face, Rhysand.”

His grin deepens, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that sends my pulse skittering. “I’d like to see you try.”

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. This time, I focus, letting my frustration fuel me without clouding my mind. I circle him slowly, watching every subtle shift in his stance, every twitch of his muscles. When I strike, it’s deliberate—a feint to the left, a sharp kick to the right, a series of rapid punches meant to disorient him.

And for a moment, it works.

He moves to grab my wrist, but I twist out of his grip, using his momentum against him. My hands find his shoulders, and with a surge of strength I didn’t know I had, I shove him backward. He stumbles, his balance faltering just enough for me to tackle him.

The world tilts, and the next thing I know, we’re both on the ground. Dust rises around us, the faint scent of earth and sweat filling my senses. My thighs bracket his hips, my hands pinning his wrists to the dirt above his head.

For a moment, everything goes still.

His chest rises and falls beneath me, his dark hair spilling messily across the ground. Those violet eyes, usually so full of amusement, are wide with something else now—something sharper, hotter.

“Well,” he says after a beat, his voice rougher than before, “this is new.”

I lean down, close enough that my hair brushes against his cheek. “What’s the matter, High Lord?” I murmur, my breath ghosting over his lips. “Not so smug now, are we?”

His gaze flickers to my mouth, his eyes darkening with a heat that makes my stomach tighten. His wrists shift beneath my hands, testing my grip, but I press down harder, refusing to let him regain the upper hand.

His lips curve into a slow, wicked smile. “Careful, darling,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “You might start something you can’t finish.”

The tension between us crackles like lightning, the air thick with the heat of the fight and something far more dangerous.

And gods help me, I don’t think I want to stop.

I stay there for a beat longer than I need to, straddling his waist, my hands firm on his wrists, holding him down. His chest rises and falls, brushing against mine with every labored breath. The moment hangs heavy between us, the fight draining away and leaving something far more dangerous in its wake.

I lean closer, so close that our noses nearly brush. His eyes are dark now, the violet swallowed by endless, stormy depths. His lips part slightly, as though he’s already anticipating what I’ll do next.

I let my gaze drop to his mouth, deliberately slow, watching as his tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. My own lips curve into a wicked smile as I lean even closer, until our breaths mingle, the heat of him sinking into my skin.

“You’re all talk, Rhysand,” I whisper, my voice low and taunting. My lips ghost against his, so faintly it could be an accident—or a promise. “For all your big words, I don’t think you can handle me.”

His breath catches, the smallest sound slipping from him—a soft, needy noise that makes satisfaction curl deep in my belly.

His hands tense beneath mine, his body taut like a bowstring, and for a moment, I think I’ve won. He looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world, his focus razor-sharp, his chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back.

But then I pull back, dragging my lips away before they can touch his.

I start to shift, moving to stand, intending to let him stew in his frustration. “Better luck next time, High Lord,” I toss over my shoulder, my voice dripping with mockery.

But I’ve barely lifted myself off him when everything shifts.

A startled gasp escapes me as his hands break free from my hold, his movements faster than I can react to. The world tilts, and suddenly, it’s my back hitting the ground, the air knocked from my lungs.

And now it’s him above me.

He looms over me, his body pressing me into the earth, his weight deliciously warm and solid. His hands pin mine on either side of my head, his fingers wrapping around my wrists with a firmness that sends a shiver racing down my spine.

“Was that supposed to rile me up?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a raw edge to it, a crack in the smooth facade that tells me exactly how much I’ve gotten under his skin.

His nose brushes against mine as he leans closer, so close that his hair falls around us like a curtain, shutting out the rest of the world. His scent surrounds me—crisp night air, cedar, and something uniquely him, intoxicating and overwhelming.

“You think you can tease me, taunt me, and just walk away?” His lips hover just above mine, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath. “Not a chance, darling.”

I swallow hard, my chest rising and falling against his, every inch of me hyper-aware of the way his body fits against mine, the heat rolling off him in waves. His eyes are locked on mine, dark and intense, like he’s daring me to look away.

But I don’t.

Instead, I smirk up at him, letting the smallest hint of challenge curl my lips. “What’s the matter, Rhysand? Losing your composure?”

A low, guttural sound rumbles in his chest, his grip on my wrists tightening just enough to send a thrill racing through me. “You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet threat, his lips grazing my ear as he speaks.

“Maybe I like the heat,” I shoot back, my voice breathless but steady, even as my pulse races like a wild thing beneath his touch.

His head dips lower, his mouth brushing the corner of my lips in a touch so fleeting it makes me ache. “Careful,” he murmurs again, his tone dark and laced with promise. “You might just get burned.”

The tension between us is electric, a live wire that hums and sparks, pulling us closer and closer until it feels like I might shatter beneath the weight of it.

I could stop this. I could break the spell, laugh it off, pretend this is still just a game.

The charged silence between us cracks like a dam breaking. I’m not sure who moves first—whether it’s his lips crashing against mine, or mine claiming his—but suddenly we’re kissing, and it’s anything but gentle.

It’s fierce, raw, and hungry. The kind of kiss that steals the air from your lungs and sets fire to every nerve in your body. His mouth moves against mine with an urgency that borders on desperation, like he’s been starving for this—starving for me—and finally has permission to feast.

I arch into him, my body instinctively responding to the weight of his pressing me into the dirt. His hands still pin my wrists above my head, but I’m not about to make this easy for him. I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, and then bite lightly at his bottom lip, earning a low, guttural growl that vibrates through his chest.

And just like that, the balance shifts.

I buck my hips up, trying to twist out of his grip. He’s strong—unbelievably so—but I’m nothing if not determined. I manage to wrench one hand free, my fingers tangling in his dark hair as I yank him closer, kissing him deeper. My nails graze his scalp, and he groans into my mouth, his control faltering for just a fraction of a second.

I take my chance, twisting us sideways. The momentum carries us over, and suddenly I’m the one on top, straddling him once more. His dark eyes flash with something between frustration and amusement as I grin down at him, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

“Not so easy now, is it, High Lord?” I tease, my voice breathless yet triumphant.

His answer is a feral smile, and before I can fully savor my victory, he surges upward. His hands find my waist, and with a smooth, almost predatory movement, he flips us again.

The ground is rough beneath my back, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is him—his weight pressing into me, his hands sliding down to grip my hips as his lips claim mine once more. This time, the kiss is slower, deeper, but no less consuming.

I refuse to surrender.

My hands roam over his back, my nails dragging lightly against the taut muscles beneath his shirt. He shudders above me, and I take that as my opening, wrapping one leg around his waist and using the leverage to push him off balance.

We roll again, the world spinning around us as we grapple for control. Dirt and grass cling to our skin, and the cool evening air brushes against the heat of our flushed faces. I end up on top once more, my knees pinning his hips, my hands braced against his chest.

“Yield,” I demand, my voice rough with exertion, though my lips twitch into a smirk.

His gaze locks onto mine, dark and blazing. “Never,” he growls, and then his hands are on me again, one gripping the back of my neck, the other sliding down to press against the small of my back. He pulls me down, and our mouths collide once more.

This kiss is different. It’s not just hunger or passion—it’s a battle. A clash of wills as much as it is a meeting of lips. He kisses me like he’s trying to conquer me, and I kiss him back like I’m determined to prove I can’t be tamed.

Our breaths come hard and fast, mingling in the space between kisses. His hand slides up to cradle my jaw, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a touch that’s almost tender—almost, but not quite, because his lips are relentless, drawing me deeper and deeper into him.

I break away first, gasping for air, but before I can say anything—before I can even catch my breath—he flips us one last time.

Now it’s me beneath him, pinned and breathless, my wrists captured once more in his iron grip. His face hovers inches from mine, his lips curved into a smug, infuriatingly gorgeous smile.

“Do you yield now?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, his thumb brushing against the inside of my wrist in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.

I meet his gaze, defiance burning in my chest even as my heart races wildly. “Not a chance,” I whisper, my lips brushing his as I speak.

His answering laugh is dark and full of promise, and as he leans down to kiss me again, I know this battle is far from over.

Rhys’ mouth descends on mine again, stealing what little breath I have left. His lips are softer this time, his movements slower, more deliberate. He’s not trying to conquer me now—he’s savoring me. His tongue brushes against mine, coaxing a sigh from my throat, and his grip on my wrists tightens just enough to remind me who has the upper hand.

But I’m not about to admit defeat, not even with the ground cool beneath my back and his weight pressing me into the dirt. My leg hooks around his, trying to gain some kind of leverage, but all it does is bring him closer—too close. His chest is flush against mine now, his body an unyielding wall of heat and strength.

I bite his bottom lip lightly, pulling back just enough to catch my breath. “You’re insufferable,” I manage to whisper, my voice shaky but laced with playful defiance.

“And you’re irresistible,” Rhys counters smoothly, his eyes dark and glittering as his lips trail from my mouth to my jawline. He takes his time, teasing a path down the column of my throat. My skin burns under his touch, every nerve alight, and I let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

I arch against him, and he groans, the sound low and rough like it’s been dragged from the very depths of him. His lips hover just above my collarbone, his breath warm and tantalizing, when a familiar voice slices through the air.

“Training fields,” Azriel says dryly, his tone flat and unimpressed, “are for training. Not… whatever this is.”

My entire body stiffens, and I freeze beneath Rhys, mortified. I manage to tilt my head just enough to catch a glimpse of Azriel standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and his face impassive—though I swear there’s the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

Rhys doesn’t move immediately. Of course, he doesn’t. If anything, he looks even more infuriatingly relaxed, propping himself up on his elbows as he turns to glance over his shoulder.

“Whatever this is?” Rhys repeats with a smirk, his voice utterly unbothered. “I think it’s quite obvious, Az. Would you like a demonstration?”

I groan, my cheeks burning so hot I’m certain I could melt the dirt beneath me. Without thinking, I grab the front of Rhys’ shirt and tug him down, burying my face in the fabric to shield myself from Azriel’s gaze.

“Don’t you dare,” I hiss into Rhys’ chest, though it comes out muffled.

Rhys chuckles, the sound rich and deep and maddeningly pleased. “What?” he says innocently, though his hand slides to my back, holding me securely against him as though he has no intention of letting me hide anywhere else. “Azriel clearly interrupted something very important. He should be properly educated on the consequences of such rudeness.”

“You’re impossible,” I grumble, my voice still muffled.

“And yet, you can’t seem to resist me.” His voice dips lower, teasing, and I know without looking that he’s grinning like the cocky bastard he is.

“Rhys,” Azriel says again, this time with a sharper edge to his voice, being the only one who can talk to him like this. “Get up. Now.” 

“Fine, fine,” Rhys sighs, finally releasing my wrists and sitting back on his heels. He doesn’t move away, though—no, of course not. Instead, he leans down, brushing a kiss against my temple before murmuring, “We’ll finish this later, darling.”

I swat at his chest, still too embarrassed to meet Azriel’s gaze, but the traitorous part of me—the one still reeling from the heat of Rhys’ kiss—wonders if he means it.

Rhys stands, offering me a hand, and though I’m tempted to refuse, I know there’s no escaping this without his help. As he pulls me to my feet, I finally dare a glance at Azriel. His face is a mask of calm indifference, but the faint quirk of his lips betrays his amusement.

“If you’re done rolling around in the dirt,” Azriel says, his wings flaring slightly as he turns away, “some of us actually came here to train.”

I groan again, burying my face in my hands. Rhys’ laughter follows me as I stalk toward the nearest bench, determined to regain some semblance of dignity—even if my heart is still racing and my lips are still tingling from his kiss.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout @angelbunny222 @illyriassweetheart @rainswriting-blog

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Vowbroken- Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader (Part 4)

My Masterlist <3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

3.1k words: Elijah and you fight until suddenly you both snap. In your moments of pleasure you two discover something that might help you both survive.

Warnings: smut (finally), kinky choking, Elijah losing control, silghtly degradation but even more praise, dom/sub dynamics, dom!Elijah, switch!reader

A/N: I had sooo much fun writing this chapter. Finally the smut chapter. No matter how much I enjoy writing this story smut will forever be my favourite thing to write.

~~~~~~~

You stood barefoot in the middle of the room, and tried to draw from the energy of nature. Your fingers were stained with dirt from the wall and desperation. The spell should have worked. You’d memorized every word, every twist of intention. But Anastasia, no, Eve, had somehow be able to devoid you of any magic somehow. You hated her for it. You couldn’t get yourself to call her your mother. Not yet. The pain was still to deep. You tried again.

Nothing happened.

Again.

You exhaled hard through your nose, stamping onto the floor. And in the middle of your frustration you heard his voice. You didn’t know when he had become so obnoxious but he probably always has been.

“Oh no,” Elijah drawled from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the smirk practically audible. “It didn’t work. And I was so sure that the onehundreth try would be THE one.“

You turned to him slowly, you jaw clenched, "Don’t," you hissed. You hate how he was mocking you the entire time. At least one of you was trying to get out of this hell. You were hungry and sleep deprived. The only food you ever got was two pieces bread per day and Elijah had always given you his part insisting that he didn’t need to eat.

“Don’t what?” he asked, pushing off the wall and strolling closer, slow and deliberate. “Mock you? I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s just… you do look adorable when you’re failing. Like a mouse trying to get out of a labyrinth.“

You groaned annoyed letting yourself fall to the floor. Elijah sighed and rolled his eyes as if you were just an inconvenience that he had to handle properly, "I appreciate the persistence, but it does get repetitive.“

"You don’t understand! My magic is only limited here! If I get out I can use it and free myself."

Elijah chuckled, "Yourself," he repeated, "So I‘m just collateral then?“

You huffed, "Sorry that I am not really focused on saving you. I‘d rather see you dead.

"You had your chance. You ran,“ Elijah said with a smug smile, “Why do you still hate me so much

You looked at him, "We are still enemies??,“ you huffed a little confused

"Mmh just enemies,“ Elijah drawled enjoying the words. Over time he had obviously gotten more frustrated and with that a lot more insufferable, "Tell me something little witch, do you push your tongue down every enemy‘s throat?,“ he asked raising his eyebrow his voice low and taunting.

Your breath caught for just a second, heat rising in your cheeks before you scoffed and looked away from him.

“Only the ones who annoy me enough,” you said, voice flat, but he saw the flicker in your eyes.

Elijah stepped closer, slow and deliberate like a predator who already knew the prey wasn’t running. “And here I thought I was special,” he murmured, mocking offensiveness. You looked at him. You had seen him angry, gentle, losing it. But never like that. Never before like this. As if he really wanted to teach you to not be a bitch to him.

“You’re not,” you lied.

He laughed, dark and low. “Then why did you moan when I bit you? Why did you let me feed of you? Why did you rut against me like an animal, love?“

Your stomach turned and your breath was stuck in your throat for a second. Your fingers clenched and you felt hot. He was right. Fuck he was so right.

“Shut up, Elijah.”

“Make me.”

You didn’t respond, your body hot and bothered. You knew you shouldn’t react to him. He had a habit of stopping the teasing once he was fed up enough. Instead, you crossed the space between you in three quick steps, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him back against the wall with a force that surprised even you. You hated how is smug grin only widened the second you kissed him. That bastard had waited only until you snapped. You didn’t understand he had pushed you away, but it seemed as if the frustration was rooted deep in both of you.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was heat and teeth, lips colliding like a challenge. His hands caught your waist, but he didn’t stop you like last time, no he let you take him, let you demand it, matching your energy with a low growl against your lips. You whimpered against him trying to pull him closer. He was such a good kisser it annoyed you deeply.

You rocked your hips against his for good measure and not expecting that he was so horny that that was all it took. In one swift motion, he turned you, pressing you to the wall now, his thigh slipping between yours, hands gripping your hips like he was holding himself back from breaking something. You tensed under his rough grasp and he losened his touch slightly but his gaze only became more intense

“You love this,” he whispered against your lips, voice rough. “You love kissing me, rutting against me and you love that it’s me making you this desperate.” You moaned grinding around him pulling him back into the kiss, „Me. Your enemy.“

His hand slid down slowly and deliberatly until finally the digits of his fingers brushed beneath your waistband. His touch ghosted over your heat but didn’t give you what you wanted, not yet.

“Say it,” he said, eyes burning into yours. “Beg for it, little witch. Or I’ll leave you dripping and unsatisfied.”

You groaned bucking your hips against his hand.

“Mmh little witch I can feel how you react to me,” Elijah whispered against your neck, his breath hot and taunting as his fingers finally slipped beneath your waistband, teasing you with just the lightest touch. “Like a little bitch.”

“I hate you,” you spat, the words trembling against his skin.

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound vibrating against your throat as his fingers dipped between your thighs. “Oh, I know,” he purred. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you are dripping.”

You gasped as two of his fingers slid through your slick folds, before pushing one inside his thumb connecting with your clit. "Say you hate me while you fuck yourself on my fingers,“ he growled into your ear

“I do,” you choked out, barely able to think, nails digging into his shoulders, while you tried to gain more friction, "I hate you.”

But your hips moved on their own, rocking against his hand like your body didn’t care what your mouth was saying.

Elijah smirked. “Hate’s such a pretty look on you,” he said, curling his fingers just right. A loud moan escaped you and your legs started the wall. Elijah gave you a loving slap, "Look at me.“

Your head hit the wall as you whimpered, pleasure building with every filthy word that left his mouth. And still, he didn’t stop.

“You’re dripping for your enemy,” he sneered, thumb circling that spot that made your knees buckle. “You want me to choke you while I finger you until you cry?“

He laughed as you moaned and his hand wrapped around your throat as his fingers fucking deeper coaxing that pleasure out of you.

Your head hit the wall again, a soft thud muffled by the sharp gasp that tore from your lips as Elijah’s fingers kept moving, working you open like he had all the time in the world to watch you fall apart.

“I said I hate you,” you hissed, trying to push at his chest, even though your body clung to the rhythm of his hand. “This doesn’t mean-"

“You don’t get to lie to me right now,” he growled, eyes locked to yours like they were the only thing tethering you to the ground. “Not with this soaked little cunt squeezing around my fingers.”

You whimpered as he moved his hand faster and your knees gave in his hand around your throat holding you up

“Elijah,” you moaned, "I still want to kill you,” you managed, even as your hips bucked against his hand.

He leaned in, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, placing a gentle kiss on you a stark contrast to his word. “You’d rather come on my fingers first.” His breath was ragged against your ear and you realised that you weren’t the only one falling apart.

You didn’t know what shocked you more, the softness of his lips after all that, or the way your body burned hotter at the contrast. His fingers never slowed. They moved harder into you, his thumb rubbing over your clit. He slipped a third finger inside you, coaxing your body toward the edge. You noticed how hard he was still controlling himself.

“Elijah, please,” you whispered, your words breaking, the word torn from your throat like it hurt to say. Your forhead fell against his shoulder while he squeezed your throat a little tighter. He stilled and you could basically hear the smirk on his lips forming.

“Say it again,” he commanded, voice like velvet over a blade.

“Elijah, fuck, please,“ you gasped, moaning loudly

He chuckled darkly, lips ghosting along your hair kissing you softly “And here I thought you hated me.”

His fingers moved again, faster fucking you with deliberate precision. His thumb pressed hard against your clit and you cried out loudly.

He smiled against your hair, . “Come for me like my good little girl,” he growled, his hand tightened a littleat your throat, “Or are you more of a slut, love?”

Your orgasm hit you like a wave crashing through you. You cried out lifting your head desperatly looking at Elijah who kissed your forehead softly while you tried to relax.

He held you up through it, whispering praise against your ear. "That’s it,” he murmured, possessive and low. “So fucking pretty when you give in.“

Your breath was still shaking when you pulled back, his fingers slipping from you slow and wet. Elijah watched you like you’d just come alive in front of him your lips parted, eyes burning, chest rising hard under your hands. But then you moved.

You grabbed his collar and pushed him back against the wall again, a flash of your usual fire returning to your eyes. He let you, and you loved that he did. You smirked at him. You reached between you and palmed him through his pants a shivere rolled down your spine, he was so fucking hard.

“I’m not the only one falling apart,” you whispered, voice still ragged but as smug as you could manage in this situation.

He growled, hands finding your waist again, but you were already undoing his belt, deliberately slow, your fingers teasing along his length like a threat. You saw his jaw clench and kiss him while you wrapped your hand around him

“Oh, you want to play now, little witch?” he asked, his voice lowly, but you could trace the hints of underlying desire.

“What’s wrong?” you purred, leaning close to kiss the edge of his jaw. “Thought you liked watching me fall apart. Don’t you want to see how pretty you look when I do it to you?” He hissed through his teeth as you stroked him over and over, you groaned as you felt him growing even harder.

“Tell me, Elijah,” you whispered against his ear, dragging your lips along his skin, “How fast do I have to ride you before you beg?” You kissed his jawline before you looked at him, "On the floor," you commanded. Your breath hitched as he looked at you while obeying your command. You were excited and ready.

He groaned low in his throat as you freed him from his pants, completely and slowly sank to straddle him. Your soaked core dragging along his length at a maddening pace. His hands gripped your thighs tight, the strain in his arms betraying how close he was to losing control. You appreciated the time he gave you to take control for a while although you knew how easily he could just take it back.

You sank down onto him in one slick motion, both of you gasping at the sudden fullness. You whimpered having to press your hands against his chest, as you felt how thick he was. He grabbed your hips lifting you lightly. You started to ride him fast and hard, trying to ignore his piercing gaze.

“Fuck's sake, look at you,” Elijah growled, hands gripping your hips tightly as you bounced on his cock as fast as you could, "Keep riding me." Your nails dug into his shoulders as you leaned in, lips brushing his ear again. “Told you… you’re not the only one who can ruin someone," you said breathlessly.

Elijah chuckled and you knew your short moment of power was over as his hands gripping your ass and slammed you down one final time before flipping you onto your back. You barely had time to gasp before he was inside you again, thrusting deep, while forcing you to keep eye contact with his hand on your jaw.

“Oh, you want to ride?” he growled, teeth grazing your throat. “You want to tease me like a little brat and think I won’t fuck you through this floor?”

"Please do, then I could use my magic," you joked. Elijah smirked before his hand wrapped around your throat again, pinning you there as he fucked into you.

“Look at you,” he snarled. “My cock’s so deep in you, and you’re still lying there cracking jokes. What would you have said a few weeks ago if anyone would have told you how good I was going to ruin you?”

You cried out beneath him, pleasure curling sharp and sweet, your legs wrapped tight around his waist. You felt him holding back, even as you tried to get him to come as you clenched around him. His hand went were you were joing rubbing circles on your clit.

You whimpered and looked at him, "Come with me," you pleaded. He shook his head kissing you almost softly, "I am not going to come at a place were I can't worship and clean you up properly," he whispered

"Please," you begged and you saw in his eyes that he would give into you.

He moved quicker and your body arched, a strangled cry tearing from your throat as Elijah’s cock moved with relentless, perfect rhythm. The pressure that had been winding tight inside you snapped and as your pussy clenched around him, you felt him releasing inside of you as well. You shattered around him with a scream that wasn’t just pleasure but relief.

And for a breathless moment, the world went completely quiet. Your eyes were closed, Elijah's face in your neck. There were no walls around you two anymore. The cold stone under your back disappeared and you felt your magic flowing back into your body. For a second you were completely content. Then you blinked hard.

As you opened your eyes the air was warm around you, you could see gold flying infront of your eyes. Under your back you could feel a matress and over both you and Elijah were Silk sheets drapped and brushed your skin. A window let in moonlight from outside. Trees swayed gently beyond the glass, making you feel safe. This place shimmered with the kind of magic that didn’t obey any laws of nature.

Elijah was still on top of you, and you whimpered as he pulled himself out looking around confused. His head lifted slowly. “What just happened?,” he asked, his voice deeper now, sounding a little weary as he tugged himself back into his pants. You were still out of breath and he helped you putting on your jeans again, running his knuckles over your cheek while he calmed you. "This is not our little prison," he said.

Your lips parted, breath still shaking. You looked around. “No... it’s not.”

You sat up slowly, your fingers curled into the sheets as you leaned against Elijah. You knew this place, but you had no idea that it still existed. Or not exactly like this at least. The room responded to your thoughts, shifting, breathing with you. The stars outside pulsed brighter as you calmed.

“Elijah,” you whispered, “I know were we are. After my coven's death and me realising that I need to kill you I started to train my magic. But to relax...I came here. That is the place were I was when my mother she couldn't find me for years."

He looked around, something almost reverent in his expression now. “You created this?”

You nodded. “I didn’t even realize I still could. I thought my mother...Eve, took everything. My magic, my power. But she didn’t take this," you looked around, "I haven't been here in ages."

Elijah stood up, hands still on your hips, studying you. “So this is your mind.And you dragged me in with you,“ his mouth quirked. “Were you that sad when I said we couldn't have real aftercare in that little windowless room?”

You huffed out a weak laugh, “I didn’t mean to. Although you do not seem to complain."

"I thought you were devoided of any magic," he said gently now looking around in the room. He walked towards the window looking outside.

You glanced around the room, it was a little different from the last time you had been here. The last time you were fourteen and there had been plushies everywhere and the walls were bright blue. Now they were completely red, and it looked like a real witch room, with candles everywheere and a grimoire. But some places were stille the same. The tree outside shimmered. The sheets fluttered. The stars moved. The moon is silver.

“She doesn’t own all of me,” you finally tried to find an explanation, “She might’ve taken my connection to nature. But this… this place is mine. It always was.”

Elijah’s thumb brushed your thigh. “Then imagine what else you’re still capable of.”

You swallowed thickly, looking down at him. “I don't know if I can do any more then this."

Elijah smiled and walked towards you, "You need to trust yourself more. Do you think you can help yourself out of the hell she created for you?"

You smirked and cradled yourself into the sheets enjoying the scent of the vanilla candles in the air. "Yes," you whispered and Elijah could see your magic sprinkling on the tips of your fingers.

A small, crooked smile formed on his lips. “There’s my little witch.”

[agentstarkid]

WHAT THE GODS TRIED TO BURY ✦ 01

✦ WORD COUNT: 2.7K

✦ WARNINGS: violence, gore, language. no beta'd, we die like the suriel.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: I should be packing up my room bc I'm running against the clock, but what am I doing instead? starting a new series for azriel 😅 I told myself I wouldn't post this until I had a couple of chapters done but what I lack in self-control I make up for in anxiety so here we are 🤪 also this is a way to celebrate the first time any of my works reached 1k notes, so thank you so much for all the love on you are the one (to make me lose my mind)!!!! 🖤

series masterlist | next >

She stood atop the highest peak, the wind tangling through her hair like it knew her, like it had always known her. Below, stretching far beyond the horizon, was a kingdom unlike any she had seen in waking life. 

Towers kissed the sky, carved from pale stone that shimmered like trapped lightning. A river, dark and glimmering with untold power, cut through the land like a vein of liquid night. The sky overhead churned with clouds, the edges pulsing with something raw, untamed.

This place—this kingdom—felt like home.

But she did not know its name.

A voice, neither friend nor foe, drifted on the wind.

“Daughter of the Storm, the hour draws near.”

The words slithered down her spine, familiar yet foreign. She turned, searching for the speaker, but found only shadows stretching long over the stone. The air was thick with the scent of rain, with the electric charge that filled the air before lightning struck. And then—

Screams.

The sky split open, the clouds fracturing like shattered glass, and from the wound in the heavens came the storm. Not rain, not wind—lightning. Bolts of pure, burning energy lashed at the earth, turning stone to fire, reducing towers to rubble. The river ran crimson red with blood.

She tried to move, to run, but her body was frozen, her feet anchored to the cracking ground beneath her.

Then, in the smoke and ruin, she saw them.

Eyes—gold, argent, cerulean—staring through the chaos. Eyes that burned with recognition, eyes that pleaded, eyes that condemned.

Her heart thundered against her ribs as words, ancient and powerful, filled the air.

“When the heavens fracture and the land weeps, a forgotten soul shall rise from dust and ruin. Their name lost, their fate unwritten, yet bound to shadow and storm alike. Should the storm be unleashed, the world shall bow—or be undone.”

Lightning struck the ground at her feet, the force of it ripping the world apart. She was falling—falling through fire, through time, through memory. The voices screamed around her, words lost in the cacophony, and for one breathless moment, she saw herself standing amidst the destruction, wreathed in crackling power.

She saw herself becoming the storm.

Then, nothing.

The scent of damp earth and aged wood clung to the air as she jolted awake, the remnants of the dream still crackling through her bones. Her breath came fast, shallow, her pulse thrumming against her skin as if her body still remembered the lightning that had torn through her mind.

The shack around her was barely more than a ruin—four crooked walls of rotting wood, a sagging roof patched with old cloth, and a stone hearth where the last embers of a fire smoldered weakly. The floor was hard-packed dirt, littered with dried leaves that had been carried in by the wind through the cracks in the walls. It wasn’t much, but it had been enough. Enough to keep her hidden, enough to let her rest between the endless wandering.

She exhaled, pressing a trembling hand against her wrist, where the faded marks started to run upwards like veins of pale lightning beneath her skin. They were barely visible unless caught in the right light, etched across her arms and shoulders in branching paths—proof of a power she did not understand, a claim she had never given permission for. Even now, the markings felt warm, as if something within them still stirred, waiting.

Shaking off the last shivers of the dream, she swung her legs over the side of the makeshift bed—nothing more than a pile of furs and stolen blankets. The cold bit at her bare feet as she stood, stretching the stiffness from her muscles. She rolled her shoulders, testing herself. The dream always left something behind, something lingering in her bones like an ache that had no name.

Outside, the air was crisp, thick with the scent of fallen leaves and distant smoke. The Autumn Court was beautiful in a quiet, cruel way—the trees forever caught in the dying embers of the season, the sky a dull gold in the early morning light. But beneath that beauty was rot, hidden beneath layers of leaves and centuries of oppression. She had seen it in the faces of the fae, in the way they kept their heads down, in the desperation that lurked behind their eyes.

A sound pricked at her ears—high, keening, raw.

Screams.

The breath in her chest stilled.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she was still trapped in the dream, if the bloodshed and ruin had followed her into waking. But then another scream rang out, sharp and desperate, carried by the wind from the path below.

She knew that farm.

A poor couple, lesser fae farmers who had nothing but the dirt beneath their feet. She had seen them when she first scouted this place, had watched them tend to their meager crops with tired hands. They were no threat to anyone.

And yet—

Another scream, followed by the sharp clang of metal.

She didn’t think.

Her hand found her weapon where it lay against the wall—a curved, double-edged blade, long enough to slice through armor but light enough to wield with speed. The hilt was wrapped in worn leather, fitted perfectly to her grip, and the metal itself bore no ornamentation—just dark steel, unyielding and deadly.

A gift. A remnant of another life.

She moved swiftly, slipping through the broken doorway and into the early morning mist. The wind howled through the trees, rattling the branches like bones, but she barely noticed. Her steps were silent, practiced, and by the time she reached the edge of the farm, she had already assessed the situation.

Raiders.

Four of them, clad in patchwork armor, their faces hidden beneath crude masks. One had the farmer on his knees, a rusted blade pressed against his throat, while another tore through their modest home, searching for whatever scraps of wealth they might have. The female was sobbing, struggling against the grip of the largest raider, his hand fisted in her auburn hair.

She inhaled slowly. Cold. Controlled.

The rage did not own her.

She owned it.

And then—she struck.

She moved like the storm she had always been.

The first raider didn’t even hear her coming. One moment he loomed over the farmer, his blade pressing into the trembling male’s throat, and the next, a sharp whisper of steel cut through the morning air. Her curved blade sliced clean through his arm at the elbow, the severed limb falling to the dirt with a dull thud.

The raider screamed—a raw, gut-wrenching sound—but she was already moving, twisting the blade in her grip and driving it into his throat before he could turn on her. Blood spattered across the cold earth as she yanked the blade free, pivoting just in time to dodge the wild swing of another.

Lightning cracked in the air around her, snapping like a living thing—wild, restless, waiting to be unleashed. It coiled around her limbs in barely contained fury, a silent promise of destruction should she allow it to slip free. The remaining raiders didn’t notice at first, too blinded by their own arrogance. But then the scent of ozone thickened, the fine hairs on their arms stood on end, and the air itself hummed with warning.

The second raider lunged, but he was slow. Sloppy.

She ducked beneath the heavy axe that came for her head, feeling the wind of its passing ruffle her hair. Before he could recover, she drove her elbow into his ribs, hard enough to crack bone. He staggered, gasping, and in that moment of weakness, she struck. Her blade arced in a wicked curve, slicing through the exposed flesh of his thigh. The wound sizzled, the scent of charred flesh thick in the cold morning air. Not from fire. From the lightning that arced along her blade, sinking into his body like the storm had chosen him as its next victim.

He dropped, writhing, his screams swallowed by the crackling energy that still snapped at her heels.

Not dead. Not yet.

She let him bleed.

The largest raider—the one holding the female—finally released his captive, shoving her to the ground as he turned to face this new threat. He was broader than the others, his armor thicker, his sword heavier.

Good.

She welcomed a challenge.

“Fucking witch,” he spat, his voice laced with fake bravado.

She only smiled. Let him believe that.

He came at her with brutal efficiency, his blade a blur of steel. She parried, deflecting the first strike, then the second, her feet moving effortlessly across the dirt. He was strong, but she was faster. He swung low, aiming for her legs, and she leapt back, just out of reach. His mistake.

She surged forward, closing the distance between them in the space of a breath. The moment her palm met his armor, the crack of electricity sent him jerking violently, his body convulsing as sparks danced across his skin. With one hand braced against his armored chest, she drove her knee into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. He stumbled back, gasping, and she didn’t give him time to recover.

Her blade flashed—once, twice.

One deep slash across the inside of his wrist, forcing him to drop his sword from numb fingers. Another across his throat, clean and precise. His eyes went wide as he gurgled, trying to hold his neck together with trembling hands.

He fell.

The last raider had already started running.

Coward.

She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders as she debated chasing him down. But the farmer's wife was still sobbing. The fight was over. The real battle—the survival—was theirs to endure now.

She took a slow, steadying breath, forcing the lightning back, pulling it into herself until the air around her stilled. Until the only thing left of the storm was the faint, lingering hum in her veins.

The second raider laid on the ground, the charred wound on his thigh exposed muscle and tendons. His breath came in ragged, wet gasps, blood pooling beneath him, soaking into the earth like an offering. His hand clutched at the gushing wound, but it was futile. His eyes—wide, full of terror—locked onto hers, silently begging.

She did not grant mercy.

With a single, fluid motion, she drove her blade into his chest, piercing through flesh and bone with practiced ease. His body arched once, a strangled gurgle escaping his lips before he slumped back, lifeless. Blood splattered in warm droplets across her face, her chest—bathing her even more in its sticky embrace.

She exhaled slowly, flicking her blade to the side, shaking off the excess crimson.

She turned to them, her blade painted red, her breath steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her. The farmer was staring at her—not with fear, but with something close to awe. 

“They won’t come back,” she told them, voice low and firm. “But if they do, you run. Don’t hesitate. Just run.”

The farmer nodded frantically, his wife barely able to lift her head from where she wept into the dirt.

She wiped the remaining blood from her blade with a torn scrap of cloth, slipping it back into its sheath as she turned away.

She had been careful. She had stayed hidden for centuries.

But today, she had left a trail of bodies behind her.

And in the Autumn Court, where power was hoarded and fear was currency, someone would come looking for the one who had wielded the wrath of the storm.

The tavern door burst open with a violent crash, the scent of spilled ale and damp wood mixing with the stench of sweat and fear. Conversations halted, the low murmur of low-life patrons replaced by the heavy, ragged breathing of the figure that stumbled inside.

The raider was a mess of torn leathers, grime, and blood. His face was a map of terror, pale and slick with sweat, eyes darting wildly as if expecting death itself to follow him through the threshold.

“The storm,” he gasped, voice raw, fractured. “It walks—it walks among us.”

A few patrons turned back to their drinks with unimpressed grunts, uninterested in the drunken ramblings of a failed thief. But others leaned in, intrigued, watching as the male staggered toward the nearest table, gripping its edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“It was a ghost,” he went on, more desperate now. “A demon cloaked in lightning. It—It cut through us like we were nothing. Like we were already dead.”

A bark of laughter rang out from a lesser fae male nursing a tankard near the hearth. “Lost your nerve, have you?” he sneered. “Was it a farmer’s stick that did that to you?”

The raider’s wild eyes snapped to him. “You don’t understand.” His voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “It moved like a shadow—like death. And the lightning—it came from her.”

A ripple of unease trickled through the tavern.

In a dimly lit corner, a hooded figure sat in perfect stillness, the flickering candlelight failing to reach beneath the heavy fabric obscuring his face. He had been there for some time, silent, unnoticed, watching. Listening.

His presence was unremarkable, a shadow among many, a whisper that did not stir the air. And yet, nothing in that tavern escaped his notice. Every shift in movement, every tremor in a voice, every flicker of candlelight against a blade’s edge—all absorbed in silence.

But this—this tale of lightning made flesh—this had his full attention.

Slowly, he set his untouched drink aside, gloved fingers tracing the rim of the glass once before withdrawing into the folds of his cloak.

The raider was still muttering, half-delirious. “She isn’t real. She can’t be real. But I saw her. I saw her eyes.”

The hooded male rose from his seat in one fluid motion. No one saw him move. One blink, and he was there—the next, he was gone.

The shadows swallowed him whole.

The night was thick with mist, the kind that curled around the trees like grasping fingers. His steps did not disturb the ground, his presence barely a whisper against the howling wind.

The clearing was empty—at least, to anyone without the right eyes to see.

But he knew where to look.

A shift in the shadows. A figure, standing at the base of a gnarled oak, cloaked in midnight. The air around him seemed still, as if the very world was wary of him, holding its breath.

The spy halted a few paces away and bowed his head. “I bring news.”

Silence. Then—

“I’m listening.”

The voice was low, quiet. A blade unsheathed in the dark.

The spy exhaled. “It’s more than a rumor this time. A raider—one of the thieves we marked—came into a tavern, raving like a madman. He spoke of lightning. Of a storm given form.”

A pause. Barely a shift in the air, but the wraith felt the change, the interest sharpening like a knife’s edge.

“Go on.”

“She slaughtered his crew.” The spy lifted his gaze, though the hooded male remained still, unreadable. “He swears lightning came from her. That it was part of her.”

For a long moment, there was nothing. No response. No reaction. Just the sound of the wind whispering through the trees. Then, finally—

“Where?”

The spy barely suppressed the shiver that threatened to crawl up his spine. “A farm, not far from one of the villages. He believes she was staying nearby.”

Another pause. Then a shift, the subtle movement of a predator setting its sights.

“Do you think she's real?”

The figure at the tree tilted his head slightly, as if considering. The faintest gleam of hazel eyes flickered through swirling shadows, sharp as a hawk’s, unreadable as the night itself.

Then, the shadows curled around him, swallowing him whole.

By the time the spy blinked, his master was gone.

And somewhere, beyond the reach of drunken fae and murmured legends—within a grand manor nestled along a broad, winding river that shimmered like the deepest sapphire—violet eyes watched and waited, yearning for word of something, or someone, that could change the course of his people’s fate.

[bloodlust-1]

Are you still taking requests? I literally cannot control myself when it comes to angst so I was thinking of a fic where Tav gets kidnapped by Cazadors spawns and is getting tortured by him, so Astarion goes crazy with worry and anger trying to get them back

Like I said i am insatiable when it comes to angst

The dramaaaaa.... LET'S DO THISS SHITT. I do love me some angst too :')

Hope you enjoy @blades-are-for-skating-ya-dingus <3

. Shackles .

Astarion x fem Tav — angst

T/W: abuse, blood

Notes: I’m so proud of this one ahh. This makes me hate Cazador even more.

Tav's body trembled as the shackles dug into her wrists, her bare skin exposed to the cold, damp air of the dungeon. She had been captured by Cazador one night by his spawns. Tav never returned back to camp that night, and the only thing that was left for Astarion was a note he found on a spawn:

-------

"My Dear spawn, how dare you to run away from me. Know that there will be consequences for your actions, and your lover will not be spared from my wrath. You will regret ever crossing me, my child."

-------

Her wrists were bound by heavy shackles, chains attached to the wall, preventing her from moving more than a few inches. The sharp metal dug into her skin, causing her to wince in pain every time she struggled against them. Her body was covered in bruises, cuts, and burns, the result of Cazador's ruthless torture techniques.

Cazador stood in front of Tav, a wicked grin on his face. He held a whip in his hand, the same one he had used to lash Tav's back until it bled. She could barely lift her head to look at him, her body exhausted and broken.

"Pathetic," Cazador sneered, his eyes filled with malice. "You thought you could hide from me? A mere mortal challenging a vampire? How foolish."

Cazador stood in front of her, his face twisted into a sadistic grin. "You think your lover, Astarion, will save you from me? He will help me ascend and be nothing more than dirt on the floor. And soon, you will be too. Tell me where is the boy."

Tav's heart sank at the mention of Astarion's name. All Tav wanted was to trade with a merchant to gift Astarion a better dagger. But now, here she was, captured and tortured.

"Never," Tav spat, defiant even in the face of her tormentor.

Cazador's grin widened. "We'll see about that, my dear. We have ways of making you talk."

He signaled to his spawn, Petras, and he poked at Tav's skin with a hot metal rod. She cried out in pain, her body bruised and bloodied. But she refused to say any information.

"You will never have Astarion again," Tav gasped, her voice weak from the beatings.

Cazador's smile turned into a scowl, and he grabbed Tav's chin roughly, forcing her face to meet his. "You wretched thing."

Cazador motioned for Petras to stop as he approached Tav, snatching the hot iron rod from Petras’s hand. Tav's eyes widened in terror as she realized what he was about to do.

"Please, no," she begged, tears streaming down her face.

But Cazador didn't listen. He pressed the hot iron against Tav's skin, causing her to scream in agony. The smell of burning flesh filled the dungeon.

"I will make you suffer until you give me what I want," Cazador growled, enjoying every moment of Tav's pain.

Tav's body shook with sobs as the torture continued. She thought of Astarion, their love, and their plans for the future. She refused to let Cazador break her, even if it meant her death.

"I said no, you bastard!," Tav cried, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Cazador continued to torture her, and Tav's thoughts became consumed with memories of Astarion. The way he looked at her with love, the cold touch of his lips on hers.

"I love you, Astarion," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

But as the darkness of the dungeon consumed her, Tav feared she'd never see Astarion again.

~

Astarion's heart raced as he crept through the dark and musty corridors of the dungeon. His mind clashed between anger and guilt. Astarion feared that Tav was somewhere within these walls, shackled and tortured by Cazador.

When Astarion reached Tav's cell, he caught sight of her. Tav's face was pale and bruised. She was shirtless and barely conscious.

But even in this state, Tav was still the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.

His hands trembled as he quickly picked the lock, and with a loud click, the chains that bound Tav fell to the ground, and Astarion's heart swelled with relief and anger. He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring Tav's cries of pain from the bruises and cuts covering her body.

"Shh, my love. It's me," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I've come to take you away from this place."

Tav's tear-stained face looked up at him, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Astarion? How did you find me?"

Astarion fixated his eyes on Tav's face, the sight of her hurt gaze ached his dead heart. "I will always find you, no matter where they try to hide you." He pulled the shirt off his back and covered Tav's bare chest.

Carefully, Astarion carried Tav out of the dungeon, making sure to avoid any spawns or traps along the way. It was especially hard when Tav winced to every movement.

Astarion stealth his way out of the palace and went back to camp. He felt anger gnawing at his chest. He should have been there to protect Tav, But he had failed, and now Tav had suffered because of his shortcomings.

When they got back to camp, their companions rushed to their side, relieved to see Tav alive. Shadowheart, Wyll, Gale, and Karlach swarmed around Astarion.

"Get out of the way! She needs to rest!" Astarion snapped in a fit of anger. His emotions were pouring out in the worst possible way, and whoever was in the way needed to move.

Astarion gently settled Tav onto his bed, frowning at the sight of her bruised and battered body. She winced in pain as he placed her down, but he quickly reassured her, "I'll take care of you."

He grabbed a small bucket of water and a cloth, carefully cleaning the dried blood and dirt from her skin. Tav winced again, tears streaming down her face as he touched her injuries.

Gods this is all my fault. Astarion gritted his teeth from the sting of remorse.

"It's going to be alright," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you like this again."

Cazador will pay for this.

Tav weakly reached out to wipe away the tears that had fallen from his eyes, a small smile tugged on her chipped lips. "Don't cry, Astarion. You're here now, and that's all that matters."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her stubbornness, even in her injured state. "Your wit amazes me, my dear."

Astarion continued to clean and tend to her wounds, his hands gentle and careful than anything he'd ever touched in the past 200 years. Tav winced and hissed in pain, but she never once pulled away. She simply gripped his hand tightly as he worked, her eyes shut tightly.

Tav winced as he tended to a particularly deep cut on her arm. "It hurts," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

"I know, my dear," Astarion's eyes narrowed at her pain. "But I promise, I'll make it better."

After what seemed like hours, Astarion finally finished and leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. "There, all done."

Tav slowly opened her eyes and looked down at her now clean and bandaged skin. "Thank you..." The burn marks would scar her skin forever. It was something Tav looked past for her own sake.

"You are strong," he continued, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "And I will do everything in my power to protect you and keep you safe from Cazador."

Tav reached up and cupped his cheek, she whispered. "I trust you.."

Astarion leaned down and pressed his lips against Tav's, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss. Tav pushed against his lips gently, while his hands held Tav's shoulders. When they pulled away Tav could see the desperation in his eyes and it was heartbreaking.

"Rest now, my dear. I'll be here when you wake up." And with that, Astarion stayed by Tav's side, watching over her as she drifted off to sleep.

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

[storieldraw]

I don't know with whom I can share what I feel, but I feel myself weaponized lately.

Many times I've been forced to talk about sexual life of someone. No, I wasn't physically harassed, it was just talks. When I started feeling uncomfortable, people around me started manipulating and blame me. For example, saying:

"Haha, it's not possible to talk with you about sex, so I'm gonna have fun with others. You should grow up because this is normal for everyone". And pretending that I have problems if I can't "freely" speak about sex. When I'm not interested in.

Mind you, I'm more than fine to talk about sex and discuss. When it's not forced and not just a random topic to howl. You should firstly ask your opponent if they feel comfortable or not. In other cases, you are an asshole.

I'm tired that people project sexual positivity as a freedom to speak about sex anytime and anywhere. It is lust. It's not about positivity. I've started to feel traumatized and assaulted because discussing someone's sexual experience is violating. Even if it is just words.

Especially when you said no. If you say "grow up, it's normal" -- go to hell. Go teach yourself how to speak about it safely with your closed one. If you are friends with someone, this doesn't mean you can't control your language. You have to learn it.

In other cases, I really felt myself as a trapped person with a rapist. Which does no physical harm, but expresses his wishes in a very dirt way. If someone will try to shut me with "it's your problem", you are not welcome here. Start looking in the mirror too.

I've started calling hotlines just to understand am I normal or no. Everytime they have been reassuring me that this is a trauma caused by victimblaming and manipulating that I'm just not grown up enough to talk "adult" talks, forcing me to talk about it bc otherwise I'm a ghost.

I don't know what I want from this thread. I just want to feel that I'm not alone in this shit. I guess that's all.

[barelylivingscholar]

Arlecchino with a daughter tw: unhealthy family relationships, manipulation, and gore(?), suicidal thoughts, unstable/mentally ill daughter. Not for the faint of heart, heavy angst, a somewhat positive ending in the last part(?) (Do not read if uncomfortable)

An: I am backkkkk, second semester and last semester’s finals kept me busyyyyyy but I’m here again to post some stufffffff!! Not hsr related but like I also write for Genshin now, apparently… Will post a part two, I guess? “Father. When am I able to hang around with the others? I have done everything that you’ve asked for.” A young girl asked, to which “Father” responds with, “You need to focus on the task in hand. I still have many more missions for you to do before I set you free.” The girl sighed, knowing very well that she may as well never be able to be allowed to play with the other kids… For a moment, the girl had wished that she wasn’t the only one to deal with this kind of burden. The burden being, the “successor” of “Father.” She wanted to play with the other kids as well, but alas, her father does not permit her to do so. Instead, excuses are made, and the standard Fatui discipline is instilled in her mind, always have to act proper and professional, not allowed to shed a tear, or to feel strong feelings regardless of what the matters are. I hate it here. I do not wish to stay here any longer. Every day feels like I am only made to be the person that “Father” wishes me to be. I am never truly happy. I am sinking. Father was not  family. This whole thing is and always was, a lie. Do I ever get to be free? Perhaps I can set myself free. There is a way.  ̶T̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶q̶̶u̶̶e̶̶s̶̶t̶̶i̶̶o̶̶n̶ ̶i̶̶s̶, ̶a̶̶m̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶̶i̶̶l̶̶l̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶d̶̶o̶ ̶i̶̶t̶? --- After burning the corpse of their enemies, I return to the House of the Hearth, albeit bloody and face that is smudged of dirt, the smell of blood and gasoline lingers around me. With every passing servant, caretakers, and also children as well, unsettled and left shaken up at the sight of me. I stained the carpets red. I wonder if “Father” would notice as the carpet is in the same shade of the blood of her enemies…? Will she punish me and discipline me? Although words are exchanged, no form of physical harm done, I am still left isolated.  Like I am to be a monster kept away from people… I feel caged.

This time, I didn’t bother to clean up and went straight ahead to father’s office. Where I know I’ll be punished for such a careless mistake. “Father, I have returned.” I greet, looking to see her eyes staring straight at me. For once I don’t cower. I simply walk up to her and wait for her response. I have no reason to be scared, right? I don’t think I care anymore. Father’s eyes narrowed. The sight of blood that wasn’t mine, the smell of gasoline, in her eyes, I may as well be the filthiest child in the house. One that is simply, uncouth for the position of “successor.” “Why have you not followed protocol? Especially contingency 8? Have I not taught you well?” Her voice sharp, dissatisfied with my performance. It must be a surprise for her that her “successor” had become disobedient. What is she going to do to me, I wonder? Dispose of me? Or would she find someone else who is to succeed her as the “Father” of the House of the Hearth. “I… I have no other excuses.” I was unable to control my voice. It was shaky, wavering. I hate it. Father’s eyes seemed to had harden. I am interested with what is going to be the left of me once this is all over. I look forward to it. I want her to snap at me. Kill me. Foul words for a child like me, but this is what I planned. Maybe it is best that I sleep in eternal slumber instead rather than live a life full of misery. I have nothing to be grateful here. I am not thankful that I am still alive today. “…You are hereby stripped of the title “successor.” You are no longer worthy of the title. I am disappointed.” Is that it? No severe punishments? My mind raced; I was unable to comprehend why had she punished me in a way that is so… Little? Had she gone soft? I do not remember anything that made her want to punish me lightly. Don’t I deserve… More? My brows had furrowed. “Father” did not miss that. “Daughter… Are you, upset?” Her voice sounded confusing, to me. Why do you suddenly care? I don’t understand you at all. I do not feel safe at all. Are you really “family?” “…I’m fine.” I say, my voice a little tight. Unshed tears on my face, I am no fool. I do not need your love.

“You are now excused.” Never had I ever left her office so quickly after that. I had to get away…! I need to get out of here… I breathed heavily as I ran and ran… Until there is nowhere to go. The heavy snow had engulfed me. And soon… I was unconscious. I awoke to an unfamiliar place. This is not the House of the Hearth. I quickly got up, ignoring the sudden rush of blood shooting up due to how fast I went up. I ignore the throbbing pain on my forehead, I focused on my surroundings instead. Where am I? This place is… Different. I jolted as I felt a hand on my shoulder, immediately backing off and grabbing a hidden dagger in my boot. “Stay there! I will stab you!” I hissed. Glaring at the mysterious figure. They looked… Kind. I am not supposed to feel that way. There are no kind people in this world. Everyone I know will always lie to me, manipulate me for their gain. Just like “Father.” Just like them…

The stranger had knelt down and attempted to soothe me. I only responded with aggression and threats. They weren’t phased at all. “Who are you? I am no ordinary orphan! I am a murderer!” I shouted, clearly agitated. The man in a familiar coat had not reacted violently at all. I am confused. And angry. “I am Pantalone. “Regrator” from the Fatui. I assume you are one of the Knave’s lost children…” My eyes widened at the statement. He is no ordinary man… I should’ve known, I gritted my teeth and gripped my dagger tight. “I am not her orphan! I am no longer a part of that… I could care less if you are a part of the Fatui, I will die gladly in vain if I have to fight for my freedom!” I hissed. The man is amused. I can tell by the look in his eyes. “I have a better proposal for you, child.” “Regrator” inquired. I had not chosen to back down even at the prospect of an offer. “What makes you think I will take it?” I replied, gripping the dagger tight. “I will not surrender you to the Knave. Rather, I’ll take you in as my disciple.”

Disciple? Is this man sick in the head? Why would I agree to that? It seems “Regrator” had heard my thoughts, and so, he added, “Although, it is up to you if you would rather be surrendered back to the Knave… Or join me and I’ll give you a much better purpose, in life… Not that you have any choice on the matter if you decline my offer…” I had no sense of purpose to live for. I am merely an empty shell of what I was once. I have nothing to achieve… In the end, I don't have what it takes to truly end my life. So I will follow my new superior. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be easily obedient. I am rather mad.” And it was the start of something anew…  I had become, “Regrator’s disciple.” I wonder how “Knave” will react to such arrangements… An: Part two will include Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. There will be other characters who will be included as well but, part one's story was set before Lyney became the sucessor of the House of the Hearth. I am thinking of interesting ideas to write for this story and some alternate routes as well... We'll see once I whip up part two.

[pretzel-box]

Hello everyone.

This will be a rather long post about some things I wanna adress, including the fact that I plan to stop writing for Pressure, my OCS and other peoples Ocs in the near future.

Down under the cut is a list with my personal view, issues and some other things that lead to this decision. Maybe I miss a lot or don't go too deep into detail but the main points are covered.

But before I would like to add that this is MY opinion and MY choice. I let you think of it what you want but I also request that you respect my actions.

The first point is probably already clear from the start. Maybe some noticed, maybe not but I fell out of love with the fandom and the game itself. It became boring to play, the characters lost their charm and I can't come up with any creative scenarios anymore and the ones that already exists have lost their meaning. This may sound like the typical burnout thing and maybe it is but I'm more than certain that I wanna step away from the game and the fandom to focus on other things that bring me more joy. Maybe I start a multifandom writing blog or I just learn another hobby.

The second thing that is close connected to the first point is the fandom of the game, including the community on tumblr. A huge part are super sweet people with a very creative side. I would go as far and say that I brought some of those together with my projects and writing and it really makes me happy to see everyone interact so friendly on my blog.

But something that I haven't adressed is the fact that there are also plenty of hardcore fans, haters and weird people in my askbox or general in the fandom. It is to be expected when someone gains a massive amount of followers. But I do not accept the fact that people judge me based on what I write, who I write for, when I write and if I write at all. I delete those asks. Some telling me that my community project is awful, unserious and pulls other ocs into dirt. Other people are claiming that I don't write Sebastians Character right and oh wow seriously? I am not Sebastians creator, I do not have that ultimate deep lore and mindset to write a person 1:1. I get hate for my own stories and of course the fans could now come to my protetion and say „But Chea don't listen to the haters, you are amazing“ but it doesn't fix the thing in a slightest.

Also regards the people that praise me, some of them ( I won't name anyone) are counting to those weird people that force me. There were 2 or 3 people that acted all sweet in public only to try and take control of some story plots etc.

Also, I started writing when Pressure was first raising to be popular. There weren't many pressure writers out there. I am usually not someone that posts their work online, I don't comment on stuff and I rarely like something. But I really wanted to see more pressure fanfictions. Now we reached the point where there are more than plenty amazing writers and I can quit. There is no need for me to continue something that only makes me hate myself more because everytime I open my notes to write a story for pressure it feels like a mental torture. I leave the writing to the other blogs.

The status for now:

AASB gets discontinued.

Reverse AU gets discontinued.

Streamer AU will recieve 6 more chapters to end the story on a good term.

House of Entities will get continued for a small period of time, probably till I am done with the Streamer AU. There is no plan for the chapter count yet.

All requests in the inbox will get deleted and the inbox itself will be closed after Streamer AU finished.

Any other unnamed project will get discontinued as well.

All stories, one shots, series, drabbles and other works of mine are free to use. Other authors can pick them up, re-write them or just make an own story out of those. I drop all rights for the ideas and I won't demand any credits either. Maybe someone else would like to continue House of Entities as well.

My final word, which may sound repeating: I do not change my opinion, there won't be any motivation talks or sugar coated words that will change my stand in those things. I know some of you will try and comfort me but this is really not needed. I wish for you all to accept the outcome of this situation and move on more or less.

I apologize dearly because this is very sudden and I hope you all will understand.

-Chea

[vyainide]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤthree–legged deerㅤ౨ৎㅤ4.3k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

educate yourself. 🍉

synopsis. trafalgar law is uselessly sympathetic to a vampire without a sire— he suffers as he learns that a monster without a mother is an animal without a leash. injured or not, it has its fill.

tag(s)&warning(s). afab! reader, nsfw 🤗, modern au, fledging vampire! reader, surgeon! law, reader nd law are both crazy switches, violence, blood drinking, biting, vampire/human relationship, don't ask ab the dynamic cause i have no answers for you, dub–con, non-linear narrative, law is a freak (for lack of better term) and likes being in control; he obviously is not in control...., blood, gore, cumming in pants (law you freak !!!!), cannibalism mention, pwp

from vyon. i've been listening to sir chloe's "i am the dog" album too much recently... i'm not sorry, i love law and i love freaks and i love the devotion that comes with devouring. UNHINGES MY JAW AND EATS TRAFALGAR LAW WHOLE. sorry, this was supposed to be quick and easy but i started ovulating sooo... might be cross–posted onto ao3 if i'm feeling up to it :3 honestly had to stop myself at 4k words cause realistically, i could have gone on and on and on and never ended up releasing this as it'd just end up as a neverending wip

don't repost / copy / translate.

“Even if you ask nicely, I have nothing for you.” There’s a mean lilt to Law's voice that makes you twitch, curling closer to your knees as you pressed down harder on the open wound to the side of your abdomen. It doesn’t take an idiot to know that he's enjoying the view— getting to see you crumpled over and laying at his feet, a hand on your side, the other clutching his pants, your head on his knee. Law’s eyes flicker from your hunched form, whimpering, to his fridge. His hand falls on the bicep closest to him and he pulls you up, “I’ll fix you up now and, in the morning, I’ll get you blood.” There's a dragged path of dirt from his door to where you're sat; handprints of grass and blood marked into his previously clean floor. He'll force you into the bathtub after this.

It’s bad practice, keeping an undomesticated vampire by you but Law can’t help the itch that crawls up his spine when he finds you laying by his feet; the satisfaction that unfurls inside him and brushes up against some depraved part of him that’s gone undetected for so long— it’s much too good to pass up on. Plus, you’ve always been the docile kind— the absolute horror that marked your features when Law had caught you on the floor of some old car, hunched over an open abdomen, hands deep into the heart comes to him at night sometimes. The widening of eyes, lips parting to threaten a scream like you’d caught him eating a man. The memory pushes him to amusement, his head rolling to the side as his hands fall onto your waist.

You let out a pained groan as Law forces you into your feet, he soothes you off your weight with his hand on the side of your waist that isn’t bloody and drags you to the island in his kitchen. Setting you down, he steps back to trace eyes over you— he clicks his tongue when he finds out, you don’t look as nice when you're at his eye–level.

There's a vile weight to your wound when Law moves away from you. You don’t feel him anymore as his footsteps round the island, then you hear some cabinets opening and then closing; when he rounds back to you, he’s fixing gloves onto his hands. Your eyes flicker through your lashes, a sharp snap resounds as he lets go of the rubber and it bounces back onto his wrist. Your breathing stutters, a burn behind unblinking eyes; you trace the curves of the veins that colour against tanned skin and everything else blurs. There’s suddenly a rhythmic beating in your head that drowns out Law’s voice and brings an itch to your gums, your side burns when your fingers tightened down around the wound— blood splitting through the cracks of your fingers and ruptured flesh, blood dripping down onto Law’s kitchen island, blood staining your hands, blood, blood, Law, blood. Your heart beats in twos. Blood. Law. Blood. Law. Fucking Law full of— you hiss in pain.

His features are impressively unmoved as he moves your hand away from your side and uses his other hand to push back at your shoulder, so you��re no longer curled into yourself. He peels away the shirt clinging to your skin and his expression scrunches around a mid–point of his face when he sees it. “Stay still, don’t be stupid and move.” He's awkwardly bent down to study the details of the wound and ponders on things like how it'd need to be treated; there’s no reason for him to be so close, his breath near heavy on your flesh. There’s a vague sickness haunting your gums, an itch deep-set in the holes beneath every tooth, a dryness to the saliva on your tongue as Law’s head tilts and you’re suddenly given a view of his neck.

There’s a quietness to you that’s stifling as Law pokes around your wound to assess nerve damage, he makes an attempt to nod his head up for a moment but is ultimately stopped by your face suddenly burrowing under his ear, your paced breathing suddenly brings his heart to life when it’s on his skin. “What are you doing?” His voice is oddly strained as a low hum sounds in your throat.

“Dizzy,” you mumbled lamely, and he sighs, almost relieved for a reason he doesn’t know. Right— of course this amount of blood loss has you weakened.

You push your head further in, close enough that he can feel your eyelashes dragging slow with each blink across his collarbone, your nose brushes away the collar of his shirt, and dried lips scratch his skin as your head moves up, so your mouth is sat at the base of his neck, your head under his jaw.

Law’s face scrunched up, a taste of annoyance at his mouth, “straighten up, I can’t see what I’m working with here.” And when you don’t move in accordance with his words, he's jerking back, anger flaunts his face, and he shoves at your shoulder to straighten up your back. An unperturbed gaze stares back at him, a pitfall trap awaits him when he meets the lens of your eyes, a deep cavity coloured in an eerie pink— near bleeding into red that almost makes Law dizzy, something sweet sits at the tip of his tongue as the face of a sheep cracks wide open. Its mouth rips open clean, skin splitting across the end of its mouth straight to its ears, as if it was made to unhinge that way, like there’s a threading you could pull out to allow its disconnected head to flop back onto its back like a puppet made for play. The forehead of the sheep knocks against the top of its shoulders; a wolf stares back at Law, and it mimics a mangled cry, sounding like a bleating of a sheep.

“Law, please.”

His bones lock into place and he feels a rupture of panic drown him, his senses dulled with a sweet nectar that'd urged him to you; you’re still sat where Law had placed you, too afraid to move in case you crossed too many boundaries, your eyes begging and pleading like you were still stood outside the threshold of his apartment, waiting for his permission to enter. There’s something in him that tells him to get away, run, anything to put some space in between you two and he finds the voice distastefully familiar—it brings about memories of pink feathers and his face scrunches up first in fear and then in amusement. Because it’s you, the weak-willed, spineless vampire that’s grown overly dependent on a human to supply bagged blood for it instead of hunting for its own lunch, and he was comparing that to an existence that knew nothing but cruelty and hatred. It takes one word, a twitch of his eyebrow, the pull of a frown to get you to retreat— he knows that well. But there’s a compulsion in him that wants to see where this takes him— an intrigue that’s always had its morbid way with him, stroked by your sudden insistence.

It's by choice that he allows you to push this further, duck your head neatly into your chin and gloat your pretty eyes up at him through flickering lashes, Law lets you intrude into his sense of personal space— there’s nothing stopping him from stepping back, forcing you away from him once more, telling you to wait, you’ve given him the power to do these things to you after all, but he doesn’t. His breath is a sharp exhale; Law’s body tenses and his face contorts— into an expression you’re sure you’ve seen before. You suddenly find it odd that you’re looking down at him; you expect a scream as your teeth drags deeper than the comical two holes you’ve seen in movies. Your incisors drag through flesh like bulldozers as you bite down, his skin rips and tears under the collar of his white button; you can still smell the lemon air freshener hung around the rear-view mirror, tangy as it hangs on the iron of his blood— it makes your nose itch and the blood taste weird on your tongue. You hear his mumblings about daughters and a wife, and you have to wonder which one of them you caught him at the hotel at; either way, it would be bad you think. If his wife was that young, if he was taking his daughters to hotels.

Law’s hand tightened on your shoulder, the memories of the night in the car park escape you again but they linger on your tongue; Law’s face, when you look at him, is all pinched together, a burdening mess and his hold turns harsh, for a second you think there’s a violence that’ll meet you tightened in his fist but he merely shoves you back onto the counter. It’s cold but it’s not uncomfortable. Hovering over you, Law is close enough for you to hear his fascinating heartbeat— this too is familiar, but you recognise it a little earlier into that night, when your eyes caught that man’s and you saw him stumbling into the hotel with the girl under his arm. A constant, steady hum. So, you push. Eyes stubbornly on Law’s face, his pinched eyebrows and his bottom lip hooked under his teeth, you watch as, fraction by fraction, his face relaxes when you finally lay your lips on him. It’s salt and it’s sweat and it’s warm; it burns the hunger in you alive when you stop kissing his neck, parting your lips over his skin to nip at his flesh.

It's all you do until he’s purposefully pressing his hip down on your thigh, pushing your lips against his neck in wet kisses until he’s delirious enough to chase after his own pleasure. You feel his hand drag up your thigh, pulling along the flesh until it stretches no longer and has to give up to tighten his palm against a new expanse of skin. Law, when you turn your head to look at him, has a hunger so vivid in his eyes that you think you’re looking into a mirror. You didn’t know you were laughing until Law has a hand around your cheeks, pulling your face away from his neck, “what’re you laughing at?”

The glare in his eyes doesn’t do much to stop you from laughing, only spurns on a more unforgiving pitch of laughter as you bend your knee, “this.” Law winces, his body doubling over yours on his kitchen island when you push against the obvious bulge behind his tight jeans. His head falls onto your shoulder and your lips are back to his neck, teasing with your canines; there’s no rush to your actions, like you know that it’s in the flesh to want to be torn, like it’s in man to be devoured.

You hear him curse, pretty, under his breath and his skin burns hot— it reminds you of the blood swimming around under his flesh as he goes back to kneading the plush of your thighs. He drags higher and higher until his hand disappears under the stained ruffles of your skirt and you feel the warmth of his palm over your underwear; for a second, as his thumb presses experimentally around in a certain perimeter until he gets that little gasp from you, you think that this is fine. You think you’d be okay with being underneath Law for a little while longer, just until he works you through that specific high you know he’d be mean about but when you shift your hips upwards to meet his touch, you feel a burn shoot through your side. Wincing, you remember that you’re still bleeding out and your tongue feels obtrusive in your mouth. With the reminder of your injury, you falter momentarily.

You might regret this, but your hand reaches out for Law’s wrist, tightening around his skin and urging for a stop; he looks to you in obvious question. “W–wait,” you huffed, a layer of sweat shining on your forehead. In hindsight, it was a horrible idea to grab Law’s wrist. You feel his unsteady pulse right in your palm, his neck is right there, and there’s some kind of buzzing that leaves your head heavy and awkward.

Law notices something wrong when your hand tightens impossibly hard around his wrist, when your breathing turns heavy and staggered. In his line of work, he’s never been a stranger to vampire victims. Unlike in the movies, there’s nothing romantic nor clean about being bitten by a vampire in reality; real vampires don’t just drink, they eat. Panic rapidly blossoms in his chest, branching out to his nerves and urging all his muscles with a simple task: move. If it were that simple, he’d never had been faced with so many corpses, all mangled and maimed. Law swears he sees your jaw unhinge around his neck, a whimpering ‘sorry’ break through your mouth before your jaw clamps down on his neck. He’s dead, Law thinks, you’ll bite right through all the meat and tear off the flesh from his body and then eat the rest of him as he’s bleeding out and his heart beats louder than its ever done before as he’s imagining his death.

That doesn’t happen.

He feels your cheeks bulge against his jaw twice as you draw the blood away from his body, gulping down hungrily; his body weakens against your ravenous embrace but, as the dots blur into his vision and his eyelids weigh down, you pulled yourself away from his neck. Your tongue presses flat against the comical wound (two clean dots, just like in the movies), and he feels the muscle trail a line of saliva from his neck, across his jaw, and then around the shell of his ear. He doesn’t know what he expects but you press a kiss against his ear awkwardly and then, “you’re still hard, pervert.” When you work up your knee once more, he finds that you’re right. You trail your hands over his arms and hook your finger over the end of his gloves, snapping them off his fingers.

Shame burns through him as embarrassment forces his cold cheeks to warm, but Law’s body is in no position to listen to him right now. Though he has to wonder, if he wasn’t so terribly weakened right now, would he even have it in him to pull himself away from this? You keep pressing your lips against his neck as if you’re trying to wear away the skin, alternating between simple pecks and sucks; lips part and he feels your tongue warm and he braces himself for a prick that never comes. With how reckless you are now, with your arms tightened around his back, the constant movement of your knee against his only growing erection, it's not a reach to assume that Law's blood has healed you up enough.

His hands tightened on your shoulders; aggrieved groans mixed with whimpers spill out of his throat at an alarming rate as you begin to get more precise with your knee. Your hands slowly trail down his back until they reach the waistband of his pants, then they tuck upwards under his shirt and you're pressing down on near the bottom of his back to keep him pressed against your grinding. Law doesn’t think it can get any worse, and it doesn't. But you do press your lips against his, wide and devouring, and your damned tongue is pushing and pushing. It doesn’t get worse. Only Law ends up opening his mouth to let you curl your tongue upwards, flicking up against the roof of his mouth, he can taste his own blood on his tongue, iron heavy between his teeth, and then he’s chasing after the taste.

His hands fist onto the collar of your shirt and pulls you up closer to him. Despite himself, he flinches at the taste of his own blood— smooth — on his traitorous tongue; a taste branded against the depths of his mind like the heavy cloud that clings to the horizon, it's bitter and metallic. A ringing in his head accompanies the soft ‘mmf' that betrays him and gets swallowed up greedily by you some more as you worm your tongue into his mouth, Law shakes and trembles in your grasp; it’s strange, you're raw and starved and governed by an altogether different hunger. He chases after you when you pull back, that makes you stifle a laugh too; his face is furious, his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed like a stroke of thunder, his jaw clenched and tense, hands still tight on your collar. You think he's about to burst, all the creepy, weird things he's wanted that were stuffed down, bottled in his throat; he's going to shatter and take you with him. Your thigh burns from the constant movement under him, hands still weighing him down but then you stop and he's left hanging. He's desperate enough to press himself down without needing prompting, his hands fall onto your hips and he straightens up a little, enough to get a better grasp and to stabilise himself as he tugs your body down the island.

You watched Law, almost in amazement. He fixes his position against your thigh and seriously starts rutting himself against your thigh; you can only watch, a breath stuttering in your throat at how sloppy his movement is and at the fact that he needed no prompting. Men are the dupes of their desires; you’ve seen that quote somewhere before— you didn’t know that you'd one day find Law to be a part of those men. His hair hangs awkwardly over his face as his lips part, and his eyes flutter shut, a shudder works up his spine as his hands tightened on your hips. It's not embarrassment that makes his skin crawl. No, what's eating away at him is the realisation that he's little care for what he looks like and if you end up thinking less of him after this. Vaguely, he feels his fingers press under the hem of your shirt and tightened down on cold flesh as he comes to the dreadful realisation that he's enjoying this. He's harder than he's ever been in his life and all he's done is fucking hump your thigh and kiss you a bit— he, without thinking about it too much more, dials it down to the fact that there must be some kind of aphrodisiac side effect to being bitten.

Thoughts are decisively turned away from him. He's nothing, empty, a marionette on its strings, a vessel to be filled, and for every moment you spend watching and observing and pulling back from his lips, instead of doing anything to help, his frustration builds. It's frustration that builds in Law, a kind that digs deeps into his bones, it’s fury and rage, a desire that eats away at rationale in his mind. “Fuck,” he curses, his head drops onto your collarbone and his pace becomes more purposeful, pressed even closer to your skin for leverage. There’s no room to breathe with how close he is, his head turns up and you can feel his lips against yours, a certain wobble in his upper lip as his tongue parts your lips. His hands drag up the side of your body and his hand bumps against the side of your chest. He grappled with the bra, his shaky hands doing nothing for him you can imagine, you arch your back upwards, your hands joining him to mess with the bra until the hooks and clasps separated.

The grip he has on your tit is unforgiving, grabbing the fat with his hand and squeezing without a care, Law arches off your thigh with a groan.

“I think we're past the point of you grinding on my thigh,” you mused, voice tinted in amusement. You move to straighten up but Law presses you back down within the second.

His eyebrows furrow, jaw clenched. “Don't move, I'm so—,” he trails off into a sigh. The realisation that he's worked himself close enough to an orgasm on your thigh brings an ache that almost as similar to hunger; your teeth itch and you wish you could take them out for a moment.

“Kiss me,” you murmured before you know what you’re saying, your voice throaty and thick. Law doesn’t let you dwell on it much; his lips are fucking searing against yours; your hands fall onto his cheeks and you feel his heart beat so loud just from kissing him, you're surprised that the room isn’t shaking yet. You're aware to the point of discomfort that your underwear is sopping, stained in obvious desires when Law's hand comes back up your thighs.

The flip of your skirt is fumbling, hasty; his hand pushes up your skirt, dragging his palm over the skirt as it covers your stomach and then it turns its attention back to your underwear. His knuckles brush against the hems of underwear, barely catching it as he pushes away the other thigh he'd been neglecting. “Shit,” he breaths when his thumb presses against the cotton material, “you’ve been this wet the entire time?” He presses his bulge back down onto your thigh, “gonna take care of you, promise.”

You nod as his finger drags against you, slow and teasing. His pace staggers, both his hips and his fingers momentarily as his hand moves to stabilise over your thigh; a shudder works through his spine and he's folding over, head falling onto your shoulder as he works through ‘fucks', each one louder than the last. True to his words, after Law has his own numbing taste of pleasure, he turns his attention onto you. One hand fumbled with his belt, undoing it as best he could with his other hand occupied with your pleasure.

Law is no stranger to sex, he's had his own share of lovers, but this, the way he grabs at you and the way he discards any acts to play nice, how he usually proceeds in these moments a mystery to himself— no warm–up, no teasing, no building you up until you're wired and squirming, vibrating. Just a man you've turned lost to his arousal. His hand digs into your flesh, the roughness of the touch chafing against the soft skin of your inner thigh; his eyes blurry and unfocused as he grabs at your underwear and pulls it to the side.

Guttural— the sound that leaves Law is breathed deep out of his nose, gasping against your skin and he, without second thought, sinks a finger right into you. His eyes are stubborn on the hand that’s enviably close to your warmth, watching the change of his skin from tan to pale as your hand goes to grasp his wrist again. Your legs fold upwards, feet finding purchase on the island as Law curls a single finger against the walls of your cunt. Pulling back gives you temporary reprieve— the next thrust comes with Law working a second finger into you. He's methodical with it. He watches. The tightening grip you had on his forearm, the way your head tilts back, lips part open with breathless gasps, everything; there’s little sympathy in how Law watches you— no hesitant strokes, no gentle caresses. This is the Law you'd been egging on, focused on the now, the here, the immediate, the tangible. It's not what he wants, rather what he needs. So, he forces a third finger into you and watches as you yelped, head turning from side to side as your thighs tighten, knees hitting each other.

He finishes tugging down his zipper and the hand moves to atop your knee, Law’s thumb and pinky finger press deep on the side of your knee. “C’mon,” he taunts almost, “how can I take care of you if you’re hiding from me?” His eyebrows raised, urging you sweetly when you turn your gaze to him, lips hooked under your teeth and eyebrows furrowed— you oblige. The reward you get from listening to him is ruining; all three fingers curled up inside you, pulling a shriek from you when you feel his blunt nails drag slow against you. His attention is offered to you in ways that turn your head numb, his finger still fucking into you at that gruelling pace, his body bent down between your legs to gaze down at you. Corners of his lips tug up into a smile, “still hungry?”

You’re not sure, your teeth had been grinding ever since Law’s fingers found their home in you, since you’d found a doghouse at the threshold of his entrance, but you’re not foolish enough yet to deny whatever Law was willing to offer to you so you nod. “Yes, yes, so hungry, yes.” All you see is starbursts, kaleidoscopic flickers that splinter at every angle as Law turns his head, offering you his neck once more. His hand grasps the back of your head, pulling you up gently to his neck; you feel as though you’re drinking from his cupped hands, licking up water before it falls through the gaps of his fingers. You press your dull teeth against his burning flesh first, then you urge your fangs to grow, prodding through his muscle.

You’re hungrier than you’ve ever remembered, even before you became a vampire, it’s reminiscent of a hunger from when you were first born; there’s hunger that isn’t quelled as your mouth attaches to Law’s neck, as you suckle on his blood, as you chafe yourself against his stubborn, moving fingers. There’s an ache in you that reminds you of the day you were born, once covered in blood and twice covered in dirt, Law becomes, to you, a necessary evil in the face of your single, insatiable hunger.