#When you lose your soul is it a sharp pain or is it more of a dull sucking wound

[allycat75]

Don't think I have forgotten about that completely undeserved Spirit of Service award your team bought and paid for to commemorate your lazy, useless and potentially corruptible poisonous snake of a "political" website, Boston Dumb Fuck.

Just wanted to remind you, and The Partnership for Public Service, of yet another MUCH more deserving recipient, and there is even a celebrity connection if that is the type of exposure the organization was looking for.

Sarah Silverman's sister, Susan, founded Second Nurture, a non-profit that helps families explore, pursue and thrive in fostering and adoption by mobilizing communities to support them every step of the way.

And imagine this, they post their staff bios, as well as their Board of Directors, on their site. Can you believe the transparency?

But I guess a Jewish woman and her team providing actionable resources to communities all across the country can't beat 3 mostly white, mostly rich men doing less than the bare minimum.

[hoonatic]

emergency contact | park sunghoon x reader

prompt: weeks after your breakup, sunghoon finds out that he’s still your emergency contact. pairing: non-idol sunghoon x implied female reader genre: angst with hopeful/happy? ending; second chance romance??; exes to lovers??? word count: 2800 note: i’ve had a cute fic idea that i wanted to write forever…but this is not it. the sad demons have visited me once again. hope y’all enjoy nevertheless and any feedback is much appreciated <3

sunghoon was miserable. 

it had been three weeks, five days, two hours, and thirty-two minutes since the two of you had gone no contact.

he wished he could say he was happy to be single, that he was no longer “locked down” and “whipped” as his friends had always called him. but the so-called “freedom” felt like hell since it meant losing you.

at first, he kept telling himself that time would heal the pain. “it’s natural,” he had repeated like a mantra, “she was your best friend and lover for years.” but no, this heartbreak was inhumane. his desire to see you, apologize endlessly, and spend days holding you until you could feel every ounce of his love was gnawing at his soul. if anything, it got worse by the minute.

he had tried so hard to balance work and the rest of his life, using the excuse several times that he was securing this future for your shared life with him. that one day, you’d be able to reap the rewards of his efforts and live comfortably together without stress.

but what was the use of all of that now? the future he had worked so hard to create was ripped out from his hands by no one other than himself. 

you had accused him of being too busy for you. dates canceled at the last minute, a birthday forgotten, and all the texts left on read had built up to the argument that ended it all. he was always good at fighting, a little too good. he had retorted that you weren’t being supportive, and he was never one to sugarcoat his words. his tongue was sharp, and he did nothing to dull its blade.

but there wasn’t too much yelling on your part, and he thought that that hurt more. he wanted you to fight back, to stand your ground because he knew deep down that he was being the asshole. his toxic thought was that by you fighting back, this meant that you were still fighting for your relationship. but instead, you just stared with silent tears and a blank expression. seeing the indifference in eyes that had previously held so much love was a sight that would stay with him forever. so, in fear of you leaving, he ran instead.

he was a coward, leaving your shared home to run back to the apartment he had still technically owned but hadn’t lived in for more than a year. he locked himself away for a few days, but the realization that you hadn’t attempted to contact him burned more than he could put into words. you were done with him. he had hurt you, had the audacity to be the one to run, and now he had lost you.

he had even run from his job. he couldn’t stand to walk into the same building he stayed in when he forgot dates with you. his coworkers wouldn’t stop asking what happened to him, why he looked so rough. he even found an empty container that had once held lunch you made for him. but his final straw was getting promoted. his first instinct was to call you, but he remembered the sad truth before he could dial. any ounce of pride was washed away with shame in that moment. that same day, he quit without notice.

so there he was: miserable, alone, and unemployed with nothing left to run from but memories. he had spent the last week going through his phone and saving your pictures together in a locked album. he wouldn’t dare delete them, but he couldn’t stomach looking at you either.

he wished he could get drunk and sleep away the pain. he had tried, he definitely did - but that night, he dreamt of you. you were smiling at first, eyes ever full of love. you were speaking, yet he couldn’t hear you. but he could see how your words started to gradually look sadder, and slowly, tears started to fall as your grin dropped. he woke up that next morning crying with the conclusion that he would have to face this heartbreak sober.

but another day of scrolling through albums had stopped abruptly when he saw the notification that changed everything.

SOS i called emergency services from this approximate location after my watch detected a hard fall. you are receiving this message because i have you listed as my emergency contact.

sunghoon had to remind himself to breathe.

he had purchased that watch for you as a “just because” present months ago. you had complained of bad sleep and he wanted you to use it as a way to track your slumber. he hated seeing you tired. he knew that the watch had a fall detection function, but it had never been used before.

his heart was in his stomach as he went to his favorite contacts page and selected your name for the first time in weeks.

“please,” he begged, all notion of running away from you leaving his brain, “pick up please.”

but you just weren’t answering. so he tried again and again and again.

for a moment while the line attempted to connect, he wondered if this was how he had made you feel for months - desperate for a sliver of attention from him. but instead, he was desperate for a sign of life.

finally, after about two minutes of trying to reach you, his body moved of its own accord. before he knew it, his car keys were in his hands and he was out the door.

the car ride there might have been the worst part. the speed at which he drove at almost defied the laws of physics. other drivers were cursing at him but he wasn’t registering anything except the thought of your safety. he just needed to get to you.

why did he run? why didn’t he try to talk it out? if he was so afraid of losing you, why did he do the one thing that would guarantee that? he should have been there like he promised to be from the beginning. you would have been safe with him.

when he pulled up to the house you had shared for so long, he suddenly felt the world slow down. why were emergency services there? you should’ve canceled them by now.

he had to double park as the ambulance was blocking the driveway. why were they here?

the emts and police had arrived at the same time as him, which both increased his anxiety and soothed him. for one, that meant he had been quick enough. but why did you need them?

“sir, do you know–” an officer had approached him as he stumbled to the front door. all he could understand was your name. why were they asking if he knew you? of course he knew you. you, the love of his life. you, his soulmate by every meaning of the word. you were you. and you were safe.

as if sensing his distress, he felt an emt worker pull him to the side as the same officer prepared to break down the door. seeing this, sunghoon finally returned to his senses.

“w-wait! sorry, i have a key.” sunghoon’s hands were shaking. the only way that door had unlocked was by pure muscle memory because he didn’t understand what he was doing at all.

as soon as the door opened, sunghoon tried to step in. finally, he was close to you. 

the officer, however, pulled him back.

“sir, you should wait here. we need to make an initial search before you can go in.”

“what, why? if she’s in there, i want to see–”

“sir, it’s just in case we find something we wouldn’t want you to see.”

all of sunghoon’s hesitation and fear went out the window at those words. his body flew automatically as he ran inside.

he screamed your name as he rushed in, ignoring the yells of the police officers who followed him in. as it had been for almost four weeks, his only thought was you. he just needed you.

he checked the ground floor first, eyes scanning the open space in less than a second as his body avoided an officer trying to grab him. sunghoon then moved to the staircase, long legs prepared to skip steps to reach you. then suddenly, he heard the voice his ears had been longing for,

“sunghoon?!”

his head shot up. there you were, finally. he saw the sadness, confusion, and fear all flash your face as you registered the emergency workers behind him. you looked exhausted and unruly, but he had never felt more in love.

he didn’t even remember climbing the steps, but suddenly he was at the top of the staircase and you were in his arms. 

you could feel him trembling as he held you. you took his face into your hands to look at him, “sunghoon? what’s wrong? why are you here? is it my parents? is someone hurt?” you watched as his mouth opened but no words came out. after a few seconds, one of the officers spoke from the bottom of the steps,

“ma’am, we received an alert from your device that a hard fall had occurred.”

suddenly, you understood everything. taking sunghoon’s hand gently, you led him down the stairs, afraid he’d fall from shock. he followed you silently, but his grip tightened seemingly with every step.

that’s when you noticed your shattered watch on the third step.

you let sunghoon go and you could hear his deep breath when you did. you picked up the watch and offered it up to the officer as an explanation, “i’m sorry officer, it looks like there’s been a misunderstanding…”

the officer nodded in understanding, and dismissed the emts, “got it, ma’am. we will still need a formal report for our records since this was registered as an emergency call.” he motioned to your couch as he took out a pen and paper.

you reached for sunghoon’s hand once more and led him to sit with you. in the moment, you knew he needed you more than you would ever understand. so, as you explained to the officer, you held his trembling hand, rubbing soothing circles with your thumb.

“i was doing laundry here downstairs and had taken off my watch to prevent it from getting wet,” you recounted, “i put it on top of the basket of clothes that i took upstairs. i remember tripping a little going up the stairs - i didn’t fall, but that must’ve been when the watch fell."

"what about your phone, where is it? i'm sure your boyfriend must've tried to call you."

sunghoon slowly nodded at that, turning to look at you. you smiled sheepishly, "i left it upstairs and it was on silent while i folded the clothes. i’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

after finishing up your statement, the remaining officer prepared to leave. as he walked out the door, he gave a soft smile to the both of you,

“glad to see it was a false alarm, ma’am. you had this gentleman quite worried - ran so fast i couldn’t even grab him!” the officer laughed, “you two have a nice day now! sorry about your watch, though!”

after he shut your door, the silence enveloped your home. you closed your eyes and breathed deeply to prepare to speak to your ex-boyfriend. but as soon as you opened them, sunghoon started to cry softly.

he hugged you tighter than he ever had, and soon enough, his face was buried in your neck. his cries were silent, but you could feel his body shaking as his tears soaked your shirt.

“sunghoon…” you started, stroking his back, “i’m sorry i worried you, honey.”

you knew you shouldn’t be calling your ex pet names, especially an ex that had run from you without properly ending the relationship. but your heart still held so much love for him that it flowed out naturally. and you knew he was crying from more than just worry, so you doubt he minded at all in the moment.

his crying slowed down as his arms took to loosely wrapping around your waist instead. he pulled away from your neck to rest his forehead on yours. from this angle, you could see his swollen eyes and red nose - a sight so rare in all the years you had dated. he was never a crier after all.

but memories of several late-night conversations rushed your mind. he always said his number one fear was your death, and now you could see he had never lied about that.

he could see your mind go elsewhere so he called your name softly, “don’t say you’re sorry. i’m so happy, these are relieved tears. and i just really, really missed you.” he croaked out. you knew he had more to say, so you just nodded, letting him go on.

“and i’m sorry, baby. for everything. i shouldn’t have run, i shouldn’t have tried to egg you on to fight me back. i shouldn’t have even fought anything you said that night. you were right. i didn’t prioritize you. in my attempt to secure you for life, i let you go instead. i’m so sorry, i never wanted to break up.” he was rambling in earnest now, afraid that no words would make you take him back.

you listened quietly as he went on for a few minutes after that, hand continuing to rub his back, “i know honey, i know.”

“baby, you need to understand that i almost died thinking you almost died today,” you could’ve laughed at how dramatically he spoke, “i couldn’t breathe right thinking that our last conversation could’ve been an argument. that you wouldn't have ever known just how deeply i love you and need you. i have so much regret for how i treated you, but if you’d give me the chance, i have all the time in the world to make it up to you…let’s go on that vacation i promised you. we can leave tomorrow if you’d like.” he smiled hopefully at you.

“hoon,” his heart soared at the use of his beloved nickname, “what do you mean? don’t you have work? can you really leave with such short notice?”

“i quit my job.”

“excuse me?”

“no job that made me work that much is worth it. i’ll find one with better work-life balance…after our vacation. if that’s what you still want of course…” he spoke more quietly, as if afraid of rejection.

you sighed. you really should be realistic with this - you two had been broken up for a few weeks at that point. you knew the love was still there, but was this a good decision?

while there was still some hesitation on your part, you couldn't help but notice how gingerly he held you. his arms were still around your waist loosely, yet there was something desperate about their hold. you knew he was holding back from hurting you - you could tell how tightly he wanted to hug you.

he was so shaken up at the idea of you being hurt that he rushed over there despite the two of you not being on speaking terms. for someone who had trouble communicating how he felt sometimes, you knew his actions spoke louder than words. he always acted brave, but there was so much he feared. and you knew losing you was always at the top of this list.

you could also feel how he was simply soaking in the sight of your face. his eyes were shy, yet determined. he wasn't going to risk missing another second of staring at you. a part of you grew conscious, but you knew he was just taking in what he had missed for weeks.

“what about…” you started and almost giggled at how he perked up, “we take it slow - another two weeks or so to talk everything out and relax? to get us to a good place again before you hold me hostage in some foreign country?”

sunghoon smiled softly, kissing your forehead. you leaned in naturally to his warmth, to his touch that you missed so much. “that sounds like a great idea, love.” he spoke, “we’ll get you a new watch too. and i’ll do all the itinerary planning and packing whenever you’re ready, okay? i love you.”

“okay. and i love you too. can’t wait to enjoy your unemployment with you for now!”

one smile and nod from you had him taking you into his arms once more, relishing in your being. he was back where he belonged. he had experienced the scariest reminder ever that he needed you, and sunghoon was never letting you go now.

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

dr ratio seems like the type to piss you off just to make you manhandle him and have your way with him, after all he'd rather die than admit he fantasizes about you fucking him until he's nothing but a dumb little slut <3

dr ratio is a haughty, know-it-all asshole that sees himself as above these carnal desires. he's far better than the idiots who throw themselves into meaningless relationships just because of a few sloppy orgasms and getting inebriated on dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin. he prattled on and on about the idiocracy of those around him, and you're his new favorite target, it seems. everything you do, he finds a new way to patronize and look down upon you for doing it "incorrectly" as he put it. even if you solved a math formula with a different method but ultimately got the correct answer, he'd snottily chastise you—it was unfair, he never did this to anybody else but you! it isn't until dr ratio corners you in an unused room, that you decide he needs to learn to stay in his lane and shut his mouth for once.

"don't—hic—i-i can't take—" he stops babbling when you push yourself further into his ass, mouth hung open in a silent scream as you continue to press his oversensitive walls in all the right ways. enough to snap dr ratio from his stupefied daze to suck in a sharp intake of air and start moaning like a dumb little slut. he's loud, moans rising in their pitch—nearly to the degree where you knew he was getting off being manhandled like some cheap toy. with a hand tangled in his soft locks and pulling hard—he cries louder when you do that and wiggles his hips in that cute needy way. his head's spinning, but it feels so good. he's being utterly violated by you like a whore, but it feels so incredible. he shrieks when he feels the stinging slap of your palm against his bouncing ass, and even more blood somehow rushes to his dick. he's losing his fucking mind right now, the nerve of you—! "you, i-i'll get yo—oh! right there, right thererightthererightthere..!♡" dr ratio feels his soul leaving his body as he cums with a loud shriek of your name, thick load being shot out so fast that the aftershocks feel painful. he can't think, he can't think about anything at all. he can only think about the thick weight of you inside his walls, and that he needs to fucked until he's a dumb little slut. just, just one more round wouldn't hurt...♡

[youryanderedaddy]

Dark Is The Night

Summary: A late night encounter with a patroling soldier changes the trajectory of his life - and, unfortunately, yours too.

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, threats, thoughts of non - con, mention of war, patronizing behavior, slight misogyny, hinted kidnapping

All he could think about was you.

It was a damp linden night, one of the very few old fashioned ones - as if time itself had stopped. The old colonel was laughing in short sharp breathes, skin spotting in red along with his sweaty neck, tearing into a letter he had received this very morning. The young soldiers were all over the tavern - some crying, some cheering over a beer and calling each glass their last, losing themselves in the rich foam that covered their fresh military mustaches. Christoph was alone, though.

He had no wife to write back to - no home to call his own, no friends or family to celebrate his final battle with. He also wasn't a rookie - so he couldn't drink himself blind in the pursuit of ideals, of empty promises of greatness to come. Truth was, his troops had won their fair share of battles, and today they had signed a treaty that would certainly benefit the district - the one he had lost his youth fighting for. He knew the capital would attempt at invasion, those greedy fucks wanted to bite more than they could chew - but that was no longer his problem. Today his contract ended. Today he was a free man.

And yet.

And yet all he could think about was you.

It was funny - he had spent more nights than he could remember wishing he could burn this half - dead village to the ground, all together with the maidens and the elderly still stick fending for themselves after the war. He presumed he'd be doing everyone a favor - he'd rid himself of the memories that haunted his dreams, and they wouldn't have to suffer any longer, not when all that winter would bring once again was even more hunger and decay.

After all, the victory changed nothing. The starving populace wouldn't starve anymore - it would simply die, having lost fathers, sons, daughters, farmers, merchants, healers. Nothing less than the very foundation of society. So maybe it would be far less cruel, far more humane, to burn everything and let them die with dignity.

But then you too would burn with the miserable souls of the damned. The man pictured it all - your beautiful skin still damp from the rain blistering in red and orange, and eventually black, those gems of yours trembling beneath your long eyelashes as the smoke swallowed your last breath.

The thought made Christoph irrationally angry - jealous even. Not only because he just imagined you dying, but because it was someone, something else stealing your final moment from him. Something else bruising your skin and forcing your lips to swell, something else causing you pain and suffering. No, he couldn't let you die. Not like this.

He couldn't help but recall your first meeting two years ago. Unbeknownst to you he had memorized it, citing each line by heart - envisioning it in his memory over and over each time he needed an escape, an outlet. The soldier wasn't one for softness, never one to dream and hope - but deep down he knew that this simple encounter had swayed the bullets. It had made him grip his rifle just a bit closer, made the biting wind just a bit warmer. He was a killing machine undeserving of humanity - yet you had saved him without even realizing it.

It was a cold winter night - quite opposite to this one, in the middle of Hell. The county your village was part of had been surrounded for a few weeks. Food was running low, and even clean water was scarce. All the men had been displaced a long time ago, sent off to fight in the eastern territories. Christoph was stuck at the Iron hills, a region so poor they didn't even bother to send additional armies to. If it lost, it lost. It held no special resources, no cultural or economic significance, no sea or forest roads to profit off of. All in all, no one wanted to serve here. No one but him.

Not that Christoph was too fond of the hills - it was more so that he didn't care where he was going to die. Whether it was on the eastern front, the western or even on the other side of the ocean, it didn't matter. And he had made peace with that fact - but before death took a toll on him, he was going to earn enough buck to buy good cigarettes for once in his miserable life. With real tobacco, none of that cheap imported trash they sold in his hometown.

And that's exactly how fate let him meet you. He was patrolling the border bridge late into the night - a thick cigar in hand (a parting gift from the general Murphy), humming to an old melody he couldn't quite remember the name of. He was alone that night - his friend had been injured so he needed to rest. The man was trying to stay alert, although the fatigue had long settled in between his tired bones and it refused to let go. The lack of sleep and the sheer paranoia was making him jumpy, ready to point his gun at the slightest of sound. He almost shot you that night.

"Colonel." You had whispered through gritted teeth, slowly raising your hands up as you approached him with a hesitant step. He blinked twice, unsure if he was still awake. Surely there was no way a young woman was out alone so late during wartime. "Colonel!" You repeated, putting a bit more force into your otherwise soft, calm voice. This seemed to snap him out of his trance and he finally raised his head to look at you, his sharp, intense gaze measuring you up from top to bottom. Just like a predator seizing his pray, like a soldier trained to keep his eyes on the target, he knew no other way to introduce himself other than with a silent, unspoken threat.

"A bit young to be calling me that, no?" The man snapped back, voice coming out more raspy than he intended - but it was hardly his fault. He rarely had visitors nowadays - no one wanted to expose themselves to the front lines, to risk becoming smoked meat, which meant he had little opportunity for chatter. So his voice had become rough - almost unnecessary cruel.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, blurry eyes focused on the weapon resting oh - so snuggly against the soldier's heart as if guarding it. "I'm not familiar with your many titles, sir." You explained with a certain bite. Christoph squinted, growing amused at your little jab, yet the black mask covering his mouth hid it from you. The man knew exactly what you meant. You were not used to so much surveillance on your step - on everyone's step, so many eyes set on you as if you had a massive red target on your back. You were not used to armed forces ghosting around your small homely village with a gun resting at an arm's length just waiting to be loaded.

He wondered if it was your first time running into a soldier since the beginning of the occupation. He wondered if you were scared - if your heart was beating against your chest like it was trying to break through the skin. After all he was indeed intimidating - with heavy combat boots and a black uniform that did little to hide his rough figure, the lineage of lean muscle and battered blistered skin that undoubtedly belonged to a man. A man whose hands were still covered in dirt and blood. He could kill you. He could push you around - get some entertainment out of you. He could shove you down and use you like a cheap village whore - and no one would care because that's just how war is. He was serving his country, he needed an outlet, and you just happened to be there. No one would blame him.

He couldn't bring himself to come closer to you. He didn't trust himself to hold back when faced with something so fragile after months of letting his fists and his teeth do the speaking.

"That's lieutenant to you, miss." He barked in a tone that felt familiar - a tone that used to wake him up every morning at 5 for weeks on end. A tone that he could still hear every time he loaded his rifle and let go of the trigger with shaking fingers.

He couldn't be nice to you. He couldn't be nice to anyone in this bloodshed. And yet he heard himself asking you for your name. It hadn't meant anything - it was a long night and he was bored. Lonely, maybe, he couldn't tell his feelings apart very well. You hesitated for a second too long before you finally gave him a clear answer. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard - not just now, but ever.

"Would you mind explaining why you're here so late, miss?" The man tilted his head, trying to understand your unreadable expression - somehow you looked lost in time, striken by fear and grievance. "I believe the general gave direct orders this morning. No one should be out after ten." He paused to take a long, dramatic puff off his cigar. "It's too dangerous. Especially for a pretty little thing like you to be roaming at night." He knew his boldness was making you uneasy, and that he shouldn't derive such obvious pleasure from your discomfort, but he just couldn't help it. He was lonely. He was sick. And most of all, he was a bastard who had already given up on life. He had nothing to lose.

"Truth be told, if you were mine I wouldn't let you out of sight, miss." He grinned, feeling just a bit disgusted with himself. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to scare you. To creep you out so bad you'd never go out alone again. Why he had got so invested so quickly, he also couldn't tell.

"I... I needed a breath of f-fresh air, l-leutenant." You responded quickly, eager to leave this conversation as soon as possible - completely ignoring anything he said. Your initial confidence had evaporated as the wet cold crept into your thin coat. It didn't fit your frame - it was too big on you and it reeked of a man's first proper cologne. The thought of it filled the soldier with unreasonable, hot -red fury, imagining you next to some nameless brat with his hands wrapped around you.

"That's all?" The corners of his lips stretched mockingly as he let his smoke blow into your face - and you had to fight the urge to immediately wave it off.

"Are you, are you implying something, sir?" You fiddled with your fingers nervously, looking anywhere but at Christoph. He found it pathetically adorable. "Just curious." He took another long puff - his breath coming out frozen - white as it hit the icy air. "You don't seem like the brave type to me." His eyes narrowed to two pitch black slits. He must have looked terrifying to you in that moment, and he loved it. "So just what-" He pulled you in by the collar. "Are you doing here, huh?"

You froze in place as if he had pointed his gun to you yet again. You swallowed loudly, trying to come up with an explanation - but nothing came to mind when you were so obviously scared. The soldier could feel your heartbeat - he could hear the blood pumping to your ears as you looked around hopelessly for help that wouldn't come. And just like that the wolf had the rabbit dancing in its own trap.

"Are you just looking for trouble, hmm?" The man reached in to curl his finger around one of your loose locks. He didn't want to make you feel so awfully small - but everything about this situation, from the tremble of your lips to the sheer panic in your eyes was going straight to his cock. "I'm sure that with a face like that you never lacked attention, no?" He tilted his head with predatory malice. "But now all the men bending over backwards for you are off somewhere, dying as we speak. Poor little you - I can imagine just how lonely you are." He pressed his body closer to yours. "The thing is, I am more than willing to play with you in their pl-"

"Please, lieutenant." You couldn't stand to listen to him any longer, a thousand warm pleas already falling off your desperate lips. "Please let me go." Your eyes softened, trying to hide the first sign of hot wet tears. "I need to go home to my siblings. I need to bring them fo-"

"Why should that matter to me, dollface?" It was his turn to interrupt you - voice full of childish glee as he kept up with his petty torment.

"Because - because," You started off, hands shaking into little fists that you knew, realistically, could do the soldiers no damage were you to push against his chest. "Because you're a good man." You mumbled after a while, looking for the right words to say. "And I know that deep down you're kind and brave. That's why you're here now, fighting for all our lives."

You were such a pretty liar, Christoph thought. He could listen to your sugary sweet fairytales all night long, silently praying that they'd become true if he was only able to capture his own little fairy - his own miracle.

"What if I am not the hero, doll?" The man whispered darkly in response, leaning against you until your back hit the tree behind you, trapping you between his stiff body and the pillar. "What if I am here for all the wrong reasons, huh? Just think about it." He lowered his head so it would match your eye level - you were so quiet he wondered if you had forgotten how to breath.

"We're in the middle of nowhere. I have a weapon and a direct permission to shoot at will. I can do whatever the fuck I want." He made sure you could hear every single word clearly. He wouldn't let you faint before he was through with you. "I can fuck you right here in the open - or I can drag you to the barracks and keep you there for as long as I need to. Do you really think anyone would care about some insignificant girl going missin-"

"Please." You repeated, suddenly getting stirn with your pleading, as if you too had nothing to lose. "Let me go - I'd do anything."

His eyes darkened - then lit up with sick, perverse desire. He wanted to echo your words back to you just like a classical villain would - to really drive the point across that he was out for blood. Anything, you say? Anything at all? But he couldn't contain his excitement enough to voice those sadistically banal thoughts. Besides, he could already feel the adrenaline running through his whole body. His heart was beating rhythmically, pumping and alive for the first time in days, weeks, months. He wanted you more than anything. It was that moment he knew he was going to live - he was going to fight and win, and then come back for you as a hero. As your hero, even if in your eyes he would be more of a villain.

A nightmare you'd try to forget - and just when you think you have erased his fingertips off your waist, your face, your neck, he'd come back to steal you away forever.

"Kiss me." Christoph all but snarled, some unfamiliar, needy - greedy ball of emotion settling into his loins as your delicate face twisted into a petrified grimace. You began trembling in his arms, looking around yet again. It was pitch black, no soul in sight. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your movement to no avail. "A-alright. I-I..." You whispered with difficulty as if simply saying the words was causing you a great deal of pain. And maybe it was, but the soldier could care less. He already knew you were made for him - made to serve him, made to make him happy. "I'll d-do it."

The man growled in satisfaction, taking a small step back. You looked at him, puzzled - your confused face was just as cute as your scared one. He couldn't wait to explore all your reactions - the way you'd squirm and writhe underneath him as he fucked into you restlessly, filling you up with his love over and over again until you were crying for mercy. But that had to wait, he had a war to fight. For now he could settle for a little taste of you to keep him warm during the cold nights. And just like that he tapped his lips, guiding you silently. You felt your cheeks heat up once you finally understood what he meant by that. He wasn't going to kiss you. He wanted you to put in the work.

Your eyes filled up with tears, and you felt silly for becoming so upset over a little kiss - but this was your first kiss, and you had to give it to a monster. It was certainly better than the alternative, with the alternative being rape in a filthy military cottage, but it still made you feel dirty all over. Yet, you had no choice. You took a step towards the man - you could feel the suffocating warmth radiating off his body towards yours, and if the situation wasn't so grim, you might have been grateful for another human's heat in the freezing cold. But now all you could feel was dread.

You stood on your tip toes, a shaky hand reaching out to cup the stranger's face. Cristoph smirked, complecent at your obedience. You licked your lips and slowly, hesitantly pressed them against his, just barely touching at all.

He groaned, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He grabbed you and pulled you in roughly, squeezing you like a plush toy. He deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth, finding heaven between your soft, sweet lips and broken whimpers. You were so innocent. So lost. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let go. He wanted to keep kissing you until your lips turned blue, until it hurt to speak.

And then you pushed him off just like that, using your own body as a distraction. He tripped backwards, too shocked and lost in sensation to stop you. He smiled at your final act of defiance. It was, of course, adorable and so painfully you, yet it didn't really matter - not in the long run. You had only suceeded in making him want you more.

But that was two years ago. Now the war was finally over. Now he had enough to start a new life. Now he was a free man.

And he was coming back for you.

[lady-ashfade]

Matching flames

Percy Jackson x Soulmate!Reader

-£ Ask: Percy x reader who's his soul mate and he only finds out when she almost dies (could be trying to save him or just because life as a demigod is hard) @poemfreak306

-£ words: 2k

-£ Warnings: Reader being injured, soulmate au, blood & cuts, reader almost dying, angsty, comfort at the end, cursing?? (You can also imagine any Percy you want in this)

Could you count all the stars in the sky?

It was almost peaceful looking up at the stars, mind going blank and your body numb. they looked so beautiful and you realize you’ve never quite looked closely at them. burning rocks floating in space that somehow was the cause of so many poems and love stories. if only you had noticed it sooner.

Blood leaked out of your side and the hand you placed over it started to give up trying to put pressure on the wound. The monster who chased you for miles had finally got to you after being so close to camp, to being safe and sound, when it’s claws finally got ahold of you. Its sharp nails dragged into your skin ripping your clothes and stained them with the blood immediately pouring out. thankfully you had one stroke of luck when your dagger pierced its heart and it was quick to fall.

Not much time has passed since then, however it was enough time for you to loss too much blood.

Had the stars always been that pretty? Just a thought as your eyes blur and the only thing left to feel was the thoughts in your head. The sweet smile of your moral parent’s smile, how it felt to laugh with friends and how some part of you still felt on fire. The shore of the camp’s lake appeared in your mind, and sand beneath your feet as you look at someone’s figure. The smile on their face was so familiar…Maybe it was death being nice to you.

you tried to keep your eyes open but they were just too heavy. maybe you could just rest for a few minutes. there was a sense of warmth that took over your body once more as your eyes fade closed.

“He’s coming, not long little one.”

the campfire wasn’t his focus at the moment but he found himself staring into it as his thoughts ran wild. he had just back to camp but this year was so much different. there was so much on his mind that he just couldn’t focus on one thing. about his mother, his father and how he still couldn’t believe he was a Demi god. even after a long time it just wasn’t normal to him.

then a hiss leaves his lips as he clings to his side in pain. it was stinging and felt on fire. he knew how being wounded felt like all to well but nothing happened, he was just sitting. then his finger felt funny like pins and needles stabbed him all at once. from his left annabeth looks at him worried and looking of his confused face.

“What’s wrong?” But the boy just stared at himself as the pain faded away but his hand became numb and weird. He spun it around a few times to look over it, checking for anything causing it but found nothing. not even a bug.

it was your smile that popped in his head. the warm shoulder he always laid on, he could hear the laugh you had ringing in his ears. why? his name was called from your soft lips but it wasn’t like normal, he saw your lips with blood from the corner. reaching out to him like he was your only hope.

“Y/n.” He stood up immediately at the image in his head. looking around for you in the crowd of campers he didn’t find you with your siblings or around your friends. annebeth looked at him worried and stood up with him, “what is it?”

he knew those trees. he’s seen then a million times. percy knew the grass, but this was different from actually knowing where you were. something was tugging his body and he didn’t need ask where you were. he knew.

his feet moved on their own and he practically ran where they took him and only thought of you. Annebeth stayed behind and told Mr.d that something might be wrong. Percy felt off and not the normal kind he always did. his body felt weaker like it was losing its life. his chest felt off and his heart filled with sorrow.

so when he found you laying in a pool of your own blood he was quick to fall next to you. “y/n” he called out. he checked for a pulse but couldn’t do it right so he leaned next to your nose and listened for your breathing and thankfully he felt some. his heart was pounding when he saw the cuts on your body making his mind wonder to what could have done it. the camp was just a few feet away and you could have been safe.

“Don’t die,” he begged and places his arm under your head, “this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” his words didn’t make sense to him when he spoke. how was it supposed to be? what was he talking about.

the new light in the sky made him look up to a shooting star shoot cross the sky. it was truly beautiful. something around his finger pulled again and he felt the small feeling of string so when he looked down it was red and tied around him. following the line he found it connected to you. The string of fate.

his string was tied to yours. you were his soulmate.

“no, no” he wrapped another arm under your legs and left you up slightly. he was staring at your face with tears pooling themselves in his eyes. for the first time he was finally seeing you as what you were. his. but how could the gods be so cruel to take you way from him. Percy wouldn’t let that happen. he’d fight hades himself for you back.

“just stay with me.” there he was carrying you passed the camp line to get you to the infirmary. even in the near death you looked stunning as you away did. he was just to stupid to see it before. 

when they took you away from him he was quiet and stood outside the door and refused to leave. percy even refused to leave the room at first but was yelled at and pushed out, so he had no choice but to leave your side. how could he just stay outside when he could lose the one person that was supposedly to stay with him, to love him, and who was supposed to be with him always? how could he just sit still when he was going to lose it all?

his friends came to sit with him and offered him some kind words and reassurance but not much helped. he just sat down on a chair with his legs bouncing and hands fiddling with themselves as all he could think is about you. about the cuts on your skin and all the blood.

luckily they had gotten you somewhat healed, making you stable and fine. just had to wait for your body to heal.

“Percy,” annabeth poked his shoulder as he stared at the floor. they had left and he could go in now but he didn’t notice. “you can go in now.” Percy turn quickly to her and then at the door wide open now. so he sprinted up and inside to find you laying on the bed peacefully sleeping. annabeth didn’t follow him in because he needed a moment alone. she’d let him have his moment

Percy sat beside your bed the whole time you slept. he’d fed you. he’d brushed your hair out of your face and watched you closely as if someone was out to get you. his hand was always ready to pull out riptide in case but nothing dangerous ever came. his hand stayed in yours while he whispered for you to wake up and how much he was sorry.

“Should have realized it before,” he whispered as he leaned near you. “gosh, I’m such a idiot.” he sighed to himself and ran his eyes over you.

His hands rubbed your own, “Just wake up and I’ll make up for it. For all the time we lost, just let me love you.” His lips pressed to your head as you continued to sleep unknowing to his words but your body healing by having him close.

two days of not getting much sleep himself you’d waken up. his head resting next to your leg as he sat in a chair with his hand on yours, his hair messy. you didn’t remember coming to the infirmary or how you got here. and not percy holding your hand. but you couldn’t let go off it because it was to comfortable like it was made to fit in yours.

when you moved your body since it felt so stiff from probably not moving in days you’d accidentally woke him up. you felt bad as he shot up quickly and looked around panicked with his hand going to his side, probably reaching for riptide. once his eyes found yours it made your heart sink into your lower stomach. under his eyes were black circles and his eyes looked so painful that it broke you, like he’d been crying. he was paler then normal.

A sad smile broke onto his face, he was relieved to see you awake. He let out a small chuckle as his eyes almost filled with tears when he jumped forward you take your head into his chest as a small hug. “Welcome back,” you froze at his hug but let him have his moment. of course you smiled and wrapped your arms around him too. It was nice.

“Percy, how long was I out…How did I get here?” Pulling himself back with a red tint in his chest he sat back down.

“I found you outside the barrier. Y/n, I thought you were dead, you were barely breathing.” his voice broke. “but I got you here and now you’re awake. not dead,” there was that damn smiling again that pained you, like he was convincing his demons something.

humming and nodding your head along you look at your side to see it healed, lifting up your shirt just a little and saw a scar on your skin. it made you frown knowing how big it would be. “If it means anything, I think you’d look badass.” you put your shirt back down and look at him.

he was trying to make you feel better. “Percy when I was- When I closed my eyes I heard something and my body, well it felt different. Do you know anything about that?” his heart skipped a beat and his eyes slightly going wide.

was it obvious how fluster he was? was his skin as red as a tomato, did he look like a fool? “I have to tell you something.” Percy played with his own hands again and looked away for a second. you swing your legs to the side of the bed to stretch.

“Go ahead.”

You watched him closely and you could see he was working himself up to speak. how his body bounced and twitched, he was turning redder by the second. he was cute. and you yourself found your own cheeks turning hot when you looked at him.

“I saw you at the campfire in my mind. I could feel the pain you felt, or somewhat, like I was dying. my body was pulling me to you and I knew exactly where to find you without having to look.” As he explained you listened carefully and tilted your head to the side.

“then I saw it. The red string of fate tied to my finger. I saw a shooting star, then I saw your string tied to my. And for the first time I saw you for the first time, as my soulmate.”

“Oh.” Damnit. That was bad.

Percy nodded and now started to shut down as he watched you, your brain moving to figure out what to say. he just ruined everything. you wished to not be his soulmate, that was it. he didn’t blame you. Percy brought danger whereever he went.

But that wasn’t it. you had been thinking something else. everything made sense to you now. why you looked at him when no one else was looking. why he made you feel high in the clouds when he was near. and how he just fit so well in your life without trying. “Percy,” you call out to him again and move closer and scoot to the end of the bed with your feet hitting the floor.

you should have known from his eyes. as they look at you now it just hit you like bricks, how they were so powerful. as you take his cheek in your hands his breath hitches and holds in his chest. “i’m glad you’re my soulmate.”

he pulled you close to him and held you so tight in how arms as you giggled at how happy he seemed. his laugh made your stomach fill with butterflies. “I’ll make you happy.” And that you had no doubt about. you pulled back from his grasp and looked at his lips. you needed to kiss him. and Percy knew what you were thinking and wanted the same.

his face moved forward as his kiss captured yours in a soft but passive kiss, his hands moving to wrap themselves around your body as yours wrapped around his neck. it was nice but didn’t end short. after all you both waited for a long time to feel the love of a soulmate and you didn’t know that you craved it this badly.

The stars never lied when it comes to love. And now you knew that he was the burning fire within you.

[lowkeyren]

FOR HIS HEART CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!

in which — dan feng can’t imagine a life without you. so even when death takes your hand, he'll hold on to your other and do anything to get you back in his embrace, no matter the consequences.

pairing — dan f/heng x gn!reader

wc: 2.5k, lovers to enemies, you both are lowkey bad with feelings LOL, i lied when i said there's an alternative ending for hurt/comfort enjoyers, now suffer. (reblogs w comments are appreciated, pls enjoy <3) ps. dividers aren't working cus tumblr is being mean to me so using dashes instead ARRHGHGHG

—

lying in your shared bed, your breathing grows increasingly shallow, your hands tremble uncontrollably, signaling another episode of your deteriorating condition. the dim, cold room feels oppressive as you catch the distant echoes of the best physicians from all around xianzhou, their hurried steps reverberating against the walls as they hasten to your side.

dan feng tightens his grip on your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, his expression etched with concern. the smell of herbal remedies and the sharp scent of sickness fills the air, mingling with the mustiness of the stone walls; a familiar sense of dread washes over you as you struggle with each breath.

his brows are furrowed, and his lips are pressed into a thin line, his knuckles turning white from the tightness of his grip on your hands. the pressure is so intense that it almost hurts —almost, but not quite enough to cause you (more) pain. he would never hurt you, not even over his own grave.

despite the best efforts of your personal caregivers, the limitations of medical knowledge, and the uncertainty of your treatments are harsh realities you have to face. it fills him with anguish to witness your episodes almost daily —suddenly collapsing in his arms, gasping for breath; moments like these are where he feels like he's standing right beside your deathbed, desperately hoping for signs of improvement each time you open your eyes again. 

it kills him that there's nothing he can do but watch over you, he watches as you waste away before his eyes, feeling a piece of himself wither away in tandem. 

dan feng’s eyes search yours the moment you regain consciousness, the doctors respectfully step back, bowing before hurriedly exiting the room. his heart breaks into a million pieces when he sees your eyes that were once bright with joy, now clouded with tears. the sight pierces through him, stirring a deep ache in his chest.

"dan feng," you whisper hoarsely, your voice fragile with pain. “it hurts, it hurts so much…” he presses a soft kiss against your entwined hand, his touch a soothing balm amidst the storm raging within him. “don’t worry,” he murmurs softly, “i’ll make it go away soon, i swear.”

“thank you.. but promise me, if i don't make it, you'll find a way to move on.” you manage a weak smile through the pain. his eyes glisten with unshed tears, he shakes his head slightly, "i won’t let that happen." 

of course he won’t. you were the kindest, most lovely soul before this godforsaken unknown illness with no definitive cure stole your life away; he sees your smile slowly losing its radiance, and your eyes dulling as each day passes. 

“this body… it’s useless, i’m useless. i’m sorry, i—” dan feng places a finger against your lips. his touch tender yet firm, stopping your words. "don't say that," his voice choking with emotion. "you're not useless, in fact you're the strongest person i know."

hearing you utter such self loathing words is like a dagger twisting in his heart, tipping him over the edge. you, who have always been his anchor in life's turbulent seas, slipping away feels like fragile glass shattering into countless shards, leaving him scattered and irreparable, each piece cutting deeper into his core with every breath.

he can't face the idea of losing you. it destroys him from within, even more so now that time is running out. but he won’t let anyone else have you, not even the cold hands of death. for you, he’s willing to pay any price, even if it means he has to break the highest laws of xianzhou.

—

you wake up feeling unusually energized, a stark contrast to the persistent aches and pains that have haunted you for so long. as you sit up, the familiar discomforts are no longer present, instead replaced by an almost surreal sense of vitality.

but something feels strangely off, an unsettling sensation gnawing at the edges of your awareness. your eyes dart around the room, frantically searching for your boyfriend’s presence; he has never left your side without a word (his protectiveness wouldn't allow it anyway), especially not for this long. 

panic flares as you look down at your body. the surgical wounds that once marked your skin have vanished without a trace. your breath catches in your throat as you run your fingers over the smooth, unblemished surface where scars should be.

you push back the covers and swing your legs over the side of the bed, struggling to piece together what could have happened.

where is dan feng? is he in trouble? and, why do you feel so... alive? 

then, a chilling realisation dawns on you. you try to shake the thought from your mind, but no matter how hard you try, you aren’t able to find any other explanation that fits your condition. as the high elder, dan feng should know better than anyone that such an act is a sin —a disgrace...

the truth begins to settle in, he really did sacrifice everything to grant you immortality.

—

“you’re literally the high elder for god's sake, what have you done?!” you exclaim, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and anger.

dan feng's expression is pained as he meets your gaze, his own eyes filled with a desperate resolve. “i’m only trying to help you. you don’t understand, i—”

“help me?” you cut in sharply, scoffing. “you betrayed xianzhou! you betrayed me. i was ready to let go, so why?” 

he reaches out to you, his hand stopping, and hovering in mid air as if unsure whether to touch you. "i can't bear to lose you," he confesses, his voice barely a whisper. "i can’t just stand by and watch you suffer when i have the power to save you."

tears well up in your eyes, the room feels suffocatingly small as you stand in front of him. for the first time, you find yourself on opposite sides of the battlefield, the weight of his transgression hangs heavy between you, tearing apart everything you once knew. 

“by defying everything we stand for?” you choke out, your words laced with venom. “do you realise just what you’ve done?” he takes a step closer, his face etching with anguish. "i know i’ve made a grave mistake." he admits, “but will you believe me if i say that i didn’t regret it one bit?”

“how can you do all this… for love?” your eyes search his for answers that seem unfathomable. “no, my dear, for you.”  he steps closer, his breath warm against your skin, gaze locking onto yours with an almost desperate intensity. 

"but how can i ever love you again after this?" you whisper, your voice trembling. his heart shatters at how your eyes taint with fear and betrayal, the sight wrapping around his chest like a vice. the mere thought of losing you, of seeing you banished because of his desperation, is a torment he can hardly bear —but now one that he has to face.

"if you can't accept what i've done, i'll grant your wish, whatever it is.” he murmurs. “for you, i’m willing to pay any price." 

though when bound in chains, his title of high elder does little to shield him from the repercussions of breaking the sacred laws. he’s taken away; his fate sealed by the very rules he broke. and you, the one he tried to save, find yourself exiled, cast out for the sin you never chose.

as you wander, lost and alone, the realisation of what he gave up for you lingers, a bittersweet reminder of his love that defied everything, yet cost you both so much. 

—

the land of xianzhou is something dan heng is strangely familiar with; he walks through the maze of narrow alleys and crowded squares, every corner seems to whisper fragments of memories long buried. 

“dan heng! look, isn’t this so cool?!” the excited voice of a pink haired girl reaches his ears. her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm as she animatedly gestures towards a nearby market stall with hand-carved trinkets. she continues to gush over the intricate designs while holding the hand of her grey haired companion, eagerly dragging them towards the stall.

his eyes follows them as their silhouette grows smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing amidst the crowd. just then, another figure in the distance catches his attention.

it’s a brief glimpse, a fleeting moment where your eyes meet across the street. perhaps it's your mannerisms, your familiar gestures, or simply the way you carry yourself —whatever it is, it stirs a rush of adrenaline, a sense of déjà vu that he can’t quite shake.

dan heng pushes through the bustling throng, eyes darting frantically in search of you. the world blurs around him as he focuses solely on catching another glimpse of you; he spots you slipping into a narrow alleyway, and without hesitation, he follows.

the noise of the market fades into a distant hum as his footsteps echo softly against the alley walls. he turns a corner and sees you up ahead, your figure outlined by the dim light filtering through cracks in the buildings.

you soon reach a dead end, but as you turn to leave, you bump into someone’s chest. the world seems to stand still for a moment, dan heng's breath catches in his throat as he looks down at you. although your face is partially obscured by a thin veil, your features are still discernible. 

“oh? it seems you still remember me.” you finally meet his gaze. those eyes he cherished so dearly still hold a spark of life. “[name]?” he murmurs, the sound of your name still so intimate on his lips after many years.

“you haven’t changed one bit.” he reaches out to gently push the veil covering your face aside. a flood of memories rushes through his mind, one a sharp pang in his heart. seeing you again triggers a vivid recollection of the exact place and position you were in years ago, a memory that stings to recall.

“i wonder whose fault it is?” you tilt your head, if only he knew the trouble you went through to find him again; given that goodbyes were never exchanged between you, it seems fitting to offer one now.

before he can say a word, you swiftly grab his collar and wedge him firmly against the wall. he doesn’t resist even when he feels the cold sharp edge of your dagger pressing against his throat, his gaze still fixing firmly on yours. 

"have you ever felt remorse?" you lean closer into him, your voice is barely audible through your gritted teeth. he ignores your question; unexpectedly, he grips your hand, dragging the blade down to his chest, positioning the point directly over his heart. 

"as long as my blood is on your hands, go ahead, do it." he whispers, his voice steady despite the tension. "my heart has always been yours anyway." his eyes bore into yours as if daring you to follow through. 

his grip on your hand tightens, urging you closer. "and if this is what it takes to ease your pain, then i'm ready."

"...what? you must be out of your mind if you think this way of making amends will work." your disbelief is clear in your voice; you try to shake his hand away, but he refuses to budge. 

dan feng couldn’t imagine a life without you, so when death takes your hand, he holds on to your other —and finds you again as dan heng. even as he gets on his knees and begs for your forgiveness, he still holds on to your hand as tightly as he can, afraid that any moment you might slip through his fingers.

“i’m sorry, i just couldn’t accept the thought of you leaving me.” and i still can’t, so please don’t leave me again.

you feel your willpower wavering, his very being melting away at your resolve. it's too much to bear, and you feel yourself slipping under the weight of his words. even still, you find yourself struggling to deny him. to deny yourself. to deny your own feelings. 

you fight the urge to simply give in, torn between the desire to just let go and fall into the sweet oblivion of his embrace, and the fear of getting sucked back into a cycle of destruction and pain. the weight of all that history, all those memories of your bittersweet love, it's overwhelming, nearly crushing.

“i know.” your heart aches, but you still deny the crave of the comfort of his arms. “and you’re not wrong,” the dagger clatters to the ground, the metallic sound echoing through the alleyway. 

“your heart is mine.” you push the veil to cover your face, placing your hands on his shoulder, leaning in. the cool silk brush against his parted lips, and oh… he’s been waiting so, so long for this moment.

though you pull away just as he comes to his senses. for the first time in years, he sees your smile again —the same smile that first captivated him, the one he had cherished and sought to preserve over the years. 

"remember the wish you owe me?" he nods, unable to find words. the memory of his promise resurfaces with startling clarity, his mind racing with the possibilities of what you might ask for. 

—

dan heng looks in the dagger's reflection; a dishevelled and broken man stares back.

the cold metal digs deep into his palm, the sharp edge slicing into his skin. in that moment, he wants nothing more than to be free of it, than to plunge the blade into his own heart. he feels the pain all over again, the pain of not being able to hold you, to touch you, to be with you.

for he knows that no matter how tightly he grips the dagger, it will never be the same as holding your hand. he knows that no matter how deeply it cuts into his flesh, it will never feel the same as holding you close.

“i wish i never loved you.” your words echo painfully in his mind. “and i hope we never cross paths again. goodbye, dan feng.” he releases the dagger with a sudden twist of his arm.

if choosing you over xianzhou was wrong, then consider him a sinner, and if loving you this much is his downfall, then consider him already on his knees.

but was it worth everything? was it worth it to see the look of utter desperation on his face? was it worth it to see him break apart in front of you? you feel only resentment and satisfaction; you made him feel what you wanted him to feel, you made him suffer for you.

the blade falls from his grasp, he stands amidst the shards of shattered illusions; the pain of your absence cuts deeper than any blade ever could. 

perhaps in another lifetime, he can find you again. 

for now, he honors your wish and only watches as you live on from the sidelines, yearning to be a part of your life again, even if only in his thoughts and dreams. he remains steadfast in his longing, a silent witness to the unspoken ache that lingers in the wake of your parting words.

—

masterlist

©lowkeyren 2024 only on tumblr. please do not plagiarize, translate, repost on other platforms, or feed my works into ai.

author's notes!! (my line of thought when writing this lul)

1. you made him suffer for you. -> irony. vengeance. he made you suffer BECAUSE of him granting you immortality. 2. dragging the blade down to his chest, positioning the point directly over his heart. = "my heart has always been yours anyway." -> which reader says with “your heart is mine.” 3. “and i hope we never cross paths again. goodbye, dan feng.” -> reader refers to dan heng as dan feng, i wonder what that means. 4. perhaps in another lifetime, he can find you again. -> you're both evil asf ngl, yes he will find you, you can't die aka you can't leave (him). ^ the only reason why he doesn't keep pursuing u now is cus he promised to grant your wish which is "to never cross paths again". (wow, he's such a man of his words.) 5. reader kisses dh over the veil, deliberately denying him the satisfaction of any intimacy. can be seen as a form of "punishment", leaving him yearning for more.

ty for reading xx for each reblog i will write 100 words for pt2 /j (BUT DO REBLOG IF U ENJOYED!! and it might not be a slash jay after all heuehehheh)

[tarjapearce]

Heathens (Pt. 1)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun!Reader

art by @maxro_art on IG (Her Deliverance AU is ❤️❤️🤌🏻)

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If you're sensitive regarding religion, please don't read this. Masturbation in holy places, explicit language, wet dreams, Female anatomy, oral ( F receiving) Gentle Dom Miguel, Corruption kink, overused tropes cause yeah, a tinge of yandere undertones if you squint, mutual lust, Not Proofread ~

Summary: Father O'Hara had a little lamb ~

A/N: Another for the Miguelverse ~ Reblogs and comments are much appreciated c:

Main Masterlist

From all the places you could've find solace from war, The house of God was the least of lieus in your list. Not that you had a choice.

Family long gone after unsuspected explosions decimated your town, followed by constant tragedies such as losing friends along the way either by enemy and merciless hands or sickness. In the end, it was only you. You had outlived them all despite your short age. And now, they lived crammed up in your memories.

Happy, smiling and very much alive. Sometimes you'd see familiar faces on stranger's bodies. Grief had slowly nested within your soul and when all hope seemed lost, the chapel had saved you from what surely would end up in your premature death.

The blackest of black matched the crispest white you had ever seen, they were all donned in their beatific robes, prayer beads dangling at every gentle step they did. And there it was, epiphany unfolding itself before your experienced in horror eyes. It was your call.

All the answers to your laments and aching heart were sent as them. Nuns of the Mistbourne Parish. A church located in the outskirts of a now rundown by conflict Nueva York. The church that now played a major role in taking in as much people within their sacred walls, before they could be dispatched to a more adequate place.

Without hesitation, you had joined. And now, six years later you still remained with them. Early twenties had settled right for you as a nun. Ever devoted, compassionate, and diligent.

As time went on, the main city was reconstructed, burying it's dark tragedy under freshly built towers, hiding the pain under the rugged carpet full of concrete and wire homes, like nothing ever happened. Like if war had never stepped upon it and gave it a much needed renewal at people's lives expenses.

But no matter how many changes time brought, life in Mistbourne's Parish remained the same. Untouched by the technological advances from the outer world. There was always something to do, as simple as it was. And so far, you've been satisfied with it.

The only alterations worth of mention was your holy family expanding.

A new couple additions to the staff. More sisters, an eighty percent of them were beyond fifty. You were the youngest, their child. After all some ended up raising you within the house.

And him. The new priest.

The tallest and bulkiest man you've ever seen. As much as staring was considered rude and borderline a sin, it was unavoidable to do so, when his rusty brown eyes fell upon you. Their color unique, like he was. Never in your life had you seen someone like him, or another man besides the butcher and the guard. He had definitely been a regular man before coming here.

The soft weary expression lines in his sharp countenance revealed his own fair of lived experiences.

He towered over you, crisp white dot on his black rimmed neck line, parading his status with modest pride, and golden praying beads dangling on his narrow hips, you held yours while asking forgiveness for keep staring.

"Father."

Father O'Hara. In his mid thirties, broken family also torn by war, wearing his vows in the shape of a ring on his right hand.

"Sister"

His voice deep yet gentle, like a lullaby. His steps took him away to his own residence. The rectory outside the church.

It made sense as to how some workers were renovating it in the past few weeks. The parish last priest had been sent off in sacred duties, only to realize later that he had killed a man. Cops and detectives surely made a show out of it.

Dark times, according to Sister Lianne, one of your mother figures. But now, Father O'Hara had taken his place, erasing all traces of the previous man with concise and pithy actions.

He took his role seriously. Said masses on sundays, visited the sick, baptized people; but his most popular feat was to hear the confessions. The most intimate secrets revealed to him by either your fellow sisters or people from the town that came to expiate their sins in hope to be forgiven.

You'd sometimes run into each other, bumping casually in the narrow wooden floored halls, you'd often apologize, only to reciprocate a polite smile on both ends. He'd sometimes help you out by carrying things a bit too heavy, or you'd help him out lighting up the altar for his speech.

Yet, his hands in one occasion took an accidental taste of your body dimensions underneath your beatific robes, while preventing you from falling down the stairs. He'd scold you for being careless and carrying things that obscured your sight.

After many sorries on your behalf, you returned to the cells and went straight to your own dorm, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His hands felt burning upon remembering the dents of your form, the curve of your waist and certainly the warmth that irradiated from you, so so close from his.

Unexpectedly it had brought memories from his past. His old life where he'd have his lovely and temporary companion for the night impaled deliciously with himself before war and hell broke loose. Before he was forced by the subversives that raided his town to create a new fake identity in the spot as they heard him speak spanish or fight a war he hadn't started, much less would end. And so, his life as Father O'Hara begun.

Odd enough, the sudden and thoughtless choice had granted him peace after witnessing so many terrors his fellow human could be capable of. His need of help has always been stronger than anything and when he finished licencing some sacrifices were required.

Poverty vows weren't an issue since his previous life had been modest yet good enough to go by. Little difference between his current lifestyle.

The obedience vow took him a little longer to fully yield. But he accomplished it to a T, just to avoid more trouble. He faked it until he made it.

His chastity vow had been a quite the challenge to perfect, but no matter how much the temptations paraded before him in the many parishes he was assigned to, he didn't give in. His libido had been sapped out of his body, like a campfire after completing it's useful cycle.

Not because of his brand new sanctity invested by holier-than-thou elders, but rather a broken mind full of grievance and other negatives that always haunted him. The gunshots and bombings too fresh in his mind.

It had been years since he touched someone in a way that wasn't holy. Since he had provoked things in someone else that clearly would make him go under the laicization from the clergy without second guessings.

Until he held you the other day.

Both of your eyes too enraptured in eachother that had sent an igniting spark to his spine. Reviving all those inactive nerves he thought his existencial toll severed long ago. His eyes had gave a brief rake over your face.

Wide and round eyes staring back, both in awe and surprise straight into his soul. Nose flaring softly just like your mouth, whose bottom lip trembled at the little erratic breaths your lungs exhaled upon being in physical contact with a man for the first time in ever, while cheeks bloomed with a not so discreet flush. And your body heat.

Jesus all mighty.

It was dangerously tempting. For a brief moment his past self had taken over, but quickly vanished upon hearing steps. Earning you to fix your crucifix and cowl nervously and him to fist his hands to refrain himself to take another taste and fix his collar and cassock.

To his conclusion, the robes you wore did not match what was underneath. He noted much, but having you wear that loose habit only fuelled his now active and sinful imagination. An opposite from your habits' purpose.

Priest life was hard, and the Celibacy vows were his biggest damnation. Mind often plagued with 'I shouldn't have done this.' 'This is ridiculous' 'Fucking idiot' 'Why did I even lie about this?' But even so, priesthood was better than ending up dead or mutilated by mines somewhere in the battlefield, in the middle of a war he didn't started, much less would end.

Government later was forcibly recruiting all those men, be them widowed or married. It didn't matter. War wasn't for him. Neither Priesthood.

But he'd bear it. He'd bear it until he was put in another parish church full of older and witty ladies he'd definitely wouldn't lust after.

----

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sweet voice behind the confessional punctured walls, perked up his ears. He had memorized a lot of things, your voice included.

"I... I haven't confessed in weeks. But it grows me concerned that... my mind is somewhere else."

Silence. You were met with silence as expected, it also encouraged you to keep talking.

"A man has flooded my thoughts and no matter how much I try to occupy myself, he's there. Leading me to temptation and sin."

A man?

His brow quirked as he slanted over the little wooden division between you, to hear better and take a peek on your face. The only men he could think of was the guard, the butcher and himself. The only men inhabiting the same area as you.

"How does this man tempts you?"

"He... He visits. In my dreams I mean and..."

A low 'forgive me, God' echoed in your stall. His throat dried and his hands rested on each side of his knees, gripping at the fabric of his pants.

"He does things I know I shouldn't partake in... But, it feels too real."

"You sound scared. Does it frightens you?"

"Very much so. But it is a strange sort of fear, Father."

"What kind of fear then?"

It took you a long pause to muster

"A fear of him stopping his visits in my mind."

He gulped.

Your hands took the crucifix and held it tighter, "For him to stop doing such sinful things to me, even in my dreams."

"Have you sinned in the carnal affairs?"

"N-No. I would never. I've never engaged in them, Father."

His groin twitched, as a hand raked over his scalp. A shaky breath that was forced to come out in silence. Only when he thought you couldn't be more innocent, there you were proving him wrong.

"Ever?"

"I promise to you with my life, I've never."

"I must know" He wetted his lips with his tongue, "What kind of things does this man does to you?"

"W-What?"

Your spine straightened up instantly, eyes wild, staring another hole into the already punctured division. Cinnamon color in his skin, the only brief glimpse you managed to see. But even so, his gentle yet cornering voice brought you down from your initial jump.

"I need to know, so I can dictate a penance."

The flush on your cheeks returned, burning bright upon remembering the all too lucid dream you've been having about your secret man. That, even though visited frequently, you still didn't know his face, just his body as it smothered yours wholy in a constant merciless and scorching rut.

All what you remembered was him feasting between your legs like a starved man. His hands maneuvering your soft mounds to then give a gentle squeeze.

"His hands are the ones that bring the sin, Father."

"Explain yourself"

His voice was sultry, buttery rich and smooth on the other side of the stall. A subtle order. To your dismay, that same demon had a similar voice tone. Alluring, speaking to you in a foreign language it had you mewling and asking for forgiveness every time you remembered, cause you had begged the faceless man for more.

"He touches and... t-tastes places I shouldn't allow no man to delve in." With a thick gulp you continued, "His tongue is... marvelous."

His eyes widened for a second as his hand hovered over his crotch

"Marvelous?"

"I feel the biggest sinner by admitting this. Please, do forgive me."

"Accountability is part of the process."

He tried to sound as professional as he could, but little did you know his mind was torturing his already crumbling resolve with such vivid details. Celibacy wasn't a problem, until now. Hearing such sinful words coming from such a unsuspecting thing like yourself, a virgin that is, made his old self to re-emerge.

Disguising himself as a sheep, while he fought through his holy learning years to tame his wolfish appetite.

There were plenty of ewes in the flock , but so far the only one that made his mouth water was you. A perfect little lamb. And now, this. We're you set to making him break his vows?

No. You weren't. He was reaching his limits to break celibacy and you were just having wet dreams about someone that definitely made him wonder about your past life. A past lover? No. Not even that. A possession? A demon? No. Definitely not.

He had heard things whenever on lunch duty. Mindless talk that revealed more to him from others and you than they intended to. You, a nun. Picked up from a ravaged village nearby and raised within  the nuns, meaning, you had zero idea of what pleasure meant.

He believed, but wasn't a complete blinded idiot to faith. Your body was asking for physical and forbidden relief. Just like his.

But again, the golden band around his right hand not only forbid but also was the perpetual reminder of what was a stake.

"I know, Father. But... this man has such power over me that has pushed me to sin. He... he has pushed me to take such vulgar matters in my own hands."

Maker's mercy

His cock twitched harder and he was unable hold back and gave a firm  squeeze while biting his lip to quiet himself at the long forgotten and heady pleasure that was drowning his body in an alarming rate.

As if done of being fed lies and a quick and sloppy handjob for ages. It was disgusting how easy was to sin, how well his body ached and reacted to such stimulus. How effortlessly his old habits had caught up to him.

He was the one that needed a penance now, cause he couldn't shake the image of you spread with your legs wide open, naked, sliding your fingers in between your weeping folds. You'd certainly have your mouth shut or lips bitten to avoid having anyone hear you.

He had closed his eyes while his jaw clenched, occasionally sweeping his tongue over his lips to keep them moist.

"Say it. Say your sin."

He commanded in a voice that had your cheeks flustered and your pearly nub a throb. His hand half squeezed half stroked over his clothed groin. Swollen and needy cock begging to be set free and properly taken care of.

"I..." A dry gulp and your hands went to your crotch, begging your nature to behave. Cheeks impossibly red.

"I've enjoyed touching myself after dreaming a man... f-fucks me, Father."

The word 'fuck' coming out your delicious looking yet pure lips, had his teeth gnawing at the insides of his cheek, self control harder to keep under the leash. It barked, howled even demanded for more explicit details.

Instead, he sighed quietly and cleared his throat. The sudden noise had you gripping the skirt of your habit in shame.

Miguel didn't say much besides the prayer of absolution and a couple of more prayers as your penance. The same right hand that was squeezing his cock was now being kissed by you, to confirm your forgiveness. Plump, warm and soft lips caressed his ring finger.

And once you were gone, his hand took control on its own, slid under his soutane to stroke himself. If you felt like a sinner, he was the devil himself.

The vice like grip in his own cock made him shudder, sensation foreign yet so welcoming after years without it. A little whine escaped past his gaping mouth, exhaling pecaminous breaths as he stroked like teenage boy that just discovered masturbation for the time ever. Sloppy, desperate and wet motions echoed in the now sullied stall.

He fisted his hand tighter, thick fingers coaxing a much needed release, hips rutting into his choking hand. Quiet whimpers and an array of curses flew out his mouth.

His flushed tip swayed and shook under his own rough ministrations while his jaw clenched, he clawed at the chair when hot and thick spurts of his cum dribbled down his hand and wrist before time; pooling in the hollow of his palm while earning a gutural growl that dissolved into a shaky whimper, as he curled against the wooden and punctured wall for a brief lapse of seconds to regain his composure.

"Fuck..." He had to lay against his chair to keep the light-headedness at bay, drowning in his own made pleasure, panting like he had run a marathon for hours.

He shouldn't have lied back ago. And  definitely shouldn't have become a priest. He was soiling their already tainted reputation. His old self was back to stay.

He cleaned up his hand under his robes to then leave to change. He was given a glimpse as you were picking up some harvest in the orchard while he was making his way back home.

---

Window's glasses echoed with the soft rain. The parish has been quiet during weekdays, but busy for you. As winter approaches the harvest must be picked, the grains sorted and the meats stored.

You saw Father O'Hara less and less, and when you did, they were mere glimpses. He was as busy in meetings with other priests, or preparing for the mass that was now given twice a week.

If you weren't in the garden or the laundry, you were in the choir.

Lingering yet brief gazes chased each other. He had heard some nuns speaking about him, some had wonderful things to say, saying that he had been one of the most efficient priests the church has had.

Others mentioned between hushed and bashful whispers about his physical condition and how they caught him go for runs at crack of dawn a couple of times.

And you, just wanted to go to confession again and ask for forgiveness. Not to spill the advantures you had in your dreams with a man that oddly resembled like Father O'Hara, but to unleash your heart's desires to wonder what was beyond the parish.

It was your life, all you've ever known so far. But one of those trips to the city during a beneful visit to another location, had left you amazed. How could a world so different like yours could be considered bad and straying?

But again, vows. Your vows bound you, and once broken, there was no turning back. But right now all that mattered was to get to the dorms. The rest was out in another visit to the city, you were to stay to finish your tasks in the kitchen.

Weather changed so abruptly that one moment you were taking the last basket of vegetables inside, to then run for the dorms to seek refuge. But they were far and the only thing in sight was Father's O'Hara rectory.

It was either getting a terrible fever from the cold and unforgiving rain or ask him to lend you an umbrella to mitigate the glacial numbness spreading through your body. Another reason you barely went out during these days, rains in the countryside were merciless.

Miguel was tending his own garden when the rain begun drenching. Even more when the thunders broke the peaceful white noise. He removed his soutane and shirt off leaving his inner vestments free, but the desperate knock on his door made his undressing ritual to stop.

While quirking an eyebrow, he approached the door and opened it. Eyes widened in surprise upon seeing you, soaked through your bones. lips blue and shivering from the cold.

"P-Please-"

"Jesus. Come in."

He ushered you in, then rushed to get a towel. A frown in his face deepened upon hearing your teeth clatter, clothes stuck to you like a second skin.

"C-Can I... borrow your... u-umbrella?"

Without much though he smoothened the towel against your face, drying it.

"An umbrella? Really?!"

A vehement shake of your head, while trying to get him off you.

"You're freezing cold, the dorms are too far for you to leave. Don't be stubborn."

"I... I don't h-have clothes."

You mumbled through rattling teeth while your eyes darted hazily over his naked torso. He sighed.

"Unbelievable. You're freezing to death and you're worried about clothes. Get them off, I'll put them to dry."

He grumbled while taking more logs into the fire to what would be his living room. If it wasn't for the glacial and biting freeze that refused to leave your body and the foggy thinking in your brain, your cheeks would be beyond red. Crimson even from such simple act.

A weak nod you gave. Your hands stopped bracing your shivering body to focus on removing the cowl and headdress. Releasing through shaky motions your soaked hair that wasted no time to stick on your face and neck.

The next was your crucifix, and praying beads, the tempo you removed them could make a slug to easily win the race, this alarmed him greatly. He had seen what hypothermia did, way before turning himself into this holy persona.

Without much thought, he peeled off your habit that weighed you down.

"Qué mierda más pesada" (Such a heavy shit)

He held you by one arm as he removed the outer layer off. Your eyes drooped and he gave you a little shake.

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Eyes concerned raking over and it dawned on you. Those eyes, the same beautiful and unique eyes were the same that visited in your dreams.

A difficult gulp rolled down your throat as Miguel kept undressing you while grunting. Wet clothes were a pain in his beatific ass. Shivering dicreased, but your lips remained blue, a new shade of purple drawing over them.

"I-It's so cold" You mumbled through laborious breaths.

"Course it's cold. You're soaked! What were you even doing?"

The way he scolded you felt like someone you've known for years was giving you a lecture. So casual, homey, normal. It was Miguel O'Hara speaking, not Father Miguel. The ever gentle and patient man you've been helping.

"Jesús bendito, con cuánta cosa te vistes." (Holy Jesus, so many layers.)

He murmured while pushing you to his chest as he removed the dress that covered your underwear. It felt like a heatless body had been thrown over him, but the warmth irradiating from him felt heavenly. Your form instinctively nuzzled your head on his chest. He had to stop to gulp at the sensations

Even though his mind slapped itself, His couldn't help but wander over your shivering and weak body.

"W-Wait"

A small dark patch hovered above the joint of your legs. Taut peaks followed by lovely areoles ever standing and shivering under the flimsy white fabric of a short nightgown that proved even harder to remove since it clung to you like a second skin, refusing to abandon your body.

He peeled you off of everything despite your protests, but was sufficiently prude to not look over your naked form. A minute too slow and it would be late. Like the young boy in his arms, that had died out of cold once the subversive groups arrived in the forsaken town, they had forced him and the rest to go through a frozen river. He made it, but the boy didn't.

His mind wasn't in the tip of his cock.

That will come later.

But his brain had only one single purpose right now. To keep you alive but for that he needed keep you warm.

Despite the recklessness of his actions, he pulled a freshly folded duvet around  while pulling you ontop of his chest and sat together near the fire. Hands moving to dry your hair as much as he could. Your skin was full of goosebumps, frosty to touch, that relished into any source of heat available. His torso, the duvet and the raging bonfire made your head spin.

It felt like his hands, rubbing some life back into your arms while he shielded your body, embracing your form with his torso and limbs. Like a paramedic on duty. Your cheek smooshed against his solid chest, it made him shudder with your own coldness but eventually the body heat treatment would be effective.

"Sorry" it was all you managed before your teeth shuddered again, and his fingers caressed your neck, placing a new wave of delicious heat on your skin.

"You'll be fine."

Your body was slowly but surely returning to it's temperature. Miguel remained there, basking you within his body, fingers gingerly caressing as much cold skin as he could under the duvet. Even his breath provided a little heat. Your erratic breaths collided against his skin, earning a discreet shudder from him.

You had drifted off to limbo, trying to sleep a bit, but unable to completely do so. Not when a man, the Parish Father nonetheless, was holding and nursing you back to an acceptable temperature with his own.

"Father O'Hara..."

Miguel's ears perked up upon you mentioning his name.

"It's Miguel."

He mumbled while drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The fire and the duvet had kept you toasty to curl even more towards him. Teeth no longer clattering.

"Thank you, Father."

"Stop."

His eyes rolled in annoyance, as his hands stopped caressing your skin to then rub his face.

"Stop calling me that."

"But that's your-"

"I don't like it."

He grumbled while looking down at you.

"Call me Miguel."

"I can't do that. Feels too disrespectful."

"I'm not Father O'Hara here, understood?"

You nodded

"Are you cold?"

"I am. Not as before but yes. Has it stopped raining?"

His own smell was making your mind a puddle, some of that fragrant incense remained etched on him.

"No. Just got worse."

You sighed while resting your head on his chest. Heartbeats a mellow lullaby.

"I'm sorry for all of this."

"You were cold and soaked." He pointed dully and bored.

The duvet was brought closer to your chest while staring at the flames. Fingers tracing a lazy and mindless pattern in his abdomen.

"I was picking up the last batch of harvest when rain poured on me."

Your toes curled in as a soft breeze flickered the fire and he tilted his head to watch you closer.

"Now I'll have to explain why there isn't enough corn."

"We'll go by. It's ok."

"Are my clothes ready yet?"

A snort that  would be translated into an 'Are you kidding me?', your brow furrowed.

"You'd be lucky if they get dry during the night."

Another defeated sigh. But a sudden thought however made your cheeks burn faintly.

"D-Did you see me naked?"

"No."

Oh.

There was a silent pause before you spoke again. Curiosity tempting.

"Have you seen other women naked?"

He huffed playfully while pushing your hair away from your lovely and sweet face.

"Yes. I was a regular man before all of this."

His fingers curled up in his hand, morphing into a lazy fist

"Do you miss it?"

"Would be a liar to say if I don't."

"You... You've had sex before?"

He chuckled while with an open palm, took a taste of your skin, deliberately roaming your lower back. You shuddered.

"I did. Plenty of times."

Your audible gasp made his eyes droop hazily in a smirking grimace.

"I was told it felt marvelous."

You looked up at him and he pulled your chin upwards, he really had to keep his restrain under a leash to not take you here and there, instead, he cupped your face and hovered his lips over yours

"Do you want me to teach you, Sister?"

He was the demon. The very same one that visited in your dreams and left you a soaked mess. A little too late you'd noticed that he wasn't wearing his vow ring. It was placed somewhere else you truly couldn't care less at the moment.

You only nodded.

"Use your words, dear"

"Please", you gulped, "Teach me."

It was in that moment that he sealed your lips with his. Your first kiss ever. Chaste and sweet at the beginning that slowly turned into this obscene display of his mouth assaulting yours with his tongue in between gentle licks and bites of his lips.

A shaky whine then a whimper escaped your throat upon feeling his hands skimming down your spine. He only let you go when you tapped out for air.

"How often am I on your mind, pequeña?"

Finally the demon in your dreams had turned into a reality. Eyes were closed, unable to look at yourself melting under his touch. Nipples perked against his chest.

Plump and hot lips caressed yours but they stopped. Hands pulled you upwards, Miguel turned you around so your back was now colliding with his chest.

"You're still cold."

Cheeks grew impossibly red while he slowly peeled off the duvet out of your body, leaving you bare before him. You gulped as he moved your hair to a side and slowly kissed up and down your neck.

His hands were unable to resist any more and cupped your mounds, like in your dream. Calloused palms, rough against soft breast.

"Qué maravilla. Is this how your dream goes?

Legs smothered together, a little strip of hair etched to your pubic mount. He hummed in appreciation to then part your legs above his. Cunt pulsing at the coolness of air brushing past it.

Both of your legs dangled ontop of his as you remained nested above. Your heart beat at the playful moves his middle and index finger pulled on your nipple as his free hand darted over the joint of your inner thighs. You could feel him trembling underneath, the restrain made his breath hitch.

Your own turned erratic once more as he slid three fingers in between your folds. A shy Ah escaped your lips while he used two of them to part the outer labia

"Look at that, little one. Is that what you touch when thinking of me?"

Drunk eyes darted between your legs and his skillful hand, the engorged and pearly clit peeked out as one of his fingers flickered slowly. Focusing the right amount of pressure in it that had your moans shaky. He paused to adjust his fingers as they caressed and rubbed as much flesh as they could.

Mouth etched to your ear. Deep and needy breaths fanned behind you

"So so pretty. Look at that"

He made a show of his fingers coating themselves in your slick. One of his digits hovered over your entrance, slowly it disappeared inside. A muffled groan echoed in the void space

A wet and shlicking sound came from his ministrations, head unable to move, too enraptured into watching him sliding in and out. Skin bloomed with a new wave of goosebumps as his tongue licked your neck and earlobe, rewarding you for taking one finger deliciously, that he licked up clean before going back to rub at your clit.

"Want to add another?"

A breathless and hissing yes.

You didn't know who was with you right now since Father O'Hara couldn't. Your brain still refused to believe they were the same man. One preached and talked mass every Sunday, the other had your head spinning while his fingers explored your insides with such gentleness it only increased your whimpers and need for something more and bigger within you.

"Does that feel good, Hm?"

A dumb nod while more escaped your mouth repeatedly

"More?"

"Please!"

How could he deny to such petition? Even most when you were gripping him so deliciously and pulsating with every stroke he delivered in, grazing at your sweetest spot.

"Like this?"

He increased the tempo and your breath hitched, hips moving to meet his fingers aiding them to reach deeper and deeper.

Breaths turned into short and shallow pants, blood rushed to your cheeks. One of his digits pushed past between your lips meeting your moist muscle that wasted no time into kissing it. All you could hear was yourself and your weeping pussy that demanded for more.

But they weren't enough. Brain was sent into an override when the climax washed over you. All the pent up need and lust drowned you. Strong pulsations dictated the contractions that trapped and milked Miguel's fingers. Mind split in two in a shattering and core shaking spasm.

Mouth gaped, eyes heady and drunk with blind hot pleasure, body convulsed while an array of mumbles and clumsy curses flew out of your mouth to finally end with a delicious quivering cry.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay, pequeña." He cooed you through it while kissing your neck. Heart pounding in your ears.

It took you a moment to breath properly. How could you have missed this? How could you remain so ignorant to this? Alienated from something you were often told it was dirty and condemning.

He had only touched in the right places and you were melting. But why stopping there? You knew he also wanted you, his hard on pressing over your lower back, begging to set free.

"M-More"

He shook his head with a proud smile

"Can't do that, preciosa"

A capricious whine came through your throat, "Why not?"

"Cause, as much as I'd love to take you until you recite the bible backwards to me, you know what could happen."

"You don't want me, then? Why stopping now?"

"Far from that. And we must be discreet. Wouldn't want you to be whipped by Sister Lianne."

He took your hand and kissed your wrist. While his other limb pulled you closer to him.

"I am the only one that shall leave marks on you, my dear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, but-" He took your chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Is that clear?"

You nodded with a pout.

"Lay on the bed."

"What? "

"Lay on the bed, so I can taste you."

Miguel could fulfil that fantasy. With Bambi-like steps you pushed yourself up and walked over his bed. Plush surface welcomed your body under a creak.

"Spread them."

Toes curled up for a second before spreading them open. Clit already tingling with a foreign yet needy sensation.

He kneeled before you, like he did every day he worshipped the Lord. But this time it wasn't God, but you. Nose nuzzled over your inner thighs while taking a whiff of your scent. Tantalizing and so alluring for his own senses.

Slow and deliberate kisses were placed above your flesh, the strip of hair that decored your pussy, to finally sink in between soaked folds.

The mewl you gave only made him feast upon you. Hands grope the sheets by instinct as he spreaded you further.

His tongue lapped and curled at your hole, slurping it without refrain and inhibitions. Devouring it like it would be his last meal.

Your dream had felt too vivid, yes, but this was completely different. This was in a whole new different level. His corruption had tainted your soul and it was gladly welcomed into your arms.

Legs twitched and shook while your head was thrown back, chest heaved with shallow breaths, unable to breath properly as his tongue was set into fucking your drooling hole.

The way his tongue fucked, dribbled and guzzled your cunt had you mewling and moaning the filthiest things you didn't think possible you could get out.

Good was an understatement, heavenly was a measly word to compare what you felt like. It was maddening and he gave you no rest.

Have you ascended? No. He just wrapped your supple thighs around his head, preventing you from squirming too much, holding your hips in place as his sloshing and assailant mouth gave you no rest.

You hadn't recovered completely from the other orgasm when a new one had approached. Lurking around your senses.

His name was moaned, over and over and when your hands were done of clinging onto the sheets, you held onto his hair. Silky and smooth chocolate locks slid under your fingers.

Eyes peeked over you, and he had to pause for a moment to squeeze his cock. Aching and weeping for him to let him free and make you his. But that would come later.

That would come much later when he had more leisure time and when he'd get protection. As much as he wanted to wreck your snug cunt, he didn't want you to be whipped and shamed like another nun was when the higher ups found out she was pregnant by an outsider.

"Miguel"

His name on your lips rich and tasty, like him.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance to immediately go for your clit. Plump lips pursed and captured the engorged nub. While his hands pushed your legs up and folded them, giving a complete access to your pulsating pussy.

He slurped and souped while his tongue teased. Wet laps sent jolts through your spine each time he tasted you.

Too much. Too good and too soon, yet he didn't stop. He shook his head like a mad dog subduing it's prey and that move alone had you gushing over his mouth. He quickly gobbled it all down.

You whined, cried and blabbled, even tried to pull his head away but he delivered you a last stroke with his tongue to then lick his lips clean.

"Please"

You mumbled through blown breaths as he watched you with a lust blown glare.

What had he done out of you?

"Greed is a sin, my dear."

What had he created?

"But if you're good enough, the wait will be worth it."

His little lamb was so willing for him, aching to be tainted, corrupted even more. And his task was to banish such whims.

He'd given you a taste of what laid ahead. A promise of a much unholy reward if you followed this path with him. But your resolve had been made the first time you came.

He'd be your first and last. There wasn't any need for another to teach you what he was compliant to demonstrate.

You'd be his to fuck. His to tame and corrupt.

You'd be his.

---

Taglist:

@plumplumpurin

[yanderestarangel]

Will there possibly be any more Tio Miguel O’Hara au???

𝐌𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ┆ 𝐓𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 - 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘

꒰∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ ── Hi guys, I remembered I have a blog, hehe:3

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ "Before you, silence and emptiness for me were like an open, painful wound that stained my clothes a calloused, uncomfortable red. But with you, silence became just a space to be filled with your laughter and ethereal presence. My thoughts turn to you, my sweet nephew, loose and deliberate... I really shouldn't feel this way, but you don't know how much it affects me just by you being you." - 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: 𝓽𝓲𝓸 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓵.

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

➜ This AU will probably become a fic with non-linear chapters, that is, I will post in non-chronological order of the canonical events that happened. [ There will be several alt. routes and you can suggest more ideas about this AU. ]

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

★☆ Notes: This is a work of dark romance/content, please do not read if you are a sensitive person, I am not romanticizing abuse or abusive relationships, this is just fiction.

♡ ┆ TW: written in the form of a poem, corruption, step!incest, dark romance, ftm reader, abusive relationship, mourning, dumbfication, manipulation, age gap, eat out, creampie, sex without a condom, dub con, afab anatomy

You weren't so naive as to not notice your Tio's lascivious gaze on your body ─ especially when you wore short, white dresses on hot days, your skin shone with a thin layer of sweat while your curves were otherwise hidden by thicker fabrics and dense spaces were exposed to the world and the cowboy's dark eyes.

The same lips that kissed you so innocently one day, held the hot tongue that would bring your ruin filled with lust. He had a negligent look, a harsh air, he was the same man who had made you taste the fruit of forbidden desire ─ far from everything and everyone, you two did not share the innocent courtship of being just a nephew and uncle... But before for you to stop like a whore, with your legs open for someone you swore would never feel anything... It hadn't started like that.

Desire, like all things in the world, had to have an origin, guidance and explanation ── everything could have started with the cruel grief of losing the wife that Miguel loved so much, the woman's name was not even uttered by his mouth, the same painful memory of lost nights of empty promises cut by the tragic and sharp scythe of death and destiny. The tanned-skinned man spent nights questioning the direction of his life and the classic question: "why me?".

Without an answer however, he sank even deeper into his own mind, the emptiness of his home now without a wife and the future children that were idealized by both of them had not come to fruition.

A foolish, lost and purposeless man was what he was.

So, just as the devil tries to make sin, he had finally found something that filled the void that was once held in his hard and dirty soul ── you. He tried to repress these feelings, it wasn't love, it wasn't a pure and polished love, it was a corrupted feeling of possession and obsession ─ he wanted to control your life, control you and make you his forever, trap you somewhere where you would stay safe from the dangers of the dirty world where they lived; but he himself was this dirt.

Then, slowly he began to enter your life even more like a parasite implanting the dirty thoughts you would later have about him. Taking you away from your family and manipulating everything and everyone into believing that he was the best person to take care of you ─ after all, he was just a concerned Tio... Or not?

Like a waltz with the devil, it all began that hot summer night with a dance ─ without protests and murmurs of complaints you followed him to an isolated place where your family's celebration was taking place that night, the warm orange light coming from the old tile ceiling warmed your cheeks and made you blush even more under the brunette's deep gaze.

Miguel watched as you moved to the music, his gaze mesmerized by the fluidity of your movements. A soft smile graced his lips as he took in the sight before him- the youthful vigor and elegance you possessed. He couldn’t help but be drawn to you, even if it sometimes stirred up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within him.

He wasn't just your tio, was he? No more, if he ever was to begin. His large hand caressed his waist, gently but firmly gripping the fabric of your blouse soft under his touch. His thumb brushed against his back, effortlessly guiding you through the dance.

"My precious angel", he murmured, his voice practically low. "You look like a dream, like a celestial being that has somehow landed among us mortals. It makes me want to take that dream and hold on to it forever."

He brought you closer, as if he was going to devour you ─ He moved like a predator, he looked at you like a predator... He was a predator.

Tio Miguel's lips traced a burning path along the sensitive skin of your neck, each kiss leaving a trail of heat as his hands slid down and squeezed your ass possessively. His breath was hot against your skin, a mix of whiskey and desire that sent shivers down your spine. His moans were hoarse, filled with a primal hunger.

He pulled back slightly, dark eyes ablaze with lust, his gaze falling to your chest, where your breasts strained against the fabric of your blouse. The hunger in his eyes was almost palpable, tacit and obscure, there was no point in running and maybe you didn't even want to escape, it was like a tempting trap that would hurt you deliciously.

"Mi prince," he rasped, his voice rough with need. "You're so beautiful. So fuckin' beautiful."

He let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and predatory, as he grabbed your waist with one hand and pressed you against him. His hardness nudging between your legs, making you aware of his desire for you.

"Let's go somewhere more private, mi vida. It's time to show you just how much I want you." His lips crushed against yours, the intensity of your kiss staggering. His tongue thrust into your mouth, tangling with yours, the taste of whiskey and raw desire overwhelming. His hands moved with purpose, tugging at your clothes, urgently trying to rid you of any barriers between you both. He nibbled gently at your lips, pulling back to whisper against your mouth.

"Don't fight me, mi chico guapo. We both know you want this." With a low growl, he pulled you close once more, your lips crushing against his as your hands moved with purpose. His fingers expertly explored your soft body, teasing and coaxing you to the edge of pleasure. As his thumb brushed your clit, he swallowed your moans, his own desire heightened by the sacred taboo of his actions.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, my life. But I can't promise I will." Miguel said, but you both had the idea that that wasn't what was going to happen, especially when his tongue licked your pink flesh so well and made your legs tremble around his head ── his calloused and warm hands separated the flesh again softness of your thighs, making your breasts bounce and you tremble and whimper slyly for more.

Sin was good, so you two were condemned to a hell of unlimited pleasure and lust, without judgmental looks from others. Just you and your dear Tio Miguel. You moaned dirty, incoherent sentences, just looking for more friction with the other man's mouth, you were both moaning with need ─ you were both a mess of repressed desire and unthought-out consequences.

Your tio's hot tongue left your entrance, but before any scream of protest you saw him take off his pants quickly and lower them to his knees, exposing his muscular thighs and his thick cock with veins pulsing strongly, the smell of musk filled your nose as you felt the heat radiate from the older man’s member.

Uncle Miguel's cock pulsed as it passed your entrance, the swollen head teasing your clit before entering your comfortable, warm pussy. Every inch of their sensitive flesh reveled in the forbidden embrace, eagerly awaiting the moment they would finally become one. He growled softly, muscles tensing as he thrust inside, filling you with his thick erection.

Miguel's grip enveloped you like a vice, the sensation overwhelming you both-- his eyes locked with yours, the intensity of the connection incendiary, as he slowly advanced. His size made him feel huge, stretching you despite the ample lubrication. His moan of pleasure joined his groan of pain, a symphony of raw desire and urgency. His hands shook slightly as he thrust into you, the animalistic sounds of your union echoing in the small space.

Each thrust was deliberate, calculated to maximize his pleasure and his own desire. "Mi rei, are you okay?" he panted, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he continued to move. "Tell me if you need me to stop..."

Despite the agony of his position and his size, your nod was slow and deliberate. Your eyes never left his, each thrust bringing with it pleasure and submission. You could count how many thrusts there were by the weight of his balls that hit your soft ass, leaving a red, painful mark on your sensitive flesh.

"Good boy... Taking everything in that cute pussy..." He growled as the veins in his neck bulged with each effort of his hips to not stick it all in and feel the tip of his dick tirelessly kiss your uterus ── but he didn't I could scare you now, despite wanting to take out all the frustration and excitement accumulated in your cunt. Your breasts bounced as you cried with fat tears coming down from your orbs, pleasure, guilt and undefined feelings in your mind made you bite your lip and just enjoy the moment.

"Fuck, mi angelito," he groaned, his eyes locked on yours. "F-Fuck, I can't control myself... Mierda-"

His movements became erratic, his need overpowering him as he drove into you, chasing the peak of his release. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat as he thrust deeper, harder, his desire fueling the intensity of your coupling.

"Just like this, mi carinõ," he cried out, his voice hoarse with lust. "Just like this, with you..." His words are the catalyst for your own release, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, wracking your body with pleasurable contractions that milk him of his release.

Miguel follows suit, his cock twitching inside you as he fills you with his warm, pearly essence, marking you as his once again. He collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding, both spent from the intensity.

"I don't deserve you, boy, but I need you."

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1282

Finale I - part 1/3 (Agatha X Reader ending):

Rio never intended to harm you that way. Even attacking Agatha was more of a bluff. Use the dagger to make her drop her guard, perhaps try to scare her or draw just the tiniest bit of blood.

And then you interfered... and she didn't have the time to pull back.

She tried to redirect the attack, and in the end; she did not harm you... not lethally, at least.

The blade pierced your clothes and your skin, leaving a nasty wound above your chest; blood quick to escape the new wound.

Your eyes were wide at the sharp pain that came from the wound, one hand instinctively going to where you were injured; feeling the warm blood that was staining your fingers.

Rio was as shocked as you, but before she or Agatha could do anything, Billy did.

He had been recovering in the green house, fighting his new superficial bruises and wounds while watching the battle going. He wanted to interfere, to try and help some more, but he hesitated; seeing you and Agatha already struggling, and you were far above his level.

And then.. when Agatha was about to get reaped, you jumped in front of the sharp blade before he could use his powers in any way.

Seeing you wounded, faintly seeing the red blood on the blade and on your white clothing... he lost it.

In a moment of sudden anger, he unleashed his powers on Rio. The attack caught her off guard and threw her back, away from you.

He rushed towards you as you bent a single knee, adrenaline, and years of hardships, the only thing keeping you standing and focused.

Agatha was already by your side, looking at you with worry and fear. An expression that reminded you a lot of the night Billy almost died back then during the second trial of the road.

However, this time, it was you who was wounded but not as deep as Billy was. Of course, that was not much of a comfort; considering your foolish heroic move to try and put yourself in front of Rio's blade.

"I'm okay," you reassured her as your white magic slowly started work, fighting to heal your wound.

It was tricky, even for you, because Rio's blade was unique; capable of reaping souls out of bodies and even cutting through the road as if it was nothing.

Rio managed to get up, and whatever shock you had from the initial attack had passed. A new opportunity had been presented, and she was not going to let it get away.

"This will never end. You all know it," She said and pocketed her knife. "So will let you choose, which one of you is coming with me"

You exchanged a look with the others, unsure about this dilemma.

How could you just point a finger at someone else and sacrifice them just like that? Especially after the battle you have just been through.

Ypu were about to volunteer when, to your surprise, Agatha did.

"Take me," she said, but before you could argue, Billy did.

"No , it has to be me," he argued, mastering all the courage he could find within him. "Take me," he bravely took two steps forward.

At that moment, one would expect Agatha to argue with him, but she didn't. Much to Billy's surprise and slightly to yours.

"Yes, take me him, like we agreed."

She did feel some sort of guilt for letting Billy die, her heart heavy because that damn boy often reminded her of Nickolas.

But, at that moment, no victory was in sight. You were injured, and she was not going to let you waste your life or die for her and Billy.

She finally got you back, and it looked like you were going to stay this time. Agatha was not going to lose you so easily, not when she finally might have a chance with you.

She offered her hand, wishing to help you get up, but you sapped her hand away.

You were clearly feeling betrayed by her words and her final decision, though you should have been used to it by now. Yet, a part of you deep down was truly rooting for her... for the light she still had in her heart.

Agatha looked at you defeated and took a step back, realizing you were not going to forgive her so easily.

She refused to leave you back, though.

"Come along, sugar," she said, expecting you would obediently listen to her. "You heard him. He volunteered himself to save both of us."

You managed to get up, the bleeding having stopped, but the wound remained open. Your hand was sticky with your blood, but it was the last of your concerns at the moment.

You looked at Billy, and you could see the fear behind his dark eyes. He did not want to die, but he also didn't want you or Agatha to die. Though with the latter's reveal, he was starting to rethink for whom he was volunteering.

Yes,he did volunteer himself, but he had already faced death once, and he was a mere boy; back then in the Hex. He wasn't sure if he was gonna be able to pass through it again, especially after spending so long fighting for answers... after actually managing to give Tommy a body.

You couldn't bear to look at him.

No, he had a full life ahead of him, and he had already started tough in the beginning. You were not there to somehow help Nicky when he passed, but you were present now, and you were going to make your stand.

"Take me," you repeated as you locked your gaze with Rio's and no one else's. "I don't care about your rules. You wanna take a soul with you. Then take mine and let Agatha and Billy go."

You could clearly see that Rio was hesitating, for there were rules at place that even she could not break. Rules that she could not bend like she did for Nicky.

Rules she had explained to you not so long ago when pieces of your past and hers started to go into place.

But if you volunteer yourself, so openly; she could try to make an exception under the right circumstances.

Plus, Rio had started to enjoy having you around, and she did want you around. Like she did want Agatha, which was why she had not argued with the deal.

After all, Billy was the one she was after from the beginning.

Agatha was just looking to be tormented for the words she told Rio at the Road, showing how ungrateful she was despite the rules Rio bent for her and their son.

You didn't like her hesitation and in a moment of spontaneous thought, you grabbed a window shard laying close by and brought it closer to your neck; sharp edge threatening to rip your skin with one clean cut. "If you hesitate to take me, I will make it easy for you, but i'm not letting you take Billy or Agatha."

Your words and the sharp item by your neck, surprising your three companions, some might even consider you a madwoman, but you were tired of losing people. And you were tired of standing to the sidelines while everyone else did the work.

You were tired of being scared of your powers and regretting all the life choices you had made due to fear.

This time, you were making a choice, and you were certain about it.

This time, you would protect your loved ones.

[A/N] - This is part 1/3 for the First Finale (Agatha X Reader ending). Tomorrow, I will publish the next part.

Part 2 now out!

[oksana-moods]

All Too Well

Summary: Natasha tried to mend what's left broken. Because no matter what, she's the love of your life and she knows all too well.

A/N: It's been forever. This 5k piece felt like I was writing 300k, it was difficult, funny, hard and I miss doing this more often. I hope you guys like it and please, it be amazing for me to know your thoughts about it.

You can read it as One Too Many part 2 or as a single piece, it is up to you.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, torture, mentions of death, alcohol, angst (you know how I am, I can't simply write people kissing without suffering before).

"Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place"

The gun pointing at your face barely meters away should be intimidating, but at this point no one would blame you for not caring anymore. And you didn’t even mean the last couple of days, no, your whole life had been a fight, a struggle, an act of survival after another, so the last few days were nothing but the same blur.

The gunpower inundated your nostrils and the pungent smell masqueraded the smell of blood that clung to your brain and you were sure you wouldn’t erase it even if you got out of your current establishment.

Your heightened senses were capable of decerning all the different blood samples available in your cell: yours and from other occupants that came before you, or the blood that belonged to some of your kidnappers, who’ve learned in the worst possible way that you were not to be underestimated.

Back to the gun, the man behind it kept enchanting the same questions and you wondered how long it would take for them to get tired of your silence or mock replies. A sharp pain in the back of your head made you look up to meet his eyes, another man behind you was forcefully pulling your hair down to force your head up and you were already tired of him doing this.

“Where are the others?” The man with the gun asked, patience waning thin. Good to know you were on the same page. “Where is Romanoff?”

A blooded grin made its way to your face after you spat on his shoe. “It’s funny you think I’ll tell you now after all you’ve put me through. Do you think I’m afraid of your bullet?” And you didn’t even mean the fact that you probably wouldn’t die if he decided to shoot anywhere else other than your head, but you did mean that you were not afraid of dying.

Actually, you were so tired that perhaps laying down cold wouldn’t be unwelcomed. There wouldn’t be any pain, your body wouldn’t try to heal only to get hurt again. You thought it would be refreshing.

Two steps and the man pressed the gun over your knee, and you already knew, his wicked grin grew wider when your body convulsed with pain even though you concealed your scream in muffled grunts by biting your lips so tide you tasted your own blood, again.

“Why don’t you make it easier for you? You tell me what I’ve asked, and I kill you fast.” He pulled a chair and got comfortable for he knew all too well you wouldn’t budge easy. “I promise you. One silver bullet in your temple. Fast. Easy.”

Your eyes flashed to his. Silver bullets were really affective against your healing skills and very few possessed this knowledge. Someone must’ve tipped him off and the idea stung way much more than the powder burning the flesh inside your knee.

Only two women knew your weakness. Well, your creators knew, of course, but they were not in condition of speaking anymore. Unless someone from this organization was capable of going to hell to have a chat and then return to the living world with this intel.

Your love for Yelena was something so natural and it grew so fast for she was just deranged as you were: uncapable of functioning as what people labeled as normal. You were kindred souls and you felt like you were twins separated somewhere along the road and considering both of your past, who actually knew?

After long nights during long missions, you confided in her this. You were scared of losing control because sometimes the beast inside you took over and your brain couldn’t always sway the instincts. So you handed her one silver bullet in case things went south, she was adamant in returning it to you but you asked her to keep it, for insurance.

And the other person was Natasha. You never knew how she learned this but when she recruited you many, many years ago she already knew. If the pain in your leg wasn’t so overwhelming, you could’ve laughed at the memory engulfing your mind’s eye.

Her tide catsuit adorned with nothing but her black widow symbol, swaying her hips and pretending she wasn’t scared of the woman seated in front of her. You remember how her fear smelled, a stark contrast to her pose. You recall her words, her smile, her flirtatious play all to convince you to use your skills to her so called greater good.

And before leaving, she boldly closed the distance between you and placed a silver bullet in your hand. You understood the message. You weren’t stupid. Later she sworn that she was the only one, at S.H.I.E.L.D. or within Avengers, to know your weakness and you believed her.

And this belief comes back to bite you in the ass.

Because you knew full well that Yelena would die, she would kill herself even, before telling someone your secret. But Natasha? You didn’t trust her anymore. She had done it before, and you knew it all too well. If you were to be honest, after one too many treasons, you didn’t care about another.

Or so you told yourself.

“Good luck.” You rasped out after a long time inside your own head.

The man tilted his head to the side and smiled that smile that told you he already knew what you would say. You would go further and say he was eager for it. “I think in the torture manual says I should tell you that I don’t enjoy this, but I’d be lying. We actually bet how long it will take for you to drop the act and start screaming.”

You bet no one thought it would be that fast. He stumped a knife down your thigh so fast and so hard you saw stars. You could feel the silver poisoning the skin and muscle where it was nested, and it burned like nothing else would.

Unfortunately for them, the apex in you was not used to be a prey and this injury was powerful enough to make your survival instincts kick in. It happened so fast it was a haze, one minute he was laughing, the other he was on the ground - lifeless, and just as the others came, they followed their leader – well, who you thought the leader was, at least.

Funnily, your countdown was wrong, or you were not the only one putting your captors down. As the blood ran free down your leg, your strength and capability of keeping fighting diminished. When a body collided with yours, it was a miracle you were still awake.

Her red hair framed her face perfectly, skin white as snow and her green orbs looked like there was an aurora borealis looking down at you as she nested you in her lap as you felt life slipping through your fingers - veins.

“Hey, hey. Stay with me.” Her voice was strange, as if speaking was a struggle and she reeked fear, but not the same you were used to, as if she was feeling a different type of fear, it was a strange concept, but you hated it, nonetheless. If these were your last moments breathing, you wanted her true smell. The one you knew all too well.

“Please, don’t you dare die. I’ve got you.” Her muffled words found your ear, but it was hard to even comprehend anything at all when her lips felt so cold in your forehead. “Heal. Why are you not healing?”

“Silver.” It was all you could say. It was all you had to say.

She frantically started yelling at someone, perhaps the comms, but before you could close your eyes for good, you saw a red blur and he was complaining about your weight.

Her giggle filled the room as the first sun lights announced the day had just begun, you looked at her alarmed, for it was definitely something new. “Are you mocking me?” Enable to conceal a smile yourself.

“I’m not.” She denied, but her laugh told you differently. Her freckles painted her angelical face and her eyes looked like they held the sun captive. And you. And she knew, all too well. “It’s just I can’t believe you still have this scar.”

Her index finger traced said scar as she looked at you expectantly, waiting for your explanation, even though she already knew.

“I didn’t know Wanda’s necklace was made of silver, okay.” You finally replied, pulling her close to you as if her weight meant nothing, right in that moment this action felt so normal, so homely that it ached. “I thought I could take it from that heated place for her, but it burned me as I did. It was silly.”

She giggled again, though muffled by your shoulder this time, there was something new in her eyes that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “It was cute. Silly, but cute. That necklace belonged to her mother.”

“I know.” You were locked in her eyes, and she stared at you as if she was trying to reach your soul, then you felt her fingertip leaving the palm of your hand to intertwine your fingers as she let her eyes stray to look at both of your hands.

The feeling was overwhelming. You were aware of how fast your heart was beating, you could only hope she couldn’t feel or hear it, for in that moment, all you wanted was to engrave the sight of you, together, and you wish you could just have this forever. Have her forever.

“I’ve never felt this before.” Her brows were furrowed in a way that made you upset, but you wouldn’t let go of her hand for nothing in this world, even if it was to soothe the crinkles in her forehead. “I’m in love with you.”

For a moment, there was nothing that you could do but wait for your brain to register her words and meaning, for a whole minute you simply stared at her, trying to search for a catch or a joke but you found none. And she looked up at you so innocently that you found yourself believing in her.

“I thought-.” You tried, but she never let you finish your sentence.

“I know what I said.” She stopped you midsentence, but her voice was not stern, it was almost tired. “This is not what I feel anymore.” Again, her eyes found yours and the way they shone made your knees weak, luckily you were laying on her mattress.

Somehow, they conveyed so much of this feeling she had claimed she was not capable of nurturing that your stomach did somersaults. And right in that moment, you realized that perhaps silver could hurt you, but this woman was your true weakness.

Specially if she’s looking at you the way she was.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You whispered, it was terrifying saying again the three words that you were sure would make her fly away from this strange arrangement you found yourself in. Yet she didn’t.

“I know.” She confirmed after a while admiring your eyes as if she could read your mind. After deciding she was content with whatever she found, she leaned in and pecked your lips so tenderly it hurt.

Then, when she looked at you again you saw, from the small smirk growing in her lips, that she had gone back to play her prime character: the Black Widow.

“Let’s have a breakfast before the funeral, shall we?” As she got of the bad, you copied her movements going back to your own suitcase to find something comfortable as her voice broke the silence filling the room. “I never asked how you and Sharon became friends to the point you’d come to a funeral of her relative.”

The cleanliness of the room was the first thing you were aware of. In fact, you didn’t even realize you were awake, therefore alive, before the smell hit your nostrils. And with it, her scent.

The occasional up and down from her feet and bouncing leg was the only sound in the room except for the noise coming from the heart monitor over your head. She was anxious, that much was obvious even if you weren’t an enhanced being.

Mentally searching for your injuries and pain, you understood that whatever had happened with you, was all gone. Excluding the lingering pain in some specific places that you credited to silver induced wounds that would take way much more time to wear off.

However, considering the state you were in, whoever tended these wounds had operated a true miracle.

As you opened your eyes, you half expected bright lights, common to these hospital rooms to hurt your eyes, but you soon identified that the only source of light was a yellow bulb close to the door.

Natasha.

“Thanks for working the lights down.” You rasped out and stifled a giggle as she jumped from her chair by the wall and bolted to your bed side. The book previously nested between her hands now long forgotten on the floor.

The iron grip which she clutched your hand didn’t go amiss to you. “A week.” The sadness in her eyes was palpable. “A whole week blacked out.” She explained further but you didn’t need to know the details of how long you were sleeping or how many times your heart stopped at surgery.

“You scared the shit out of me.” Then it hit you, the same type of fear your nose caught when she found you in that facility, it was fear but not the one someone feels when they’re actively facing danger, but it was fear for someone else. Fear of losing someone.

Something stirred inside your heart, but it was something that you couldn’t dwell much longer, not, at least, in that moment.

“They had me, after you sent me as scout.” Your tone was flat, and her eyes widened a little at the bluntness of your accusation, though you were far from settling for little. “They knew about the silver.”

Her hold faltered, but your hand was still snuggled between hers. “What are you accusing me of?” She narrowed her eyes, but her green orbs were bright even in the poor light.

“Cynicism doesn’t suit you the way you think it does.” Before you could even pull back your hand, she completely let it go and got to her feet. “Look at my eyes and tell me that you actually didn’t let them get me, just to find their hideout.”

She had her back turned to you, acutely avoiding your gaze. “Look at me!” You demanded and she had the gall to look at you through her lashes, as if her seductive skills could help her now. You wouldn’t fall for that, and she knew it all too well.

“It wasn’t my intention for you to be captured and I never thought someone else would know about your weakness. I thought I was the only one alive to know.” She finally turned to you, eyes now darting around the floor as if it could grant her the answers she sought.

“Lena knows too.” You corrected her, but if she was surprised by your update, she never showed.

Shaking her head right to left as if to deny such possibility, she exclaimed. “She’d never do this to you.” It was funny that at least in this matter you agreed. “I think she loves you more than she loves me.” A sly smile escaped her lips and you had to restrain your heart from fluttering at the sight of it.

“I was waiting for your check-in. I went to your assigned coordinates, and I know I underestimated their numbers, but I would never let someone capture you.” Her feet dragged her back close to your bed but maintained some distance between you.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You shot back without missing a single beat, crossing your arms around your chest.

She sighed tiredly and looked down at the floor. You wouldn’t let her forget that she was the main cause for you to be locked in the Raft, well, her and your support for Steve when Ross tried to shove the Sokovian Accords down your throat, and solely because you shared his point of view.

After being controlled for most of your life by a group with shady intentions, you swore you’d never submit your loyalty and services to a third party again, even if it was a government group – specially a government group, actually, so only over your dead body you’d accept the Accords.

But when you came back to see if Natasha was fine, she had gone without thinking that you were left behind and in the care of Ross to be taken to the Raft with the others, without sparing a single thought to you.

“I’d never ever willingly put you in danger.” She said taking another step closer to you. “I have never mentioned to anyone about your secret, and I purposefully kept it out of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files.”

Her eyes kept darting from her hands to your eyes, never focusing, never staying too long. “Look, I know Yelena would never speak about it, but I wouldn’t either. And I didn’t, you must believe me!”

“I must?” Your eyebrows shot up so high so fast it hurt. “Well, you made it pretty damn hard for me to believe, don’t you think, Nat?” Your tone was hard, but you were not even speaking too loud.

Somehow, Natasha thought this hurt way much more.

“C’mon all I feel for you-” She tried to counter, but you wanted to swallow the lump stuck in your throat trying to choke you, so you cut her midsentence.

“Words, Natasha.” She found herself locked within your burning eyes. “I kept you as an oath, yet you hid me like another dirty secret. And all you’ve felt you kept hidden – buried – just as who you really are.”

After years thinking about how she lured and how she hurt you, you thought that maybe spatting what your relationship really was – a hidden lust, would make you feel better, would free yourself from her hold, but it didn’t.

After all, calling her unfair wouldn’t change how lonely she made you feel, how she took your happiness away whenever she drew herself back to her main character as she left you daydreaming about imaginary scenarios built in “what ifs”.

As your words found her ears, they settled heavily in her stomach. She knew she had massed up, she had hurt you many times, yet all she wanted was go back in time and erase all her wrongs and all the times she promised and never delivered.

She didn’t possess a time stone, though. There was nothing she could do about the past, however, she knew she couldn’t run from her mistakes anymore. If she wanted to start anew, she’d have to show she was different.

She wanted to, no, she needed you to understand that she was a whole new person because you’ve changed her. She didn’t want to hide anymore and for that she’d have to let go of her walls and be vulnerable. Truly vulnerable.

Funnily, she had played with her vulnerability before, being vulnerable just enough for people to lower their shields or masks so she could get what she wanted but this was something else entirely.

This time she wouldn’t act. She’d be vulnerable, at your mercy hoping she’d make it out alive on the other side. It was something new and it scared her, but losing you was scarier.

“I didn’t know you came back to check on Barton…” She tried weakly, knowing that this was a sore subject for the both of you. Each with your own views and reasons.

“I helped Clint, yes, but we went back looking for you. Yet, Ross was all we’ve found.” Your glare was cold, perhaps colder than ever. In the pit of her stomach, she knew she deserved it, she just wish you could move on with it.

“I was wrong, okay. Is that what you want to hear?” She snapped, though her voice was still in a low tone, eyes sad. And you hated it. “I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for not going after you that day at the airport or at the Raft.”

Her eyes fell once more to your hands, she slowly nursed them in hers and this action was so soft, so hesitantly as if she was afraid of you taking it away; afraid of you shutting her down once more.

“I wish I could do things differently, but I can’t, and for that I’m sorry. But I- I wish we could try move on from this. I still have feelings for you.” As words flowed through her tongue, you watched as eyes portrayed a sincerity that you rarely saw within those forest green orbs.

Usually, they hid her true feelings or performed like an actress twisting her truths mixed with pieces of lies and characters she created through life until she herself was unaware of what was true or not.

“I hear you, Natasha.” You rasped out after a long moment lost inside her beautiful eyes. “You speak of things as you did before, yet you never act on it.”

Her hands were warm, a muted invitation to go back to your dreams of having a life with her. The only person who never showed any sign of fear about your nature, that never once treated you like an animal.

She never treated you like a woman either.

“I want you to show me.” Your stone-cold eyes punctuated your feelings in the matter at hand. If she wanted to have you back, she’d have to show you she’s changed for words could only take her so far.

“I will.” She vowed and smiled softly, though her heart was shattering inside her chest. She made a career making people believe in whatever she wanted, she supposed she’d be able to make you believe in her heart.

How hard would that be?

Laugh filled the room after another not-so-funny Tony’s jokes and your head throbbed as the sound echoed inside your skull. Parties like these were always a torture for you, after all, your enhanced abilities of hearing and catching smells better than a normal person proved to be really awful in a place full of people with different perfumes, scents, chattering and loud music.

However, Tony himself forbid you from leaving tonight for this was his engagement party and it would be rude to Pepper if you left too early. Deciding that indulging him was easier than arguing with him, you found a safe corner and pretended to enjoy whatever was going on.

Though, your sharp eyes, even though you tried hard, always wandered after a certain redhead and you could all but clench your jaw every time you judged someone got too closer for your comfort.

Jealousy clawed its way through your throat and even the best bourbon from the bar couldn’t help it. You knew you had no right, no claim, especially after your last conversation. Still, your heart acted on its own and made sure you’d regret your words and resolve.

Considering that you were one drink from scooping lower than ever for her, you abandoned your glass on a random table and vanished to the balcony in hopes the fresh air could help your head and brain.

The cars down the streets ran from side to side completely unaware of your inner turmoil as you pathetically looked down searching for answers you wouldn’t find there.

In fact, as your answers arrived at the balcony, you realized that her hills clicking the marble floor announced her before her perfume invaded your nostrils in waves as she moved closer and closer towards you.

“Tired of mingling?” She asked as she lined her body at the railing. Her red hair bobbed around her ears in meticulously designed waves and her dark maroon dress hugged her curves in all the nice places.

She was flawless.

As always.

“I think I might’ve break Sam with incredible five words.” You gave her a sly smile that she retributed with a smirk and a fake gasp.

“This is basically a whole speech.” She clicked her tongue playfully. “I think you’ve been around Tony just too much.”

You snorted a laugh and she let a broad smile paint her lips, content with herself for making you ease the pained expression adorning your face the whole evening.

Uncertenty hugged you like a cold blanket as you pondered your next words. As if rolling the dices in a game you were sure you’d end up losing, you turned to her and spoke. “You’re really beautiful tonight, Nat.”

Your heart fluttered as she fought back a smile trying to win her lips and looked down as if she wasn’t expecting your praise. She genuinely looked flustered by your words.

“Thank you. You’re quite handsome yourself. Well, I already praised your choice of suit, earlier.” She turned her body so now she was fully looking at you and you tried to remember how to properly breath. However, it was as if the air was composed of her scent.

You were intoxicated.

“What do you mean?” You asked confused. “This is the first time we speak tonight.” You clarify. Truth be told you’ve been keeping a fair distance from her and funnily enough she didn’t make the effort to push you and your comfort space.

She did make it obvious that she was trying, though. She invited you out in front of people, she brought you coffee whenever you were reading in the garden in the morning or brought you a blanket when you were on the couch watching movies with Wanda.

Whenever you were called to a meeting, she worked the lights so it wouldn’t hurt your eyes that much. And, one day, she brought you the files they recovered from Hydra from the mission you were taken, and you both learned that one of your creators left behind a journal and there were a lot of dirty secrets down there. Including yours.

To be honest, she was really trying to show her true intentions, but you were still afraid that this was just for show, just a ploy for you to lower your guard and be disappointed after she return to her normal pattern of misleading.

However, the way she stood basking in the moon light looking at you like she was slowly sipped through the cracks of your determination of not giving in that easy.

Her soft smile was a sight to see, and you even forgot that you were waiting for her to reply. “Directly, yes. I sent a drink to you earlier.”

Then it clicked in your head. Your laugh was loud and very uncharacteristic of you, though Natasha simply stood there admiring your carefree stance, a rare occurrence.

Your mind traveled to a moment earlier that night when the waiter approached you with a drink in hand, stating that the lady had sent it to you complimenting your fine tailored suit. At the time, the way he vaguely waved in the direction of Agatha and other ladies, you thought that one of them had been the person.

Though if you thought harder about it, Natasha was at the bar in that moment, right behind said ladies.

“Now it made sense.” You grinned back at her and nodded your head softly. “Thank you for the compliment and the drink.”

“Of course.” She flashed on last smile and turned her body to admire the city bellow and you did the same. Though you found it hard to ignore her presence by your side. You could feel the heat emanating from her skin, her sweet scent still impregnating the air around you and you could hear her fast heartbeat. It was uncommon.

In a haste, you both turned towards each other and started to speak at the same time. A nervous laugh scaped your lips as you signaled for her to go on first. And she did.

She closed her eyes as one does when bracing for the impact, as if second-guessing her next step, but when she opened her eyes again, there was no doubt and no deceit. “I love you and it’s ruining my life not having you, knowing that I am the one who pushed you away.”

You were speechless by her blunt confession, specially because she never, ever, used the word love in such a direct sentence. She expressed her feelings before, yes, but always with an adore, in love with you once or twice, never this straight.

She took your silence as hesitancy and reached for your hand, she yearned for your touch and the closeness of the last weeks made her heart clench with longing. “I am asking for a chance to show you who I really am, and I, please, I know I’ve made mistakes, but I wish to make it up to you.”

Her eyes were pools of emotion and you had trouble in breathing with her so close now. “Please, let me love you the way you deserve, the way I should’ve since the very first time I kissed your lips.” Her free hand caressed your cheek in such a tender way that you felt your knees weak.

She was definitely your true weakness.

You brain was haywire, short-circuiting with the lack of air and the sudden increase in your heartbeats. There she was. The woman you felt like you could love forever, offering you what you always wanted: her heart. For real this time. Not the hide and seek games you’ve been playing in the past.

She promised and have been showing changes, however, if you were to be honest, all she’d have to do was to come at you and say hi. If you were to be honest, she would always have your heart at her mercy.

Unable to form words and knowing that your silence was unnerving for her, as you saw her brows furrowing, you decided to answer her differently as you brought your hand to her own cheek and guided her lips to meet yours.

Her lips were soft as they used to be, and you could feel her body melting into the kiss. Her eyes fluttered open when you broke the kiss and smiled softly at her. “I love you too, Nat.”

Smiling back at you, Natasha circled her arms behind your neck to pull you down for another kiss, and another. And another.

And you knew, all too well, that she wouldn’t stop soon.

taglist: @username23345; @afuckingshituniverse; @strangegardentaco; @waltermis (I know you didn't specifically asked to be tagged, but I am doing it, nonetheless, because if your rb - and because you sparked a fire in this. Thank you.)

[shomatoriashi]

09/20/24; 06:20pm

sung jinwoo x fem.reader

warnings: a self indulgent piece, mentions of depression and anxiety.

your tears had long since dried, yet the events leading up to today had been so taxing (so soul crushing) on you that you could feel the happiness you once had slip away from you.

failure after crushing failure kept mounting against you during your latest attempt at working in a new environment, and all of those tiny mistakes you made kept building up until you were labeled as incompetent by your supervisor. as you struggled with balancing your work ups and making the right recommendations to your superior’s, you found yourself falling short every time.

and just a mere three weeks later, your boss had a private discussion with you, remaining brutally honest about how they were quickly losing confidence in your abilities and how they believed you were not a perfect fit for their company.

so, you were immediately terminated from your position-

leaving you utterly devastated at how much you had let your failures and lack of confidence get to this point.

and what was worst?

you couldn’t bring yourself to face your beloved boyfriend of three years. despite living together in a modest apartment, you felt a strange sense of guilt filling you at the thought of potentially disappointing him.

perhaps your feelings of inadequacy were valid, since your beloved was none other than sung jinwoo himself, a man who had become so far above your league in just mere months. you remembered him as being such a lanky and tall boy, the weakest of them all-

yet even through the face of his own adversities, he was able to rise above those who looked down upon him, becoming now the strongest hunter in the world.

compared to the sheer brilliance of jinwoo, you felt like a speck of dirt in comparison. something that was so insignificant and tiny that you could be forgotten in mere seconds.

after your dismissal, you chose to return home to your parents, telling them to please keep you away from jinwoo for the time being until you were brave enough to face jinwoo once more.

the days turned into weeks, with your cellphone constantly flashing with calls and text messages from jinwoo. yet, you had no energy to return his calls or reply to his messages, choosing instead to allow his constant calls to go through until your cellphone’s battery ran out.

you kept yourself holed up in your old room, clinging to your worn comforter that held the lingering scent of your childhood. every so often, you mother or father would convince you to eat with them, and you managed to stomach a few bites before ultimately going back into your room.

the concept of time was lost on your end, making you lose all track of time. your eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling, and your heart had now become numb. since your dismissal, you lost all motivation, not finding the strength to face your lover as you simply assumed that he had given up on you, potentially taking the hint and had moved on from you.

just the thought of losing jinwoo makes tears well up in your eyes, a sharp, yet ice cold pain felt piercing at your heart as you dwelled in such self-deprecating thoughts. deep down, you knew that you couldn’t hide from jinwoo forever-

but you didn’t know where to start.

the pain had gotten to near unbearable levels now, causing you to openly sob while placing the palms of your hands against your eyes. your chest ached, alerting you to an incoming panic attack, yet you were unable to calm yourself down, feeling the anxiety make your head spin and your stomach churn-

yet such painful sensations seemed to disappear the moment you felt powerful arms and the lingering scent of someone’s cologne surrounding you. your eyes widen, making you gasp when you caught sight of jinwoo’s trench coat and dark dress pants.

“j-jinwoo?” his name comes from your parted lips in a broken sob, with the powerful hunter simply whispering your name in response. as your body trembles with the weight of your stress and memories of your failures, you began to actively bawl, clinging to jinwoo’s arms in a vice grip, treating him like an item of comfort as you found solace within his warmth.

he remains silent, allowing your tears to stain at the fabric of his clothes with no complaint. as your tears slowly simmered down, you basked in the way his longer fingertips thread through your hair, clinging to him while basking in the way his gives your damp cheeks lingering kisses. once your tears finally dried, leaving behind swollen eyelids and chapped lips, jinwoo was filled with love and empathy for you.

with another hum of your name, he places your head within his chest, still threading his fingers through your hair as you continued to cling to him. you moisten your lips and ask, “h-how did you find me?”

you felt something soft against your hair before jinwoo answered, “shadow exchange. i knew you would be back here, within the comfort of your childhood home. your parents told me what happened, and i wanted to give you some space, to help you heal.”

you sniffle, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to overwhelm you once more. “jinwoo… i-i feel so bad. i-i kept messing up and c-constantly had to remind myself about… a-about everything that i missed but still fell short! i-i am such a failure, and it hurts-“

jinwoo cuts you off just then, pulling your face out of his chest to give you a quick kiss. it tasted salty, yet sweet, and despite how you were still crying, there was an odd comfort felt in the way he kissed you. once you were calm again, he pulls away from the kiss to frame at your face.

“i know those deep feelings of failure that you’re feeling more than anyone else… yet i still love you all the same. you being let go from that job may have been a blessing in disguise, and it’s okay if you had a hard time improving while being in an environment that you’re just not used to.”

you felt a deep comfort and warmth filling you upon hearing his words, making a choked laugh come from you. “y-you’re not disappointed in me?”

jinwoo then proceeds to vehemently shake his head, “no, jagiya, i could never be disappointed in you. how can i feel anything but pure and unconditional love for you when you’ve been nothing but the perfect woman in my eyes?”

you found yourself laughing once more, “even when there’s bags beneath my eyes and my hair is a mess?”

jinwoo chuckles before rolling his eyes at you, “are you kidding me? i’ve been missing you this entire time, and you’re still as beautiful to me as the first day i had met you.”

your heart felt considerably lighter now, making you break into a smile after what felt like an eternity spent in total darkness. meeting his gaze, you tell him, “i’m so sorry for being too afraid to be honest with you… and… i love you. thank you, for coming to me when i needed you the most.”

your beloved hunter ends up chuckling, all while shaking his head, “there’s no need to thank me, sarang. i’ll do anything for you.”

letting out a relieved sigh, you place yourself back into jinwoo’s comforting embrace. placing one final kiss against his chest, you press yourself even closer to him, allowing the steady beating of his two hearts lull you into a peaceful slumber.

end notes: today has been a soul crushing day for me, since i failed at something i really didn’t wish to fail at. this was written as a way to get some things off my chest.

also, i wanted to thank everyone for following me ♡ i just reached 500 today… i’ll write something more fluffy and happy once i’m in a better mental state ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[anantaru]

cw. ⪩⪨ fem! reader, virgin! xiao & unexperienced xiao, oral (male! receiving)

xiao gulps down the tensed knot in his throat, a sickly sweet blush cloaking his embarrassment as you slowly roll down his boxers, eyes narrowing in concentration.

you allow yourself a slight tease and mouth wet kisses along his v-line— a whisper of authority suffusing his body as you watch his cock throb against his stomach, messing him up with his pre dribbling down the pink tip.

his eyelids flinch at the first touch of your finger pads glissading across the painful erection, and xiao winces through desperate need when you take him in your hand.

a slight smirk manifests at your expressive lips as you lazily fist his cock up and down up and down, slowly, never losing eye contact, so you could read the reactions on his pale skin and whether xiao truly enjoyed himself.

this entire situation was so sweet, you think, starting from the sweetness of sugar to everything that brings forth sweetness to your soul— how he tenses at each and every flutter of your hand fisting him hard, helplessly bites down on his bottom lip to prevent himself from spilling any embarrassing sounds.

"you like it?" you tease, and the sound of your voice straight up vibrates his blood, stirred thick between his legs as you use the tip of your tongue to kitty lick the oozing pre off his cock-head before softly engulfing the tip between your lips.

"yeah.." xiao murmurs in that low, rich tone— that he'd always change to in serious situations.

it's so unbelievably sexy and you find yourself get aroused at the thought— your drenched panties peaking from below your skirt when you witness how someone as mighty and powerful as a yaksha, could suddenly switch up the very moment you touch him like that.

"please-," xiao moans obediently, "please, do m-more, please—," one hand trapping your shoulder in its hold as you, for a swift, searing moment, stop suckling on his tip when xiao instantly sucks in a sharp breath in response, and exhales an illicit rush of anticipation right after.

"yeah?" you coo, his cock sore and hard, twitching beneath the tight grip of your palm as you trail your hand down before slowly inserting him past your plump lips, smooth tongue threatening to pierce through his self control and actually make him cum the second you'd hollow your cheeks.

but xiao doesn't want to embarrass himself, he thinks he needs to proof himself while not knowing that you actually like that special side of him— a much softer, more exposed way of him expressing himself, or revealing what turned him on.

you're so content in pleasuring him with your mouth— those parted lips of yours were addictive and a sweetness of passion, burning against the thin skin on his cock as you drag down your tongue to mouth wetly across his length, the thickness of his shaft forcing your lips open indulgently.

everything for the darling yaksha, right? until he flexes his hips so desperately fast with a rumbling hum from his throat, sneakily grinding his erection into your wet warmth and hoping you would relieve him from the painful ache on his cock.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[reidsworld]

In the Arms of Eternity

Summary: After holding your dying body in his arms, Elijah realises what he has to do to protect you, even if it means breaking your heart in the process. Based on this request.

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!Human!Reader

Category: Angst

Content Warnings: more hurt than comfort (sorry), happy ending, blood, cursing, arguing

Word Count: 3k

Mars speaks… Thank you so much for requesting this, I really hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

The battle had ended, but its aftermath was a haunting echo in the stillness of the night. The forest, once alive with the sounds of struggle, was now eerily silent, the air heavy with the scent of blood and damp earth. Elijah Mikaelson stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving as he surveyed the scene, his heart seizing as his gaze fell upon the figure lying motionless on the ground.

“Y/N!” The name tore from his throat, raw and desperate, as he rushed to her side, the world narrowing to the sight of her pale face and the dark red stain spreading across her torso. Her breaths were shallow, each one a struggle, as her life ebbed away with every passing second.

Panic, an emotion Elijah had long since learned to suppress, surged within him, threatening to overwhelm his centuries-honed composure. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as they hovered over the wound, unsure where to begin. He could feel the warmth of her blood, see the life slipping away from the woman he loved, and it was more terrifying than any foe he had ever faced.

“Y/N, stay with me,” he murmured, his voice cracking as he cradled her in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, their usual brightness dimmed by pain, but she still managed to find him in the haze, her lips parting to form his name.

“Elijah…” It was barely more than a whisper, but it cut through him like a knife. Her hand weakly reached up, brushing against his cheek, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the agony she was in. “I’m… okay.”

“No,” he breathed, shaking his head as his vision blurred with tears he refused to let fall. “No, you’re not. But you will be.” With a swift, decisive movement, Elijah bit into his wrist, the sharp pain barely registering as his blood welled up, rich and crimson. He pressed the wound to her lips, his other hand cradling her head as he urged her to drink.

“Please, Y/N. You need to drink,” he pleaded, his voice thick with fear and desperation. “You need to survive. For me.” His words were a command, but also a plea, as if her survival was not just necessary but inevitable.

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before the instinct to survive took over, and she latched onto his wrist, her lips parting to accept the lifeline he offered. Elijah watched, his heart in his throat, as she drank, the color slowly returning to her cheeks, her breathing becoming less labored with each drop of his blood.

When he finally pulled his wrist away, the wound on his arm healing instantly, Elijah could feel the tension in his chest begin to ease. Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed, not in death, but in sleep, as her body began to heal itself with the supernatural strength his blood provided.

He stayed with her for a long time, his fingers gently brushing through her hair as he watched the rise and fall of her chest, ensuring that she was truly out of danger. But as the night wore on and the adrenaline began to fade, another emotion took its place—fear. The fear of losing her, of being the cause of her suffering, gnawed at him, and with it came a realization that twisted his heart.

He had brought her into his world, a world of danger and death, and nearly lost her because of it. And as much as he loved her, as deeply as she had woven herself into his very soul, Elijah knew that he could not allow her to be hurt because of him again. The thought of losing her was unbearable, but so was the thought of her being harmed because of his presence in her life.

So he made a decision, one that broke his heart even as he resolved to follow through with it. He would protect her, even if it meant pushing her away. He was doing this because he loved her, he’d rather her hate him than to have to see her get hurt again.

The days that followed were a blur for Y/N. She woke in the comfort of Elijah’s bed, the memory of the battle a distant, hazy nightmare. The wound that should have killed her didn’t even leave a scar, a testament to the power of his blood and the love that had driven him to save her.

But as she recovered, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Elijah was distant, his usual warmth replaced by a cold formality that made her chest ache with unspoken dread. He was still there, still attentive, but there was a barrier between them now, an invisible wall that kept him at arm’s length.

He no longer held her close at night, no longer whispered sweet nothings in the quiet moments they shared. The gentle touch of his hand on hers had become brief, almost clinical, as if he were afraid to linger. And though he still looked at her with the same intensity, there was a sadness in his eyes, a sorrow that he tried to hide but that she could see as clearly as if it were written across his face.

It broke her heart.

“Elijah,” she finally confronted him one evening, her voice trembling as she stood before him in the grand study, the fire casting long shadows across the walls. He was seated at his desk, a book in hand, but she could tell he wasn’t really reading it. His gaze flicked up to meet hers, a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his features before he quickly masked it with his usual composure.

“Y/N,” he greeted her, his voice smooth but distant. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” she said, her voice breaking slightly as she forced herself to hold his gaze. “Everything is not all right, Elijah. You’ve been distant… ever since that night. Ever since you saved me.”

Elijah's jaw tightened, and he looked away, as if the sight of her was too much to bear. “Y/N,” he began, his voice colder than she had ever heard it, “you needed time to heal, and I needed time to… think.”

“Think about what?” she asked, dread pooling in her stomach. His distant demeanor, his evasive gaze—it all pointed to something she couldn’t bring herself to believe.

“About us.” His words were like shards of ice, stabbing into her heart. “I’ve come to realize that this—whatever we have—was a mistake.”

Y/N felt the world tilt beneath her feet, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to process his words. “A mistake?” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

Elijah turned his back to her, putting the discarded book that he was reading back on the shelves, trying to keep his mind occupied, unable to face the pain he knew he was causing. “You’re human, Y/N. Fragile. Mortal. I’ve lived for over a thousand years, and I’ve seen the devastation that comes from caring too much, from allowing a human into my life. It was foolish of me to think this could ever work.”

Each word was a dagger to her heart, tearing at the love she had thought was unbreakable. “So… you’re saying that all of this meant nothing to you?” she asked, her voice trembling. “That we meant nothing?”

“It’s not about meaning,” Elijah replied, his tone clipped. “It’s about reality. And the reality is that I can’t see myself with you in the long term. You deserve a life of safety, of normalcy—something I can never give you.”

Y/N took a shaky step forward, desperate to close the distance between them. “Elijah, please don’t do this. You’re lying to yourself, to me. I know you love me.”

But Elijah steeled himself, his expression hardening. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice hollow. “What I feel for you… it’s not enough. It’s never been enough.”

His words were a death sentence, and Y/N felt the tears she had been holding back spill over, hot and bitter. “So you laying over my dying body, sobbing, begging me to stay with you, to survive for you—meant nothing?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a word, she cut him off, her voice trembling with anger and pain. "If you're going to break my heart, Elijah, at least have the fucking guts to look me in the eye while you do it."

Elijah’s mask of indifference nearly cracked at her words, but he forced himself to remain cold as he turned to face her. He had to do this, for her sake, even if it destroyed him. “It was a moment of weakness,” he said, his voice tight. “Nothing more.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as the finality of his words sank in. She had fought so hard to survive, to be with him, and now he was ripping her heart out with the same hands that had once held her so tenderly.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t do this, Elijah. Don’t push me away. I love you, and I know you love me too.”

But Elijah shook his head, his eyes closing as if to block out the sight of her tears. “Goodbye, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you find someone who can give you the life you deserve.”

With that, he turned away and walked over to the bookshelves, his fingers trailing along the spines as he searched for something—anything—to focus on, trying to avoid meeting her gaze. His movements were frantic and uncoordinated, as if he were desperately looking for a book that could offer him an escape from the pain he had just inflicted. Y/N, her heart shattered into a million pieces, watched him with a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. The silence grew heavy between them as she turned on her heel and walked out, her footsteps echoing in the dimly lit study. As the door clicked shut behind her, Elijah remained by the bookshelves, his fingers gripping the spines of the volumes as silent tears began to fall. He choked back a sob, overwhelmed by the weight of his actions, his face hidden from view as he allowed his anguish to spill over.

The days that followed were unbearable. Y/N tried to move on, but everywhere she turned, she was haunted by memories of Elijah. His touch, his voice, the way he had looked at her as if she were the most precious thing in his world—it was all a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

She barely slept, her nights filled with dreams of him, of the life they could have had. And each morning, she awoke with the same ache in her chest, the pain of knowing that he had chosen to walk away from her.

Elijah, too, was suffering. Every moment without her was agony, but he forced himself to endure it, believing that he was doing the right thing. He buried himself in work, in the affairs of the Mikaelson family, but nothing could distract him from the emptiness that had settled in his heart.

He had told himself that he was protecting her, that pushing her away was the only way to keep her safe. But in truth, he was haunted by the fear that he had made the wrong choice, that he had destroyed the one thing that had ever brought him true happiness.

It was nearly a week later when Y/N found herself back at the Mikaelson estate, her heart heavy with unresolved emotions. She had tried to stay away, to respect his wishes, but the pain of their separation was too much to bear. She needed closure, needed to hear from him one last time, even if it tore her apart.

She found him in the study, where their last conversation had taken place. He was seated at his desk, the same book in his hands, though it was clear he hadn’t turned a page since she had last seen him.

Without hesitation, she burst into the room, her emotions boiling over. "Y/N—" he started, surprised by her sudden appearance, but she cut him off sharply.

“No, Elijah, don't say anything,” she snapped, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. “You’re going to sit there and let me talk.”

Elijah froze, his eyes wide as he looked at her, his usual calm demeanor shaken by the fire in her gaze. She didn’t give him a chance to respond, the words pouring out of her with all the pent-up frustration and hurt she had been holding in for days.

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Elijah,” she continued, her voice rising. “You don’t get to push me away because you’re scared. Do you think I didn’t know what I was getting into when you told me what you are? I knew, and I stayed because I love you, Elijah! I love you more than anything.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t finished. “You’re more than just an original vampire—you’re the love of my life. And no near-death experience will scare me off. Not when I have you.”

Her words hung in the air, raw and powerful, and for a moment, Elijah was at a loss for words. The walls he had so carefully constructed around his heart began to crumble as he looked at her, truly seeing the depth of her love for him.

Slowly, he stood from the desk, his movements hesitant as he approached her. “Y/N…” he began, but his voice cracked, betraying the emotions he was trying so hard to keep in check. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought… I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” she repeated, her tone softening slightly as she looked up at him. “By pushing me away? That’s not protection, Elijah—that’s fear. And I’m not afraid. I survived because of you. And I’ll keep surviving, as long as I have you by my side.”

Elijah reached out, his hands trembling as they cupped her face, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much. I just… I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“You won’t,” she whispered back, wrapping her arms around him and holding on as tightly as she could. “You won’t lose me, Elijah. I’m yours. I always will be.”

The tension that had been building between them melted away as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s embrace. Elijah’s hold on her tightened, as if he could somehow keep her safe just by keeping her close, and she smiled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

The fear and pain of the past days slowly began to fade, replaced by the warmth of their love, the unspoken bond that had always connected them. Elijah pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt her chin up so he could look into her eyes, his gaze soft and filled with a tenderness that made her heart swell.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking as he finally allowed himself to feel the depth of his emotions. “I promise, I will never push you away again, I love you.”

Y/N smiled, a radiant, heartfelt smile that lit up the room. “I love you too, Elijah. And I’m never going anywhere. No matter what.”

Elijah leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, pouring every ounce of his love and devotion into that simple act. Y/N responded in kind, her arms winding around his neck as she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss with a desperation that matched his own.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Elijah rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he savored the closeness he had denied himself for too long.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For staying. For loving me.”

“Always,” she replied, her fingers gently tracing the lines of his face, as if memorizing every detail. “I’m not afraid of your world, Elijah. Because it’s our world now. And as long as we’re together, we can face anything.”

He opened his eyes then, gazing down at her with a look of such reverence that it made her heart skip a beat. “You are my eternity, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with a promise that spanned centuries. “And I will spend every moment of it making sure you know how deeply you are loved.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with the certainty that they were meant to be together, no matter the challenges they might face. “And I will spend every moment loving you right back.”

With those words, the last remnants of the darkness that had hung over them dissipated, leaving only the light of their love to guide them forward. In that moment, in the safety of each other’s arms, they both knew that they had found something truly eternal—a love that would endure through the ages, unshaken by the trials of the world.

Together, they would face whatever came their way, knowing that their love was strong enough to overcome anything. And in the quiet of that night, as they held each other close, Elijah and Y/N made an unspoken vow—a vow to cherish, protect, and love one another for all of eternity.

And as they stood together, wrapped in the warmth of their love, they knew that whatever the future held, they would face it side by side, always and forever.

Mars speaks... (again) Thank you for reading, any and all feedback is appreciated. If you wish to be added to my Elijah taglist or my taglist for anyone else I write for, lmk!

[dee-writes-angst]

Endless, Soulshattering Quiet (Eris Week Day Five)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x Tamlin Sister!Reader

SUMMARY What else are you expected to do when you lose your mate, the one person who kept you tethered and alive? Not try everything in your power to bring him back? Yeah right.

CONTENT WARNINGS angst, death, grief, graphic descriptions of pain, death, and wounds, sadness, loss, broken mating bonds, smut, war, tamlin being a good brother?, the holy trinity (angst, smut, fluff babies)

AUTHORS NOTE happy day five @erisweekofficial!!! I had the be the one person to serve some death content, did you really expect me not to with prompts like war and adventure? I promise that while I will rip your hearts out with soul-destroying angst, I will also make your legs cry with some yummy smut at the end ;)

The air was thick with smoke, a haze of ash and blood lingering over the battlefield as the war raged on. You stood at the edge of it all, your heart pounding in your chest, hands trembling.

Eris had always been a beacon of strength and resilience, but as you watched the battle unfold, a cold dread crept over you. You’d always known the risks, the dangers of loving someone so involved in war, but nothing could have prepared you for the sickening feeling that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

He was out there.

Your mate was out there, somewhere in the fray, and every second that passed without seeing his familiar auburn hair or hearing his sharp, commanding voice felt like an eternity.

The war with Hybern had taken its toll on everyone. The Spring Court was crumbling under the weight of its losses, and yet you, Tamlin’s sister, had found solace in the most unlikely place—in Eris Vanserra. His love had been fierce, all-consuming, a fire that burned away your fears and melted the ice that had built up around your heart.

And now, that fire was out there, on the front lines, fighting for his life.

You were pacing the edges of the war camp, wringing your hands as you scanned the horizon for any sign of him. The hours dragged on, each one heavier than the last, and with each passing moment, the knot in your stomach tightened.

“Please,” you whispered, barely able to hear yourself over the chaos. “Please come back to me.”

And then, as if the gods themselves had heard your prayer, you saw him. His tall frame emerged from the smoke, his armor glinting under the pale sun as he moved through the wreckage. Your heart leapt into your throat as relief surged through your veins. He was alive.

You ran toward him, desperate to reach him, to feel his arms around you, to know that everything would be alright.

But before you could get to him, you saw it.

An arrow, dark and gleaming, soared through the air. It moved in slow motion, cutting through the fog of war with terrifying precision.

“Eris!” you screamed, your voice breaking as the arrow struck.

It hit him square in the chest.

He staggered back, his hand flying to the shaft lodged between his ribs. You could see the shock in his eyes as he looked down at the wound, his fingers stained with blood.

“No,” you breathed, your legs moving before your mind could catch up. “No, no, no.”

You sprinted toward him, your heart in your throat, the world around you fading into nothing but him. The noise of the battlefield was a distant hum, drowned out by the sound of your pulse thundering in your ears.

Eris fell to his knees, his body swaying as he struggled to stay upright. You caught him just as he collapsed, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, pulling him into your lap.

“Eris, please,” you begged, your voice trembling. “Stay with me. You can’t—” Your words choked off in your throat as you pressed your hand to the wound, blood seeping through your fingers. It was too much, far too much.

He looked up at you, his amber eyes dull with pain, but there was a soft smile on his lips, one that broke your heart into pieces. “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath.

You nodded frantically, tears blurring your vision as you cradled him closer. “I’m here, I’m right here,” you said, your hands trembling as you cupped his face. His skin was already growing cold, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. “You’re going to be okay, Eris. I promise, just stay with me. We’re going to get you out of here.”

But even as you said the words, you knew it was a lie. The wound was fatal. He wouldn’t survive this.

Eris’s hand found yours, his grip weak but steady as he brought your trembling fingers to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. “I love you,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your face in these final moments.

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded, your voice breaking. “You’re not—this isn’t goodbye. You’re going to make it. We’re going to get you home, I swear.”

But Eris only smiled, that soft, heartbreaking smile that shattered what was left of your resolve. “We were going to build a life,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I wanted to give you everything.”

Tears streamed down your face, your body shaking as you held him closer, your hands gripping his armor as if you could anchor him to this world. “We still can,” you whispered, desperation clawing at your chest. “We still have time, Eris. Please, don’t leave me.”

His gaze softened, a flicker of sorrow passing through his amber eyes. “I’ll find you,” he promised, his voice barely audible now. “In the next life, I’ll find you. And we’ll have our time.”

You pressed your forehead to his, sobbing openly now as you felt his body growing heavier in your arms. His breaths were slowing, each one more labored than the last.

“Eris,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Please don’t go.”

The moment Eris's body fell limp in your arms, a horrible, soul-crushing realization slammed into you—he was gone.

A scream ripped from your throat, so raw and guttural that it tore through the chaos of the battlefield like a wild animal unleashed. It was the sound of pure agony, of a bond severed far too soon. The world seemed to hold its breath, soldiers pausing in the middle of the fight to glance your way as your voice echoed through the field. It was a sound unlike anything they’d ever heard—a wail that came from the deepest, darkest part of you, as if your very soul had been wrenched from your chest along with him.

The bond—your bond—shattered.

You felt it break as the last flicker of Eris's life faded. The once warm, golden thread that connected your souls was severed, leaving behind nothing but an aching void, so cold and hollow it made you want to scream again, to fill the unbearable silence with anything, anything but the emptiness.

But there was nothing. No warmth, no soft pulse of his love in the back of your mind. Only stillness. Only quiet.

The bond had been your secret—hidden from everyone, even from Tamlin, your own brother. No one knew, not the Vanserras, not your court, not anyone. It had been your decision to protect each other, to keep what was precious hidden from the treacherous eyes of those who would ruin it. But now, now that Eris’s life had been snuffed out like a candle, there was no more hiding.

Your scream—the raw anguish that poured from your lips—told everyone. His soldiers, your brother’s men, they all knew.

Eyes turned toward you, and in that moment, the truth lay bare.

Eris Vanserra and Tamlin’s sister were mates. And now, he was gone.

A stunned hush fell over the battlefield, as if the world itself were mourning his loss, as if the gods had pressed pause on this wretched war just to bear witness to your grief.

You gripped his armor, fingers trembling as you rocked back and forth, refusing to let him go, the pain of the broken bond still coursing through your veins like poison. The silence stretched on, oppressive and suffocating, pressing down on your chest until you could hardly breathe. You had felt that bond, that beautiful, fragile connection, every single day since it had snapped into place. And now…now there was nothing but this dreadful, unending quiet.

As your sobs tore through the battlefield, the silence became too heavy to bear. From the edge of the fray, figures broke away from the lingering chaos, running toward you with a growing sense of urgency.

Tamlin was the first to reach you. His broad frame, usually exuding the power and strength of a High Lord, was trembling as he knelt beside you. "No..." he breathed, his voice barely audible. His green eyes were wide, horrified as they took in the sight of you cradling Eris's lifeless body, the truth settling over him like a crushing weight.

“No,” he whispered again, harsher this time. He reached out, his hand shaking, but he didn’t touch you. He couldn’t. The shock was too great, and his mind was spinning too fast. His gaze flickered from Eris’s bloodied chest to your tear-streaked face, the anguish there too much for him to comprehend.

Lucien arrived moments later, his steps faltering as he neared. The color drained from his face, his usually sharp eyes dulling in an instant as he saw his brother’s body lying in your arms. For a long, breathless moment, he stood frozen, his mouth opening as if to say something, but no words came out. His mind, too, was struggling to catch up, to process what he was seeing.

"Eris?" he rasped, his voice breaking. He dropped to his knees beside you, his shaking hands hovering over his brother’s chest, not daring to touch the body that had already gone cold. "Eris," he whispered again, and this time, it was a plea, a desperate cry to the gods. But the gods were silent.

His amber eyes, wide with disbelief, turned to you, searching for answers, for anything that would make this moment less real. “You…” he started, his voice thick with emotion. “You—” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. He could see it now, as clear as day. The bond between you and Eris, the love you had kept hidden. He had never known, never suspected.

Behind him, Rhysand approached. His violet eyes, always so calm and calculating, were filled with sorrow as he stepped into the circle of grief. He took in the scene—Tamlin’s horror, Lucien’s devastation, and your broken form holding onto Eris as if you could bring him back by sheer force of will.

Rhys knelt beside Lucien, his voice soft, steady. “He’s gone,” he said, the weight of those words hanging heavy in the air. His gaze flicked between you and the others, understanding dawning on him in the grim silence.

“You were mates,” he said, not as a question but a solemn acknowledgment of the truth no one had seen. His voice was gentle, full of quiet sympathy, but it still cut through the air like a knife.

Tamlin flinched, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. “Mates?” he whispered, his voice cracking with disbelief. His eyes searched yours, his face pale and stricken as the truth settled in. He had never known, never even imagined his sister could be bound to the eldest Vanserra. His breathing became ragged, fury and heartbreak warring within him as his hands clenched into fists.

You couldn’t respond, your throat too tight, your sobs too harsh. All you could do was hold Eris closer, pressing your face into his bloodied armor as if you could somehow protect what little remained of him.

Lucien finally found his voice, but it was hollow, broken. “Why didn’t you tell us?” His question came out as a whisper, the anguish in his tone raw and palpable. He stared at you, as if knowing might have made a difference, as if there was something he could’ve done to stop this.

But there had been nothing anyone could do. The war had taken Eris, and it had shattered you along with him.

Rhys placed a steady hand on Lucien’s shoulder, his own grief hidden behind a mask of calm. “There’s nothing we can do now,” he murmured. “He’s gone.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The bond was severed, and with it, the world felt quieter, darker, as if all the light had been extinguished.

You had kept it hidden, thinking you could protect your love by keeping it secret, by shielding it from the cruelty of the courts and the ugliness of politics. But in the end, it hadn’t been enough. Eris had still been taken from you, and now everyone knew.

And there was nothing left but the unbearable silence where the bond used to be.

After Eris's death, you returned to the Spring Court like a shell of yourself. The once vibrant halls of Tamlin's manor felt suffocating, their earthy charm now stifling and cold. Days passed in a blur, though you were hardly aware of them. You didn’t eat. You barely slept. You didn’t even speak. Each sunrise and sunset blurred together, an endless cycle of loss that dragged on without meaning. The bond was gone—ripped away as cruelly as the life of the man you had secretly loved. Without him, the world seemed to exist in muted, lifeless tones.

Your room became a prison, its four walls confining you to the agony of his absence. You’d spend hours just sitting by the window, staring at nothing, waiting for something that would never come back. Your body ached, not from hunger or fatigue, but from the cold void where the bond used to hum with life. It was as if the very air around you had turned to ash, choking the last flicker of light from your soul.

Tamlin came to your door every day, knocking softly, hoping that today would be the day you’d speak. He’d ask if you wanted to go for a walk, eat something, maybe even talk about what had happened. But you didn’t respond, not to him, not to anyone. His patience seemed infinite, but his heart was breaking watching his sister crumble into nothing before his eyes.

Lucien tried too. He’d sit beside your bed in silence, sometimes telling you stories of their childhood, hoping that memories of a better time might pull you from the darkness. But you never reacted, your gaze never shifted. You were simply... gone.

The silence stretched for weeks.

No one could reach you. Not even Tamlin, who had always been your protector. He was the one who held you after the battle, the one who shielded you from the harsh stares of the court as they discovered the truth of your bond with Eris. The one who should’ve been the first to know about your love but only found out when it was already too late.

Now, he watched helplessly as you withered, your once vibrant spirit consumed by grief. He saw the way you flinched at the sound of footsteps outside your door, the way your body seemed to curl in on itself as though you could shut out the world entirely.

One evening, Lucien and Tamlin spoke in hushed tones in the hallway, their voices barely audible through the thick door. You didn’t need to hear their words to know they were talking about you, about how you were slipping further away with each passing day. How your silence had grown more unbearable than any scream or cry could have been.

But then, Tamlin said something that cut through the haze, something that stirred the faintest ember within your hollow chest.

“There might be a way to bring him back.”

Your heart, once heavy and lifeless, gave the faintest flutter. You barely heard Lucien’s response, but the idea—bring him back—echoed through your mind like a bell tolling in the distance. For the first time since Eris’s death, something stirred deep within you. A flicker of hope, small and fragile, but enough to push you to move.

The next day, for the first time in weeks, you left your room.

The sunlight seemed too bright, too warm on your skin after being confined in darkness for so long, but it didn’t matter. Tamlin and Lucien were waiting, their faces a mix of relief and caution as you slowly descended the staircase.

“Tell me,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from disuse. Tamlin blinked, shocked to hear you speak, but quickly regained his composure.

“There’s a place,” Tamlin said, his tone hesitant but certain. “In the Autumn Court. The Ember Grove. It’s dangerous—nearly impossible to find—but if anyone can reach it, you can.”

“You knew this?!” You approached, stopping abruptly before him, your body trembling with the effort as anger surged through your veins. “You knew there was a chance, and you didn’t tell me?!”

“I didn’t—” Tamlin started, his own frustration bubbling to the surface as he tried to reason with you. “It’s not that simple. The Ember Grove—it's dangerous. The magic is wild and uncontrollable. It could kill you. I didn’t want to give you false hope, not when—”

“When what?” You spat, your voice rising as you advanced toward him. “When I’ve already lost everything? When I’ve spent weeks trapped in this hell, barely able to breathe without him? And you knew? You knew there might be a way and you didn’t tell me?”

Tamlin’s jaw tightened, his heart breaking at the sight of you unraveling. “I didn’t want to lose you, too.”

“You already have!” you shouted, the sound of your voice reverberating through the room. “I’m already gone, Tamlin. I have been since the moment I felt that bond go silent. You can’t lose something that’s already dead.”

The room was heavy with your words, and Tamlin could only stand there, helpless in the face of your grief and fury. He wanted to tell you how much he understood, how much he hated that you’d been forced to hide your love, how much he wished things could be different. But nothing he said could change the past.

Instead, it was Lucien who stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “We didn’t know how to tell you. It’s not that we didn’t want to help. We were just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the air. “There’s nothing left to protect. All that’s left is this emptiness, this nothingness. I’m done protecting myself. If there’s a chance, no matter the risk, I’ll take it.”

Tamlin’s gaze softened, but the worry remained. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. The Ember Grove... it’s not just dangerous. The trials you’ll face—if you even make it to the heart of the grove—will test you in ways you can’t imagine.”

“I don’t care.” Your voice was cold, final. “Tell me where it is.”

In the heart of the Autumn Court’s oldest woods, there exists a place forgotten by most, spoken of only in whispers: The Ember Grove. It is said to be where the first Vanserras were blessed by the forest, where the very essence of the Autumn Court’s power—fire, rebirth, and renewal—originated. According to legend, within this grove lies a single, sacred tree, its bark glowing faintly with embers, its roots entwined with the magic of the land. The tree is said to possess the power to reignite life, but only for those bound by fate and blood.

The spell that will bring Eris back is not without a cost—it demands something of equal worth. Lucien tells you that the ritual involves binding your magic to the land and using the remnants of your bond as a tether to call his spirit back. It is said that the magic of the grove will only grant him life for one willing to take on his pain.

To bring Eris back, you must willingly take his death wound into yourself, allowing his body to heal while you endure the agony of the blow that killed him.

The journey to the Ember Grove was a grueling test from the very start. It began in the outskirts of the Autumn Court, where the forest thickened into a dark, twisted mass of trees. The air was different here—heavier, older, carrying the weight of a thousand forgotten spells. The ground beneath your feet felt unstable, as though the forest itself was alive and shifting, watching your every move.

As you ventured deeper, the forest closed in around you, the trees towering over you like silent sentinels, their bark blackened and gnarled. Shadows danced between the branches, and you swore you could hear whispers on the wind, voices long lost to time. The deeper you went, the more the magic thickened in the air, pressing down on you, making it harder to breathe.

The first trial came when you reached the river. Its waters were still, unnaturally so, and dark as ink. You had to cross it, but as soon as you dipped a toe into the water, icy tendrils shot up from the depths, wrapping around your ankles and dragging you under. The cold was paralyzing, your lungs burning for air as you fought to break free, but the river wanted you. It wanted your despair, your grief, your soul.

The only way out was to let go of the weight that had been dragging you down since Eris’s death. You had to release it, had to believe that he could be saved, that you could find him again. And only when you surrendered your fear did the icy grip release, letting you stumble onto the other side, soaked and shaking but alive.

The next trial was worse. As you climbed a steep hill, the air around you shifted, the forest blurring until you found yourself standing in the Autumn Court’s battlefield once more. But this time, you weren’t a bystander—you were forced to watch Eris die over and over again. Each time more brutal than the last. Each time more hopeless.

You screamed, fell to your knees, your hands clenching the earth as you watched the love of your life be torn away from you in every conceivable way. It was torture, pure and relentless. But you couldn’t leave. You couldn’t look away, because this was the trial—you had to endure the worst of your memories, had to confront your greatest fear.

And you did. For him.

It wasn’t until you reached the heart of the Ember Grove that the forest finally relented. The trees parted, revealing the fiery glow of the Ember Tree. Its bark shimmered with a heat that radiated across the clearing, and the air buzzed with a magic so intense it felt like it was burning through your skin.

You knelt before it, your body broken and battered from the trials, but your heart resolute. You whispered the ancient spell, the words foreign on your tongue, but you could feel the magic stirring beneath your feet, responding to your call.

The ground shifted, embers rising from the earth to swirl around you, and the fire consumed everything in its path. But you didn’t flinch. You welcomed the burn, the pain, because you knew what it meant—knew that with each passing second, you were closer to bringing him back.

You remained kneeling in front of the ancient, burning tree, its embers swirling faster and faster, drawn to the words you chanted in the old tongue.

You didn’t know what you were saying—only that the magic was speaking through you, commanding the earth and air, fire and spirit to bring him back. Each word felt like it was being torn from your chest, heavy with power, with longing, with desperation. The glow of the tree grew brighter, casting the entire clearing in an eerie orange light. The embers, once slow and floating, began whipping around like sparks from a fire, encircling you and the tree in a whirlwind of heat.

Your voice grew raw, your throat aching as the spell neared its end. The ground beneath you trembled, and with a final, guttural cry, you spoke the last word. The ritual had taken everything from you—every ounce of your strength, every fragment of your soul. But that final step, the one that had required you to bear the agony of Eris’s death wound—it had nearly broken you.

The Ember Tree had demanded a sacrifice, and when you pressed your hand to its scorched bark, you had felt the cold grip of death itself wrap around your heart.

The arrow that had impaled Eris, the one that had severed his life from yours, had been remade—plunging through your body with such force, it felt like the air had been stolen from your lungs. You could feel the cold metal tearing through your skin, ripping through flesh and bone as if you had been the one on the battlefield that day. The pain was indescribable—a burning, crushing weight that threatened to drag you under, to take you into the dark with him.

But through the haze of agony, something changed.

The bond.

It had been a dead thing since the day Eris had fallen—quiet, silent, a gaping void in your chest that had left you cold and hollow. But now, now it was flaring back to life. Slowly, at first, a faint spark, but then—then it grew. Warmth spread through your body, threading through the pain, pushing back against the darkness.

And then, you felt it. Him.

The embers began to stir at your feet, swirling in the air, weaving together in the space before you. With each pulse of the bond, you felt his life tethering itself back to you, stronger and stronger with every beat. The ember-born winds gathered in front of you, twisting and turning, building him back from nothing.

You watched, breathless, as the fire coalesced into the outline of a man, a figure you had memorized in every stolen moment you’d shared.

First, his hair formed—the familiar fiery strands that had once caught the sunlight so beautifully, and then his shoulders, broad and powerful, the ones you had buried your face into when the world had been too much. His chest came next, rising and falling with the shallowest of breaths, his heart beating in time with yours. You felt the bond solidify in your chest as the embers continued to craft him, filling the gaping hole inside of you as it mended itself.

Then came the details—the intimate, tiny pieces of him you knew better than your own skin. The freckles. You leaned in, your breath trembling as you watched them appear on his pale skin, one by one. There was the cluster just below his collarbone, the one you had kissed so many times it felt like yours. Your eyes traced the path of them across his body—scattered over his shoulders, across his back.

Your gaze drifted lower, and there it was—the small mole on his right ring finger, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. You had kissed it once, tracing the curve of his hand as you lay beside him. Now, seeing it remade before your eyes, you couldn’t hold back the sob that rose in your throat.

His hands, those calloused, warm hands that had held you so tightly, now twitched with life, his fingers curling slightly. You could see the lines of his palms, each crease and scar, familiar and so achingly beautiful in their imperfection.

The embers worked their way over his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint stubble that you had once teased him about. And then his lips—soft, full, and slightly parted as they took in the first breaths of his new life. You could already feel them against your skin, the ghost of a kiss that hadn’t yet been given.

Finally, his eyes. Those brilliant amber eyes, the ones that held a thousand secrets, a thousand promises. Slowly, they opened, and when they met yours, the bond flared so violently it nearly brought you to your knees. It wasn’t just his presence you felt—it was his soul, his essence wrapping around you, filling you up until there was nothing but him.

“Eris,” you breathed, your voice trembling, tears streaming down your face as you looked into those eyes, the ones you thought you’d never see again.

He blinked, disoriented, but then recognition flooded his features. His lips moved, but no words came out—just a breath, a small, shaky exhale as his hand lifted weakly toward you.

You didn’t hesitate. You surged forward, pressing your body against his, needing to feel him—his warmth, his heart, his life.

His arms, though still weak, wrapped around you, pulling you into him. You buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was real. He was real.

“I thought I lost you,” you sobbed, clutching him tightly. “I thought I’d never—”

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice raw and broken. His hand cupped the back of your head, his lips brushing against your hair. “I’m here.”

You weren't able to walk after to ritual, body too weak from the stress of the powerful magic that you channeled to summon him to do much else than cling to him. You had wanted to stay there, to not move as you memorized every part of him once more just to be sure, but Eris was insistent on getting out of the oppressing weight of the forest, carrying you to an abandoned cabin just outside the powerful barrier of magic.

The cabin was old, forgotten by time, its walls weathered by countless storms and its windows fogged over with dust. It wasn’t much—a single room with a fireplace, a rickety table, and a bed that had seen better days. But it was shelter, a place to breathe after the chaos of the ritual.

Eris had carried you inside, his steps slow and measured, the weight of his new body still settling into place. You hadn’t let go of him since the ritual, your fingers gripping his tunic as if he might disappear if you loosened your hold. You couldn’t stop touching him—running your hands over his chest, his arms, up to his face, memorizing the feel of him, grounding yourself in his warmth.

The bond between you was fierce now, stronger than it had ever been, pulsing with each heartbeat as if reminding you both that he was alive—that he was here.

But even that didn’t calm the frantic desperation inside of you.

He sat you on the edge of the bed, gently prying your hands from his tunic as he knelt in front of you, his amber eyes soft with understanding. He hadn’t said much since the ritual—he didn’t need to. The bond conveyed everything, every flicker of emotion, every unspoken thought.

The air in the cabin felt too thick to breathe, the quiet too loud, like the entire world had been reduced to this moment, this space, and the man kneeling before you. The flickering light from the fire cast soft shadows across his face, illuminating the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the determined set of his jaw, and the unmistakable intensity in his amber eyes.

Eris was calm—too calm—as if he hadn't just been ripped from death and thrust back into life. As if he didn’t understand that every beat of your heart now felt like a miracle, that the bond between you was buzzing with a newfound ferocity, pulling you toward him like a gravitational force you couldn’t resist. But it was more than that. It was the fear still clinging to the edges of your mind, the terror of almost losing him. You had lost him, and now that he was back, you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him slip away again, not even for a second.

You’d spent days—weeks—since his death barely surviving, barely feeling. But now, every emotion, every sensation was alive, almost too intense to bear, and it all centered around him.

“I need you,” you whispered again, the words slipping from your lips like a prayer. “I need to feel you, Eris. Please.”

He stood up slowly, unfolding himself with that familiar, unhurried grace, and took your trembling hands in his. His fingers, warm and steady, threaded through yours, grounding you in his presence as he pulled you to your feet. Even with the weight of your desperation pressing against him, he moved with patience, every touch soft, like he knew exactly how fragile you felt.

“You’ve had me for years,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that vibrated through your bones. “I’ve never left you.”

But you did, the thought screamed in your head. You died. You left me. You were gone.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight as the storm of emotions raged inside you. He didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—what it had been like without him. The bond, once so vibrant and alive, had gone utterly silent the moment he was taken from you, and the pain of that void had been unbearable, suffocating. And now? Now it was back, fierce and unyielding, and you couldn’t handle the thought of it going quiet again.

The fire crackled softly, but the world seemed to shrink, the cabin feeling smaller as you stood before him, your hands gripping his tunic again, pulling him closer, needing the warmth of him pressed against you. The desperation clawed at you, making it hard to breathe, and the only thing that felt real, that felt solid, was him.

“I need more than words,” you said, voice trembling, your nails digging slightly into his skin as you spoke. “I need to feel you. I need to know you're here. Truly here, with me.”

He inhaled slowly, the flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. The warmth of his body seeped into you, and for a moment, you could almost imagine it was enough—almost. But it wasn't. His arms alone weren't enough to silence the fear inside you, weren't enough to quench the wildfire of need roaring through your veins. You needed to be closer, to make sure that every part of him was still real.

You pressed against him more urgently, your hands fisting the fabric of his tunic as if you could pull him closer by sheer force of will. “Please, Eris,” you begged, the words a breathless whisper against his neck. “Don’t make me wait. Not after everything.”

For the first time, you saw a crack in his resolve—a flicker of heat in his gaze as he looked down at you. The control he always held so tightly began to fray at the edges, his breath hitching ever so slightly as his thumb traced along your jaw, down your neck, leaving a trail of warmth that made your pulse quicken.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice huskier now, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your hair. “For me to give in?”

You nodded, unable to form words as the bond between you thrummed with the intensity of your need. The bond flared, every beat of your heart echoing in his chest, every shuddering breath mirrored between you. It was like a lifeline, tethering you both together, pulling you closer until the space between you disappeared.

He studied you for a moment longer, his amber eyes darkening as he searched your face, as if weighing the gravity of what you were asking. Then, with a soft exhale, he leaned down, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

The kiss was consuming, a fierce and unrelenting thing that stole the breath from your lungs and left you gasping. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that matched your own, the calm control he’d maintained for so long finally giving way to the fire simmering beneath the surface. He kissed you like he was trying to burn away the last remnants of death, to remind you that he was alive—that you both were.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened, as his tongue slid against yours, tasting, claiming. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, your fingers desperate as you clung to him, trying to bridge the gap that still felt too wide. You wanted to lose yourself in him, to drown in the sensation of his lips, his touch, his presence.

But it still wasn’t enough.

You pulled back, breathless, your lips tingling from the intensity of the kiss, and looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please,” you whispered again, your voice barely audible. “I need all of you.”

For a heartbeat, he hesitated, his gaze locked on yours, as if he could sense just how much you needed this—needed him. Then, with a soft growl, he scooped you into his arms and carried you toward the bed, the soft, worn mattress creaking under your weight as he laid down.

You straddled Eris's lap, his body now fully alive beneath yours, the familiar warmth of him grounding you after the terrifying emptiness of his absence. As you sank down onto him, the sensation was both a relief and a reminder—he was here, with you, alive. The pressure of him inside you was overwhelming, but in the best possible way, as if it was the only thing tethering you to the earth. Each movement sent shivers down your spine, the desperation of lost time making everything more intense, more vivid.

Your hands roamed over his chest, fingers trembling as you felt his heartbeat strong beneath your palm. The reality of him alive, warm, and solid beneath you made your breath catch in your throat. "Eris," you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion, "I thought I’d lost you."

His gaze met yours, filled with the same mix of emotions—relief, hunger, and something deeper, something that words couldn't quite capture. "I’m here, love" he murmured, his hands coming up to cup your hips, steadying you as you rocked against him. His voice, roughened by the strain of all that had happened, held a promise in it. "I’m not going anywhere."

His grip tightened, and his hips met yours in a steady, unhurried rhythm, each thrust a reassurance that he was real, that you had brought him back. "I feel you," you breathed, leaning forward, your lips brushing against his neck. "You’re alive, Eris. I need this, I need you."

Eris’s response was a low, guttural sound, his hands sliding up your back with both a tenderness and a hunger that mirrored your own. “I need you too,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I never stopped wanting you. Even then... I was holding onto you.”

The words sent a rush of heat through your body, the weight of what he was saying settling deep in your chest. Your movements became more urgent, the need to feel him, all of him, consuming you. You pressed yourself closer to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you began to ride him faster, desperate to close the gap between what had been and what was now.

"Don’t stop," you gasped, your voice shaking with a mix of pleasure and emotion. "I need all of you. I need to feel every part of you, Eris."

He groaned, the sound raw and full of need, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he pulled you down onto him. “You have me,” he rasped, his eyes never leaving yours. “Every part of me is yours.”

The rhythm between you grew more intense, the fire in the hearth forgotten as the heat between your bodies took over. The feeling of him inside you, of the way he moved with you, was everything—proof that you had him back, that he was yours. His lips brushed your skin, the warmth of his breath sending shivers through you as he whispered, “I’m not letting go of you again. I swear it.”

You clenched around him, the pleasure building to a crescendo as his hands roamed over your body, guiding you, grounding you. "I love you," you gasped, the words slipping out as you lost yourself in the rhythm, in him.

Eris’s eyes darkened, his grip on you tightening as he thrust deeper, harder, his voice strained with both pleasure and emotion. "I love you too. Always." The intensity of his words was matched by the force of his movements, his body answering your every need, your every desire.

When the release finally came, it washed over you like a wave, pulling you under as your body trembled against his. Eris followed soon after, his groan low and rough as he buried himself inside you one last time, his grip on you never faltering.

In the quiet that followed, you collapsed against him, your head resting on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. His heart, steady and strong beneath your ear, was a reminder that he was here, that you had brought him back.

ERIS WEEK TAGLIST

@littlest-w01f @mp-littlebit

[sophora2025]

Guts x Reader Headcanons | Berserk (Anime/Manga)

Protective Yet Distant at First

• At the beginning, Guts keeps a significant emotional distance. He’s been through so much betrayal and loss that he struggles to open up or even trust anyone, let alone let someone get close.

• Despite this, you’ll notice that he’s incredibly protective of you. He’ll instinctively position himself between you and any potential danger, even if it’s just a small argument with someone else. He never says much about it, but his actions make it clear he considers your safety paramount.

• Guts doesn’t do soft reassurances or comforting words. Instead, he’ll fix things for you without you even asking — like making sure your weapons are sharp, securing food, or covering you with his cloak if you’re cold.

Grudging Affection

• It takes time, but Guts slowly begins to show affection in small, almost reluctant ways. He’s not used to feeling anything but anger and vengeance, so loving someone feels foreign and even a little frightening for him.

• He might brush your hair out of your face or give you a fleeting touch on the shoulder after a battle, and that’s when you know he’s starting to care more than he lets on.

• His affection usually comes in practical forms: he’s the first to fix up your wounds, no matter how minor, and if you’re ever feeling down or upset, he won’t say much — but he’ll sit close to you, offering his silent company as comfort.

Wounded Protector

• Guts is so used to being a protector, it’s ingrained in his soul. His instinct is to shield you from the horrors of the world, but at the same time, he knows you’re capable and strong. It’s a fine line he walks — letting you fight alongside him while constantly worrying for your safety.

• After particularly brutal battles, Guts will be torn between making sure you’re alright and tending to his own injuries. His own wounds mean nothing to him if you’re in danger, and he’ll brush off his pain just to ensure you’re okay.

• He’ll act like it’s no big deal, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes if you’re hurt. It’s one of the few times you’ll see him let down his guard and express genuine care. When he tends to your wounds, his hands are surprisingly gentle for someone who’s lived his life by the sword.

Quiet Nights of Reflection

• Guts doesn’t talk much about his past, but there are moments, especially in the quiet of night, when the weight of everything he’s been through becomes unbearable. He’ll sit silently by a campfire or in your shared tent, staring off into the distance.

• You’ll sometimes catch him in these moments, and while he won’t ask for comfort, the mere presence of you sitting next to him is enough. He might not say anything, but he’ll relax a little, his posture less tense, as if your presence is grounding him.

• Occasionally, he’ll talk about his childhood or memories of the Band of the Hawk. These moments are rare, but when they happen, you realize just how much pain and loss Guts carries with him every day.

Physical Comfort

• Guts isn’t the most verbally affectionate person, but over time, he grows to express his feelings physically. Whether it’s wrapping an arm around your waist as you walk together or holding you close at night, his touches are always protective, always deliberate.

• During rough nights, when his dreams are plagued by memories of Griffith or his battles with Apostles, he sometimes reaches for you in his sleep, gripping your hand or arm as if afraid to lose you. You’ll wake up to find him tense, but your touch always calms him down.

• When you’re both resting after a long day, Guts will often let you lean on him, whether you’re sitting by a campfire or on the battlefield after the fight has ended. It’s his way of showing that he trusts you and finds solace in your presence.

Unshakable Loyalty

• Once Guts lets you into his life, he is fiercely loyal. Betrayal has scarred him deeply, so the fact that he’s allowed himself to care for you means everything. He will protect you with his life, no questions asked.

• His loyalty shows not just in battle but in the small moments. If you need something — anything — he will find a way to get it, even if he doesn’t admit it’s because he cares about you. He’s not the kind of person to confess feelings easily, but you’ll know through his actions that you mean the world to him.

• Guts sees you as one of the few people who genuinely understands him, and though he may not show it outright, he fears losing you in the same way he’s lost so many others.

Soft Vulnerability

• While Guts has a tough exterior, there are rare moments when he lets his guard down completely. After long battles or when you’ve both found a rare moment of peace, you’ll catch a glimpse of the man beneath the warrior.

• He might lay his head in your lap or let you clean his wounds, allowing himself to be vulnerable around you in ways he wouldn’t be with anyone else. When his mind isn’t consumed by vengeance or fighting, he finds quiet comfort in your touch, though he won’t speak of it.

• You’re one of the few people who can get Guts to smile — and when it happens, it’s fleeting, but it’s real. You can tell he’s grateful to have you by his side, even if he struggles to express it.

Dealing with His Rage

• Guts carries a lot of anger and trauma, and sometimes it gets the better of him. When he’s deep in his rage, he becomes terrifying — but you’re one of the few who can pull him back from the edge.

• He hates it when you see him in that state, afraid that his anger might scare you away or worse, hurt you. But you’ve always stayed, always reminded him that he’s more than just a weapon, more than just the Black Swordsman.

• In those moments, he’ll withdraw, not wanting you to see him at his lowest. But if you reach out, he’ll let you in, appreciating the steadying force you provide, even if he can’t articulate it.

Fierce Protector of Your Bond

• Guts isn’t someone who shares easily. If anyone tries to come between the two of you or threatens your bond, his reaction is swift and merciless. He won’t tolerate any threat to your relationship.

• He doesn’t speak about his feelings in public — and anyone prying into his personal life will get nothing but silence or a sharp glare. But with you, in private moments, he lets you know you’re his in small, meaningful ways — an arm around your waist, a hand on your shoulder, the way he shields you without saying a word.

• Even if Guts can’t always express his feelings verbally, his commitment to you is undeniable. He’s chosen to fight for something more than just revenge, and you’ve become an anchor in his chaotic world.

Guts would likely struggle with allowing someone close to him, given his traumatic past and solitary nature, but once he does, his loyalty and love would be unmatched. He’s someone who shows his emotions through actions, and his protectiveness and vulnerability with you would reflect how deeply he cares, even if the words never come easily.

[starlight-archer]

@netflix

Greetings,

I am writing to you with hope in my heart, to implore you, from the bottom of my heart and with the utmost sincerity, to please reconsider your decision to cancel your critically acclaimed new show Dead Boy Detectives.

This show has touched a lot of people's hearts and souls, my own included. It has generated countless rave reviews, massive online buzz and an amazingly active and dedicated fan base that continues to grow.

This series has done something truly incredible and meaningful, and I think you have something remarkably special with Dead Boy Detectives. I have so many reasons why this show is worthy of your investment, faith, and more than worthy of a second season. In this letter, I will attempt to narrow it down and list a few of them.

Firstly, a fantastic foundation has already been laid down from the start with it's incredibly compelling and well-rounded characters. Each of them feels very nuanced, natural and whole in a way that succeeds in making them all widely relatable despite their distinct individuality and complex differences.

There is a rare kind of beauty to the way that these characters have all been written and then brought to life by the cast in such a genuine and heartfelt manner.

Secondly, the natural and loving way in which POC, women and queer people are represented is second to none.

You have an amazing example of a strong and powerful female lead in Crystal. She is layered and does her best to be better than she was in the past. She is realistically flawed and so resilient that it is impossible not to root for her. She is smart and empathetic, and puts in effort to understand her friends, even when they butt heads.

The fact that her powers can never truly be taken away and that she can always connect to them through herself and through the support and live of her female ancestors is a thoroughly wonderful detail that leaves you with a deep sense of hopefulness.

Niko, who is far from home and starts off all alone after losing her father, finds kinship and courage through the support of her friendships with Crystal, Edwin and Charles,and shows her unwavering strength through her continual acts of natural kindness. She is sharp and observant, and she utilises that yo be amazingly caring.

Charles' story is also incredibly relatable and meaningful. The way that he overcomes his painful history with his parents through kindness, and does this again and again, despite still dealing with so much trauma and hurt is astounding. I, and many others long to see his story at continue.

Now, Edwin and his relationship with his queer identity...

The way in which the queer representation has been handled in Dead Boy Detectives is leagues above the vast majority of other shows that share its target audience. It feels so authentic. Something which is unfortunately hard to come by, which this show pulls off spectacularly.

Edwin's personal journey with his sexuality is done with so much care and raw honesty that it is impossible not to appreciate everyone in the writers room who was responsible. George Rextrew's portrayal of Edwin in this aspect (and frankly all other aspects) was simply phenomenal. The way that he discovers more of himself through his relationships with his peers is done so incredibly well. Charles, Crystal, Niko, Monty and The Cat King all play a significant role on his self-discovery - be it directly or through showing their support - in a way that I am sure many of the queer viewers long for and relate to.

There are so, so many people who feel seen because of Dead Boy Detectives, myself among them, and that is something that is immensely and inherently valuable.

Furthermore, the realistically nuanced way in which the show depicts the characters dealing with different kinds of grief and trauma is unbelievably refreshing. To show each unique situation and natural, emotional and internal responses in a way so grounded in reality is a true achievement. One that every member of the cast and crew should be celebrated for. As someone who has experienced tremendous loss, I can confidently say that the way these things are depicted in the show is highly accurate and resonant.

Aside from these aspects, I am of the firm belief that timing and lack of appropriate promotion harmed the number of streams in its initial days of release. It was put out right before/during exam time from American viewers, meaning that all of the teens who might have been binge-watching, were stuck cramming for tests. Additionally, while I do think that focusing so much fantastic promotion and marketing on Tumblr was a stroke of genius, not matching that across other platforms such as X (formerly Twitter), Instagram, and TikTok was a gross oversight that significantly limited reach and harmed viewership.

All of this on consideration, please, please reconsider the cancellation. Dead Boy Detectives has so much potential and deserves a real chance to grow and succeed.

There are thousands of people who share my sentiments of devastation and disappointment, but also hope and massive amounts of love.

It is well evidenced that sharing this show has created a wonderful communuty and brought droves of people together. Drives which I am sure that you have seen sharing their sorrow, frustration, and their dedication across social media.

Saving Dead Boy Detectives is worthwhile and just makes sense at this point, especially given it's role as an extended part of your well-established hit IP The Sandman, and the current proximity to Halloween, when a show about ghosts will be so seasonally and culturally relevant.

I am begging you, alongside thousands of others to bring Dead Boy Detectives back for a Season 2. Please hear our voices and restore our faith in you as a platform.

It is not too late.

#SaveDeadBoyDetectives

Sincerely, one of countless dedicated fans.

"It's not what you did, it's what you do that matters." - Edwin Payne (to Crystal, The Case of The Devil House)