#a gentle hand capable of so much destruction

[altades]

Weeping angel

[sleepymarimo]

zoro x gn!reader // sfw

𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 drifts in and out of consciousness, the netting of the hammock molding into his back. your weight atop his chest is a comfortable one, one of his hands splayed over your hip and toying with the patch of skin exposed by your lifted shirt.

there’s nothing better than this- him, you, and the open sea.

he hears it all, the distant clamor of the crew, their steps along the deck, maybe the clinking of utensils in the kitchen, but he drowns it out. you, it’s all you, your soft breaths and the occasional yawn you give- it makes him drowsy.

his wado pushes against a wooden beam, a constant movement that keeps the hammock rocking. the rhythm isn’t allowed to be disturbed, not on his watch, even if it means sacrificing the sleep he cherishes so much.

he knows his swords are capable of utter destruction. he’s ended lives with them, they’ve seen countless bodies- they should be permanently colored crimson. stained crimson.

yet, right now, his sheathed blade serves only to maintain the gentle swaying of the hammock.

you stir, stretch your limbs, reaching for his arm in a bid to get him to lower his wado. “jus’ go to sleep, ‘zo. don’t need you to keep rocking it.”

“eh? m’fine,” he reassures, a bit husky, his warrior mind fighting off the sleep like nothing.

his palm moves from your hip, instead covering your eyes as if willing you back into an unconscious state. he yawns, his canines on display, before sighing. “you sleep first, got it?”

[ruins-posts]

── “Descent” [Ryomen Sukuna]

synopsis— Sukuna finds out about the one curse more powerful than he ever could be. author's note— Sukuna might be unwanted in the manga, but that's not happening on my watch.

Sukuna belongs to no one. He does as he pleases— and yet, his body shields you from the cruel sunlight that peeks from behind the curtains, that would have otherwise disturbed your generous slumber. His eyes cannot leave you as much as they want to. You're simply the most perfect thing one could lay their eyes upon.

Lips slightly parted, you take deep, fulfilling breaths. He wonders what your silly little human dreams are about. He secretly finds himself hoping he's in them.

He hates it.

Despises, in fact— how naive you are, showing kindness to a being like him. Someone who had a nature more monstrous than the fictional ones the humans create. Whose mere name could send chills down a person's spine. He hates how gentle your touch is. He hates how he loves to see you smile.

Perhaps he will get bored of it, someday.

Your eyebrows scrunch together as a few strands of hair fall down your perfect face. It irritates him more than it does to you— the fact that he wants nothing to trouble you. Nothing. But oh, silly you— fell in love with trouble himself.

Sukuna never knew he was capable of such gentleness till he brushed the hair away from your face. The same hands he used to slaughter his enemies, spread his cruelty, now reduced to doing such a gentle act? How pathetic of him.

His hands remain on your cheek, cupping it gently— wanting to explore this new side you brought out of him. And it makes you stir from your gentle slumber. Eyes fluttering open slowly, the first sight you are greeted with it your beloved master.

"Sukuna..." you greet him sleepily with a soft smile. His heart twists. How could anyone ever smile at him so sweetly? He wants to pull his hand away.

But you stop him. Your hands— softer, gentler, smaller, reach to hold the one he used to caress your cheek. He is not familiar to such a touch of gentleness. He never had been. His heart beats.

You close your eyes shut again, embracing the soothe of his touch, cradling his hand closer to you. The monster's hand. The hand of a person who has only known destruction and death. Placing a soft kiss on his palm, you shuffle closer to him.

The ones who dared do look at him without his permission were rendered limbless the very next second. How come could he allow someone to get so close to him? How could he melt in someone's embrace like he does in yours?

He doesn't know the answer. The love that the world never showed him, you showed it so selflessly he couldn't say a word but place a kiss on the top of your head.

The king was, for the very first time, silenced by a human. To say he was the strongest...perhaps was now, as per him, a wrong statement to make. A curse much more powerful than him did exist. And he had been conquered by such, because for the first time, a being like him who did what he could solely for his pleasure — found himself at the mercy of another.

That curse was love. And he, in the secrets of his mind, declared that there was no curse more powerful than love.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter VIII: Rumours 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Three months after your show in Oldtown, things seem different. How will you and Aemond navigate this new normality?

Warnings: 18+, self-destructive thoughts, mentions of rehab, therapy and anger management, allusions to smut

Word count: 4500

A/N: What a journey! Thank you so much to everyone that has followed this story, both for the first and second time.

Three months later. 

The tour went on for over two months, finishing with a sold-out show back home in King’s Landing. Thanks to management bringing in some highly skilled people to work on finalising the songs on Rumours, the event doubled as the release day of your second album. 

You sold twice as many records in the first three days as your first album did since its release last year.

Though you’re certain that some of the attention your album’s received is due to the dramatic end of your marriage to Aemond, you’re convinced that fans wouldn’t be buying it if they didn’t enjoy the music. The reviews from major music outlets were raving about the emotional depth throughout the album, another indicator that gossip wasn’t the only selling point of your heartbreaking labour. 

Now, with the holidays closing in, your label has asked you to create some type of extra material to put on a limited edition version of Rumours. 

The members of Dragon Dreamers agreed that adding a bonus track would be the best feature, and decided to meet in the studio to record it in one go; a straight-forward and quick procedure fitting your time restraint. 

You’ve been playing around with a few ideas for new songs, but nothing substantial that feels ready just yet. Lucky for you, Helaena posted in your group chat that she’s been working on a song you could use. 

You’d listened to the demo she shared and the song truly has great potential, being somewhat fast-paced with Helaenas dreamy vocals adding that mellow feel to it only she seems capable of. 

Reaching the studio, you step out of the taxi and thank the driver over your shoulder, pulling the thick, wool fabric of your coat tighter around your trembling body. 

It’s only the last week of November, but winter seems to have come early this year. You hurry to get into the building where the studio is, shaking fingers fidgeting with the key in your cold, inflexible hand, too stiff to obey you and get the thin piece of brass into the keyhole. 

“Allow me”, echoes a voice behind you, and the corners of your lips pull up at the familiar, gentle tone. 

“It’s fucking freezing”, you say light-heartedly and move away from the lock to make space for Aemond, who steps forward, key already in hand.

He unlocks the door swiftly, giving you a pointed look while pushing the heavy door open with one hand. It’s his idea of banter; meeting your eyes with that cheeky glint dancing in his eyes, amusement hiding in his lips where the faintest promise of a smile forms. 

“Thank you” 

You walk past him into the hallway leading to the studio and he follows behind you, mumbling a quiet, 

“Anytime”

After the show in Oldtown, your and Aemond’s relationship has improved immensely. Agreeing that whatever happens, the band comes first, proves to be a good way for the both of you to stay on track. 

Being on the road and performing several times a week is draining, stressful, and overall rough. But in the strain, it’s provided you with some peace of mind, forced to put all your focus on work instead of dwelling on the past.

On everything that’s happened between the two of you.

Besides, Aemond’s put in effort to be civil as well, even bordering on being friendly at times, asking you if you’d like anything from the coffee shop before he went to grab an espresso. A clear sign of trying that you appreciate, no matter how small. 

Besides, it’s not like he even needs to ask. He knows perfectly well what you like. 

But this feels better; feigning ignorance. 

Not still acting like a married couple. 

Perhaps his change was not entirely due to what occurred in Oldtown. Helaena had let it slip one day over lunch that he’d started seeing a therapist, while also attending an anger management program online. 

You’re happy for him, truly. 

It shows on his demeanour that he’s doing better; that he knows how to handle situations better. He seems more in tune with his inner self as well, more in control of it. You’re glad to see him improving, and yet there’s a small part of you that still mourns the broken bond between the two of you. 

That part feels resentful, annoyed with the fact that he couldn’t have done this before your divorce. 

Then you might still be together. 

Helaena’s singing voice grows louder as you move closer to the door of the studio, pushing it open with your stiff, cold hands. 

Jace and Erryk are already seated, listening intently to Helaena’s instructions as she explains how they’re going to record the song. You and Aemond slip in, eyes trained on her, and she offers you a nod in greeting, continuing to discuss her vision of the song,

“The build up has to be captivating! It speeds up towards the outro at the end, which is like the highlight of the song”, she says, hands coming up to put emphasis on her words, 

“That’s what you’d envisioned, right Aemond?”

Her head turns to meet the gaze of her younger brother, waiting for a sign of agreement. He only hums in reply and nods at her, prompting her to continue. 

Has Aemond written this song?

You think back to the demo Helaena sent of her singing and playing piano. 

Isn’t this a love song?

“Finally wrote a song for your girlfriend then?”, Erryk teases as he lowers himself to take a seat behind the drum set. 

A wave of nausea crashes over you without warning. You feel your heart race in your chest, like it’s fighting to get out, and a sickening panic spreads within you. Your hands, that’d just felt so cold and stiff, now feel clammy and tingling with unease. 

You knew this day would come. 

The day Aemond writes a song for Alys. 

You’d mentally prepared for it; convinced yourself that whenever this day came, you’d be okay. It wouldn’t hurt that much, you already know that he’s moved on. 

But Erryk’s question leaves you disoriented, almost dizzy, and you hear the furious beat of your heart in your ears.

Now you have to live with your decision to leave him all those months ago. Allow him to move on and watch him from the sidelines as his colleague. 

Sing along to the declaration of love he’s written for his new lover? 

“Hel and I have been working on this song since last spring”, he dismissively replies, throwing Erryk a look that feels cold, yet his tone stays neutral. 

Since last spring? 

You still feel the heavy weight of anxiety on your chest, but with a few deep breaths, you manage to pull yourself together. 

Just get through this afternoon, then you can go home and dwell in self-pity without spectators. 

The band starts to play, Helaena singing as her fingers dance over the keys of the piano, 

‘Sweet, wonderful you’

‘You make me happy with the things you do’

‘Oh, can it be so?’

‘This feeling follows me wherever I go’

Aside from the demo Helaena sent you a few days ago, you’ve never heard this song before. If Aemond’s been working on it since last spring, does that mean he’s kept it a secret from you?

Maybe he played a rough edit to you before your separation? 

Maybe he and Helaena had reworked it beyond recognition? 

‘I never did believe in miracles’

‘But I’ve a feeling it’s time to try’

‘I never did believe in the ways of magic’

‘But I’m beginning to wonder why’

He’s not usually the type to write love songs. His solo song on your first album, titled ‘I’m so Afraid’, can be described as anything but romantic. 

‘Don’t break the spell’

‘It would be different and you know it will’

But this? Is it the love he receives from Alys that has prompted him to write such an exposing song; causing him to believe in miracles and magic? 

Does she make him feel safe? 

Safer than before? 

‘You make loving fun’

‘And I don’t have to tell you but you’re the only one’

You try to keep your voice stable as you sing along, backing up Helaena’s delicate tone. 

It hurts, hearing how much he doesn’t miss you; how happy he is with her. 

The one that makes loving fun. 

When you were married, all you seemed capable of was making him miserable. 

Loving you wasn’t fun. 

‘You make loving fun’

‘It’s all I wanna do’

‘You make loving fun’

‘It’s all I wanna do’

Some hours go by.

You record a few different versions of the song; playing around with various sounds. 

Every time you sing the words, they stab your heart like a knife, 

‘You make loving fun’

You try to act normal. You try so hard that you can taste copper on your tongue. Thankfully, no one seems to see through your facade. 

Just breathe. 

In. Hold three seconds. Out. Hold three seconds. 

You know that it won’t hurt this much forever. 

One day, you’ll wake up and your lungs won’t ache when you inhale deeply. Your eyes won’t burn from the force in which you're trying to prevent tears from falling. 

Time heals all wounds. 

But yours are still fresh. Leaking and aching. 

All you want to do is go home, throw yourself in bed and cry. 

You crave release, whether it comes from sorrow-induced dehydration, calling Alysanne just to yell out your frustrations, or screaming into a pillow.

When Helaena finally wraps up the recording session, asking you to come back tomorrow after she’s listened through a few of the takes, you hastily grab your bag and move towards the door. 

Just need to get out. 

Away. 

You call out a rushed farewell over your shoulder as you make your way down the corridor of the building, hand coming up to the door handle to step out into the cold November night. 

You brace yourself, ready for the chill air to hit your cheeks as you pull the door open. But before you’re able to leave, a large hand gently grabs your shoulder, keeping you in place, 

“Wait”

Aemond’s voice is low behind you. 

You inhale a deep, shaky breath before you turn around to face him. 

“Yes, Aemond?”

Your voice is purposefully flat, and you’re doing your absolute best to not let the hurt you feel reflect on your tone. 

“I wanted to talk to you”, he begins, tongue coming out to lick his lips. He’s apprehensive in a way that makes his voice sound foreign, like he’s not himself. 

“Did you like it? The song?”

Your gaze flickers down at his question, a reflex-like response so you don’t roll your eyes at him. He sure makes it difficult to be the bigger person. 

Set on tormenting you. 

“Yes”

You bite out the reply, laced with innate irritation you can’t conceal. 

Yes, it’s a good song, you can’t deny that. But seeking you out to have you admit that the song he wrote for his new partner is good Is a new low. 

And to think you thought he’d finally changed for the better. 

Aemond’s good eye roams your face, seemingly searching for something. An answer hidden in your features. 

He licks his lips again, as if he’s looking for what to say, 

“You do, you know”

His eye still flickering around without meeting yours, and his restless demeanour makes you nervous too. 

“I do what?”, you ask, irritation now clear in your curt tone. 

“Make loving fun”, he answers. 

The shock of his sudden confession renders you speechless, and Aemond takes the opportunity to pull you out of the building and into the dark night. 

The heavy door to the studio closes with a loud thud, and left are you and Aemond, alone in the freezing, dark November night. 

“I wanted to surprise you with the song on our wedding anniversary in June, but obviously..”, his voice dies out. 

Still lost for words, you’re sure you look ridiculous, mouth agape and eyes wide. 

Aemond carefully takes in your reaction and takes a deep breath himself, 

“I’ve thought about our relationship recently. A lot”, he says, eyes flickering down to your trembling hands.

Are they shaking from the cold? 

He takes your hands in his warm grip, encapsulating their entirety, 

“I didn’t treat you right-”

“I, I just-, I loved you so fucking much, I-, I didn’t know how to handle loving you so fiercely. I still do”

He has that sad look in his eye that you’ve grown familiar with; the sorrow that he’s made a habit of keeping from you. 

Now, it’s on full display as he offers you himself again, 

“Please take me back”, he quietly begs, body moving forward, face coming down so he can rest his cheek on your head, hands still holding yours tightly. 

You feel lost for words, stiffly staying in place as you hear Aemond inhale deeply through his nose buried in your hair. 

“Aemond”, you sigh, tone thick and unsteady, 

“I thought we’d agreed to move forward as bandmates”

“I’ve missed you so much”, he mumbles in reply, unmoving as he rests his head on yours. 

“You’re with Alys now”, you breathe out, disbelief making it hard for you to sort out your thoughts.

“I haven’t seen her since Winterfell”, he replies.

“Aem-”, you try to oppose but he cuts you off,

“I’m sorry for ruining everything. I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you. I’m sorry for being selfish”, he confesses quietly, whispering his sins into your hair. 

Aemond moves to let go of your hands, and instead brings his arms around your shoulders to hug you. 

His voice is still low, mouth right next to your ear, 

“I took your love for granted. I couldn’t imagine a world where we weren’t together”, he admits and presses your body against his, 

“And now I regret how I treated you every day. I know my actions are inexcusable, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I need-”, his voice breaks, 

“I need you”

Being in his embrace, so full of the love you’ve been missing for months, causes your lids to feel heavy, and you close your eyes and rest your cheek against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. 

He still smells the same. 

The most comforting, warming scent in the world. 

It would be so easy to take him back.

It is so tempting. 

You gently pull away to look up at him, eyes locking with his, 

“Aemond, you know you weren’t happy being with me” 

“I’m going to therapy, I’m trying to be better”, he says quietly. His eyes are glassy when he adds, 

“For you”

You swallow the lump lodged in your throat. 

“That’s great, Aemond, and I’m so proud of you”, 

“But I don’t think getting back together would be good for either of us”, you conclude, gaze carefully gauging his expression, anxiously awaiting his reaction. 

The inevitable fire. 

His eyes narrow, face setting in harsh displeasure. 

You notice the corners of his mouth twitch downwards as he stares at you in silence, nostrils flaring with each breath. 

His warmth disappears as he steps away from you. 

He quickly shifts to the side to avoid your eyes, and leaves without another word.

You do all three things when you get home. 

You cry, you scream into a pillow, and you call Alysanne to yell out your frustrations. 

Nothing helps.

Why did he have to do this now? 

Why couldn’t he have done this when you were still together? 

The wound of your marriage opens up again, sending icy waves of pain through your body. 

This was supposed to be the part when things got better; when time had healed the wounds.

And yet, you’re still hurting just as much. 

A gash that refuses to stop bleeding. 

In the depths of your despair, you see your phone light up with a notification through the veil of tears obstructing your vision. 

You bring one of your hands up to half-heartedly wipe away the tears that spill out as the other grabs the phone to see who’s texted. 

Aemond: “I’m sorry for earlier tonight. If you want to remain friends, I would appreciate that”

For the second time tonight, his unpredictability astonishes you. 

Where’s the anger? 

You’re unmoving, hand holding your phone in a cramp-like grip as it lights up again. 

Aemond: “It’ll be entirely on your conditions”

You inhale, closing your eyes as you ponder your reply. 

Exhaling slowly, you open your eyes again to type out your answer.

You: “Okay”

Like most things, though it seemed absurd in the beginning, being friends with Aemond has become a normality. 

It started slowly, not going further than the two of you chatting during band practice. 

Then, you started going out to grab coffee together, airly discussing the band, upcoming shows, and what music you’d been listening to recently. 

As weeks pass by, your newfound familiarity blooms into a friendship. 

You start taking more liberties around each other, without constantly being on edge. 

Things like Aemond asks you if you’d like to go see a film by an up-and-coming director, you asking him if he’d like to grab food on the way home from the studio together. 

Your marriage, as tumultuous and heartbreaking as it had been, seems a distant memory now. The ashes from what once was have provided soil for the two of you to build a new, healthy friendship on. You feel thankful for that.

Thankful to still have Aemond in your life.

Being friends suits him. 

He’s opened up far more in these past few weeks to you than he had during the entirety of your futile relationship. 

He acredits it to the therapy and anger management he’d done, but you sense a real shift within him. 

He tells you about Alys; how he met her and how they developed a kind of friends with benefits dynamic as he longed for intimacy and she became his manager. 

Though you can vividly remember him calling her his ‘girlfriend’, he apparently hadn’t made that clear with her, and when he asked her to come on tour with him, a childish attempt at making you jealous, you presume, she’d patted him on the cheek and explained that though he’d been a fun fuck, she didn’t have time for a partner. 

He says that in retrospect, her not having any romantic feelings for him must’ve been a blessing, since he was only using her for selfish fulfilment himself. 

He tells you about Aegon; how they hadn’t spoken all summer, until Aemond reached out to properly apologise, a crucial part of the anger management program. 

Aegon, inspired by Aemond’s dedication to sort out his inner demons, had decided on a fourth trip to rehab. By now, he’s stayed sober for longer than ever before.

Aemond says that he’s made a habit of bringing his brother out hiking, trekking the vast landscape of the Reach. 

Sometimes during those long walks, they’d talk over each other, engaging in passionate discussion about everything and anything. Other times, they walk in comfortable silence, simply existing together. 

It’s nice seeing your ex husband so content. 

The bitterness you first felt at his dilatory introspection has been replaced by admiration; impressed by his dedication to be better. 

Somewhere inside, the wound of the past bleeds less and less. 

Perhaps this is how you were always meant to be? 

Friends. 

The realisation is bitter, but you’ve grown used to the taste on your tongue. 

You made the right decision. 

It’s almost midwinter when Aemond asks you to come over to your old flat one Sunday morning. 

Apparently he’s in the process of subletting the place, and needs help removing any personal belongings. 

It’s strange being back, already foreign and distant, yet still so familiar. 

“I’ve put some of your stuff in the guest bedroom”

Aemond gestures for you to follow him as you step inside. 

Like you don’t know where it is.

You follow him, watching as he opens the wardrobe, stepping to the side to invite you in. 

True to his perfectionist nature, your things are neatly organised, hanging in tidy rows. 

Some of your clothes, two coats, a vase you’d gotten from Alicent on your birthday, a jewellery box. Mostly gifts you received from Aemond, too painful for you to bring with you when you left all those months ago.

Maybe now you’re finally ready to look at the relics of your broken marriage with fondness, reminiscent of the love you once shared. 

As you inspect the wardrobe, you notice an old box tucked in one corner, edges worn down and structure almost caving in. 

You pick it up and open the lid, surprised to find the picture collage you’d made for him on your six month anniversary inside, along with a few other memorabilia from your relationship.

Two tickets to the cinema, a pub receipt, an ugly doodle of Aemond you drew as a joke. 

“What’s this?”, you ask as your hands rummage through the content of the box.

Aemond looks up from the moving box he’d been hunched in front of, eyes going wide when he sees what’s in your hand. 

“You can just put that back”, he quickly replies, face growing a bit pink. 

“I can just move this to the trash as well”, you say and shift towards the big, black bin bag in the corner. 

“That’s alright. I-, I want to keep it”, he mumbles quietly and stands up, towering over you as he takes the box from your hands. 

Your eyes dart from the frame with the pictures you’d made for him to his face, not quite sure why he wants to keep such trivial things. 

“I want to keep the memories” 

He puts the lid back on the box, bends down to place it on the floor, and pushes it towards the back of the closet using his foot. 

There’s something in the air that causes the mood to shift. It’s like a thick fog has settled over the room, sticking in your lungs whenever you breathe. 

“The good old days”, you joke stiffly, trying to chase the uncomfortable tension away. 

Aemond’s standing with his back against you, facing the closet. He hums in reply at your attempted humour. 

“Everything was so easy back then”, you sigh, moving to grab one of the coats hanging next to where he stands. 

He’s stiff as he turns to you, watching as you carefully examine the coat, pondering whether you should keep it or not. 

“I-”, Aemond starts before he stops himself, appearing to be lost in thought,

“I’d try every day to make it easy for you. To love me, I mean” 

Your head snaps to the side. His confession hits you with such force, it’s almost physical, and now it’s your turn to be lost for words. 

“Oh, Aemond”, you choke out as you take in the sad frown his face is set in,

“It was never hard loving you. It was hard being loved by you”

“I know”

One of his hands moves carefully towards you. When you don’t back away from him, he takes the opportunity to place it on your cheek. 

You can feel the way his hand trembles against your skin despite how gentle his touch is.  

“I can’t promise that it’ll always be easy. But I still love you as much as I did back then. I know I shouldn’t but I need to-” he licks his lips as he’s searching for the right words, 

“I need to ask you again. Will you take me back?”

His stare is intense as he carefully evaluates your reaction. You still can’t find your voice, stuck in your throat in shock. 

“I know I don’t deserve it, but I don’t want anyone-, anything else. I’ll do anything for you. Please take me back”, he begs, voice cracking at the end of his plea. 

The hand he’s placed on your cheek feels like it’s burning an imprint onto your skin. 

You’ve never seen him like this before. 

So open; heart on display, laid out in the hand he’s now offering you.

It’s all yours. 

He hurt you so much during your time together. 

He made life so hard for you. 

He made you feel alive. 

Would it be worth it; possibly being hurt again?

Feeling alive again. 

You bring your hand up to his cheek, mirroring how he’s cradling your face. 

Alive. 

Aemond’s POV

When she tilts her head up, leans forward and pulls his face closer to hers, he almost lets out a relieved cry. 

Kissing her again feels like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. 

It’s so relieving it hurts. 

Even when he has to leave her lips to breathe, he presses his face against hers, desperate for the contact. 

He can’t be apart from her warmth for even a second longer. 

Her arms meet around his neck, keeping him close as her breath heats up the skin of his face. 

He’s robbed himself of this for months. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever forgive himself for that. for allowing her to slip away. 

He searches for her mouth again, kissing her as if she could breathe life into his lungs and revive his numb heart. 

His hands can’t decide if they want to touch every part of her being, or hold her so close they melt into one. 

She presses herself against him, kissing him back with just as much vigour. 

The thought that she’s missed him makes him want to weep. 

“I love you”, he says between pants as he moves his lips from hers, trailing down to kiss her neck. 

Her hands grab the back of his shirt and she lets out a moan when his lips find the patch right beneath her ear she loves so much. 

She pulls him downwards, onto the floor, and offers him a giggle as she straddles him. 

Her fingers come down to help him unbutton his trousers, just as eager for him as he is for her. 

He feels tears burn behind his eyelids again. 

Finally. 

He can hardly contain himself as his fingers clumsily search for the buttons of his jeans to aid her in getting them off. He is so impatient, so eager for her, that his hands shake from desire. 

His soul is finally soothed when she sinks down on him. 

He’s consumed by her. 

When she begins to move, the grip of her cunt around him indicates that this won’t last long. But that’s alright. It won’t be the last time. 

He surges forward to kiss her again, to let her know how grateful he is. 

That she came back to him. 

That she’s offered him her warmth once again. 

Fin.

A/N: Thank you for reading! ❤️

A very special thank you(!) to Justine @theoneeyedprince who've helped me by beta-ing this fic. You are truly a gem, so wonderfully supportive of me and I appreciate you so, so very much. Besides being an absolute legend of a friend, Justine's also an immensely talented writer. If you're eager to read more modern heartbreak, check out her story Careless Whisper - it's so good! ❤️

[zorosdimples]

WHEREVER YOU ARE

pairing ༄ zoro x gn!reader

warnings ༄ brief descriptions of violence. a little angsty at first but it’s fluff i pinky promise!

word count ༄ 796

notes ༄ i’ve been feeling so deeply about zoro lately—i cried over him a few nights ago. this is embarrassingly soggy; i poured my heart out for him. tagging my dearest ai @gojoest <3

home.

a soft breeze carries the word, a gentle whisper that ruffles zoro’s hair and curls over the shell of his ear, fading once the message rests uncomfortably on his tongue. the sea shimmers under the moon’s loving gaze, the lulling lap of waves the only sound that reaches the starlit deck. he should be chilly in the crisp salt air, but as he glances down at you—wrapped in his protective embrace, head resting against his bare chest and the steady beat of his heart—he realizes that he has never felt warmer.

home is a word that has never meant much to the swordsman.

from an orphanage to the dojo to the furthest reaches of the east blue, zoro was born a wanderer, cursed to roam land and sea with little more than three swords and a fierce dream. hunting humans and exchanging souls for bounties that could barely cover a warm meal, a glass of sake, and a dirty bed—it was a monastic existence, devoid of comfort and pleasure. but that’s the price you pay when you make a deal with the devil. greatness isn’t bestowed upon the righteous; greatness is something you must fight for with steel claws and blood in your maw. may the most vicious creature win.

home is make-believe for a demon. it’s a tale told to frightened children who don’t yet understand the cruelty of the world.

joining luffy did not cure zoro’s restlessness. it did not make him a better man—it only redirected his cruelty. the piles of flesh and bone he left in his wake loomed over him still; he trudged through a sticky stream of ichor in his nightmares. destruction in the name of something is destruction all the same. he could feel the shackles of solitude slipping, but he was (and still is) set in his ways. it’s difficult to unlearn that which you believe yourself to be. a lifetime of isolation bred a bone-deep loneliness that he couldn’t bleed out of his chest or escape when he cracked open his rib cage and welcomed eternal darkness.

home is a luxury a man—a monster—like him does not deserve.

you draw zoro from his thoughts as you shift in his lap to face him, wrapping your legs around his waist, smoothing your palms across the strong planes of his stomach. your delicate caresses dance upwards, an act of reverence as you trace over the story of his life.

puckered scars, rippling striae, dappled moles, smattered freckles; these etchings on his tanned flesh tell of his victories and mistakes and birthrights. when you reach his broad shoulders, one hand darts up to rake through his mint green strands, fingernails grazing his scalp in a way that has him chasing your touch. your other hand tinkles his earrings, the golden chimes playing their hymn as they reflect the glimmering moonlight.

zoro’s lone eye is enraptured with your movements, and when your sweet gaze meets his, you press a featherlight kiss to his unsuspecting lips. “what was that for?” he asks with a rumbling chuckle. his hands—rough, capable of atrocities—unconsciously rub up and down your sides with worshipful tenderness.

“i love you,” you confess airily with a smile, as though those aren’t the most devastating words the swordsman has ever heard.

if zoro wasn’t a selfish man he would weep at your words. he would tell you to find someone better, he would show you the mortal weight of his sins, and he would keep his distance from a soul as radiant and kind as yours. but decades of want have conditioned him to be greedy.

hearing that phrase—though zoro has heard it from your lips hundreds of times—has a grin rivaling the brightness of the moon split his sharp features. cradling his face, you stroke his dimples with your thumbs. his hands settle on your waist and tug you toward him, your bodies pressed together like hands in a prayer. he crooks his head so your mouths are a mere breath apart.

“i love you, too,” he murmurs before claiming your parted lips with his own.

zoro still has little more than three swords and a fierce dream. but he also has three warm meals a day, more glasses of sake than he could ever want, and a clean bed to crawl into at night. he’s no longer an orphan; with the straw hats there is friendship and laughter and adventure. if asked, he will insist that he’s not a good man, that he’s a demon. but he’s fiercely loyal to his family—he will cut down anyone that stands in their way to freedom.

and then there’s you. with you, zoro has a love he has never felt before. as far as he’s concerned?

wherever you are is home.

[sprout-gt]

here are some angsty g/t prompts to feed the brainworms

(come get y'alls juice.)

recently shrunken/borrower friend who has had to lower all defenses around someone so utterly terrifying to be around simply because of how much them there is. learning how to develop a relationship with someone capable of any amount of destruction with minimal effort. the truth that, for some things, they are completely dependant on the giant. over the course of days/weeks/months fragile trust is slowly cultivated as they both learn how to adjust to each other's presence, only for it to be shattered in a moment due to a giant's carelessness. a voice raised too loud, a hand slammed a little too close, a grab just too tight. and ultimately, no amount of guilt or remorse will fix the damage done.

the utter helplessness of size shifting. like, i know size shifting is a popular concept for g/t scenarios, but if you think about it- it's legitimately body horror. consider it, a signifigant aspect of your physical body robbed from you over the course of a few moments. the rushing feeling of anxiety crashed with the abject panic knowing that the world around you is going to transform, that you are going to change. overwhelming vertigo as the ceiling begins to stretch above you, as your surroundings change from a neutral space to an immense and overwhelming enclosure. even the most banal and mundane items are now obtacles, if not actively dangerous. shifting somewhere you can't leave, shifting somewhere you shouldn't leave. shifting somewhere where you can't reach someone you trust.

tinies discovered by someone curious and stolen away from their trusted giants in a moment. the tiny has to endure this new giant that is over ten times their size and unconcerned with their wellbeing like their friend/partner, while the giant spirals into panic searching for their vulnerable friend/partner who trusted them- blaming themselves all the way.

tinies stuck in thunderstorms. the sky roars with claps of deafening thunder as they scramble to find cover against the frigid, heavy raindrops that pound against them. their vision is nonexistant as they stumble through the soft earth, unsure of where they are running towards but just hoping its somewhere away.

the prompts below are a little more intense/whumpy fyi!!

borrowers caught in traps intended for pests. maybe they were being careless or overconfident - maybe they just weren't paying attention... until the metal bar of a mousetrap snaps over their ankle or they find themselves stuck in a glue trap, pinned in place and in the open. they can't cry out in pain in fear of being discovered, while also knowing it's inevitable. injured and growing more panicked by the minute, they hear the resounding sounds of a giant approaching them.

tinies locked in things. bird cages, jars, drawers, lockboxes- take your pick. bonus points if it's claustrophobic. bonus bonus points if its pitch black. bonus bonus bonus points if the tiny has no idea how long till they get out and can breathe again.

g/t fearplay lightning round: giants that love to see how little they need to do in order to panic a tiny, tinies being tossed around like keys, rubber bands used as restraints, shock collars, tinies held out over tall heights, the works

it's ok though because in all of these scenarios they end up being taken care of by a gentle and caring giant because i'll be damned if this hurt isn't eventually going to have comfort.

[queenshelby]

Auctioned (P. 3)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

You settled into your new life at Arrow House, a grand estate where elegance and opulence intertwined with darkness and danger. As a shy and inexperienced woman, you had much to learn about the ways of pleasing Thomas Shelby, the dominant gangster who ruled over this unforgiving world.

The days passed slowly as you acclimated to your surroundings. You found solace in the stables, where the horses seemed unbothered by the treacheries that lurked beyond the estate's walls. Their gentle presence offered a temporary respite from the weight of your newfound responsibilities.

Inside the library, you delved into books, seeking knowledge and distraction. It became your sanctuary, a place of refuge where the stories transported you to distant lands, far from the clutches of Thomas Shelby's demanding presence. 

The library was adorned with antique furniture, its rich scent of leather bindings and aged parchment elevating the ambience.

You felt safe there, hidden amidst the countless tomes that were silent witnesses to the sins committed within these walls. But even here, you couldn't escape the shadow of Thomas Shelby. His presence loomed over everything, a constant reminder of your precarious position.

Alison often visited you in the library, offering her wisdom about navigating your role as Thomas' "possession". Her guidance was invaluable, yet it never seemed enough to fully ease your fears.

The more time you spent with Thomas, the clearer it became that he was a man of many contradictions – tender one moment, cruel the next.

***

One evening, after a lavish dinner party, you were summoned to his office. Nervously, you followed Alison down the corridor, trying to hide your trembling hands behind your back. She glanced back at you with a reassuring smile, reminding you to breathe and find your centre.

Thomas waited patiently inside his office, seated upon his large, comfortable leather chair. He leaned back, studying you with an unreadable gaze. The room was dimly lit, adding to the air of mystery surrounding him.

"Y/N," he began, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through your core. "Tonight, I require your services as Alison has not been feeling too well." His eyes flickered to Alison, who stood quietly beside you, nodding, and you took a deep breath, feeling your nerves calm slightly as you tried to focus on the task ahead. 

Thomas continued, "You have proven yourself capable before, so I know you can handle this." Your confidence wavered slightly as you considered the pressure he placed upon you. But you knew it was necessary to prove yourself to him once again. 

As such, and without words, you approached him, kneeling on the floor in front of his imposing presence. He allowed you to take control, giving you an opportunity to showcase your talents while still hurrying you along since he had business to attend to. 

"You have fifteen minutes, Love. I suggest you get to it, eh?" Tommy pointed out while he opened his belt and then his zipper. 

Your heart raced faster than usual; your hands trembled as you reached out to touch him. Time seemed to slow down, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breaths and the rustling of his clothes as his erection was revealed to you once again.

His powerful thighs his commanding presence, all enveloped you, making you feel like you were floating outside of your body, a mere observer of the events unfolding.

With shaking hands, you reached forward, letting your fingers brush against his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him. You could sense his impatience growing as you wrapped your hand around his hard, throbbing length.

He wanted satisfaction quickly and efficiently. You focused intently on your task, desperate to prove yourself worthy to him.

"Come on, Love, use your mouth," his eyes remained cold and distant, making you question if your efforts were truly appreciated.

"Yes, Mr Shelby," you confirmed before taking his length into your mouth with a mixture of nervous excitement and determination. Your tongue swirled around the head, tracing patterns designed to bring him pleasure. You listened carefully to the sound of his breathing, monitoring the rhythm to match your movements.

"That's it, Love. Keep going," he eventually groaned as hips shifted restlessly, and you maintained your focus, determined to prove yourself worthy of his attention.

With each passing minute, your resolve grew stronger, driven by the desire to win his approval.

Your mouth moved fluidly up and down his length, creating an erotic dance that matched the tempo of his breathing. His moans and gasps intensified, feeding your confidence as you perfected your technique.

Time seemed to warp around you, as if every second was a lifetime spent entirely under his gaze. Your lips wrapped tightly around him, sucking firmly, creating waves of pleasure coursing through his body. With each movement, you felt your power grow, and your connection to him deepened.

"Good girl, keep your tongue firm against my cock", he groaned, his grip on the armrest tightening, his eyes burning with intensity.

Your hands worked together, caressing his thighs, teasing his balls gently. You could feel his arousal building, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Yes, just like that…" he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

Every word, every touch, served to fuel your determination.

As the minutes ticked away, the intensity of your focus heightened.

You could hear the echo of your laboured breaths, the creak of the leather chair, and the subtle click of the clock. Each sensation brought you closer to achieving the level of mastery you sought.

The warmth emanating from Thomas radiated onto your face, filling your nose with the distinct scent of masculinity. His fingers clenched and unclenched, mirroring the turbulent storm of his thoughts and emotions.

Alison watched from a distance, silently observing both of you, her expression a mix of admiration and concern.

"Almost there, Love. Fuck," he cursed, his hand reaching back to play with your hair. "Don't stop now," he commanded, a possessive tone in his voice. His gaze held yours, daring you to defy him, but you knew better than to test his patience.

You kept working diligently, maintaining eye contact with him, allowing him to see the depth of your commitment. Your lips continued to slide up and down his length, creating a rhythmic pattern designed to please him.

"I expect you to swallow every drop, Love," he went on to say before; with a loud roar, he came, shooting hot liquid into your mouth.

Your reflexes kicked in instinctively, taking his seed into your mouth, savouring the taste as he let out a long, satisfying sigh. His breathing gradually slowed down, and he released you from his grasp.

You gently touched his thigh, looking up at him with a mixture of humility and pride, unsure of how he would react. He looked down at you, a slight grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Not bad, Love. Not bad at all." His praise sent a surge of relief through you, washing away any lingering doubts about your abilities. 

"Thank you, sir," you confirmed before licking the remnants of seed from your lips.

You felt a strange mix of apprehension and accomplishment, proud of your ability to provide him with pleasure yet concerned about what the future might hold.

***

Over the next two days, you spent more time at the stables, and even Thomas joined you on one occasion, taking an interest in your passion for horses. 

As he watched you tend to the animals, you found yourself sharing anecdotes about your life before Thomas Shelby. His attention focused solely on you as you shared stories about your family and childhood dreams. Despite the awkwardness of sharing such personal experiences, it strengthened your bond with him.

He listened intently, asking questions about your past, genuinely interested in understanding who you were beyond the physical aspects of your relationship. It was during those moments that you realised Thomas possessed a complexity rarely seen in others.

As you tended to the horses, he observed you with a keen eye, almost as if he was searching for something deeper. He inquired about your love for horses and how it had begun. Your heart fluttered at the genuine curiosity in his eyes, and you shared your tale with fervour. You spoke of your first horse, a gentle mare named Whisper, who taught you the art of connection and trust. It was evident in his expressions that your words resonated with him, striking a chord that few other subjects ever did.

As you shared your stories, Thomas became increasingly invested in learning more about you. He asked probing questions, seeking to understand the motivations behind your actions and choices.

You couldn't help but be amazed by his genuine curiosity and openness. In the midst of it all, you found yourself drawn to him in ways you never imagined possible. The warmth in his eyes whenever he looked at you was intoxicating, leaving you yearning for more.

Yet, you remained cautious not to let your feelings for him run wild. You cherished these rare moments of solitude where he appeared vulnerable and engaged.

As the days passed, you continued to learn more about him, too. He revealed parts of himself that surprised you, and you discovered a gentler side hidden beneath his hard exterior. However, you couldn't help but notice the darkness that occasionally clouded his eyes, hinting at a past filled with pain and betrayal.

It left you wondering how someone so wounded could find joy in a world that seemingly brought him nothing but suffering. As you delved deeper into his history, you uncovered the reason behind his controlling nature. It was a need to protect himself, and he seemingly enjoyed the thrill of being the one in charge.

Taking charge was exactly what he did that same night again when you were called into his chambers, and it was Alison who gave you a pep talk before your impending encounter. 

"Tomorrow night, Mr Shelby wants to claim what he acquired during the auction," Alison told you softly. 

"You will be spending time with him alone. This is what he wants," she added, her voice steady and confident.

You nodded in understanding, knowing full well that giving in to his desires would keep you safe and secure within his domain. 

She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, telling you not to worry about it too much.

"You will do well; I have no doubt about it. Despite this, Mr. Shelby seems to have a soft spot for your innocent nature. I think it intrigues and arouses him all at the same time," Alison explained, watching you carefully. 

"But don't fret; it's just another aspect of his personality. He enjoys pushing boundaries and testing limits." She smiled reassuringly, offering advice to calm your nerves.

"Which brings us to tonight, where he wants to see us both to ensure that, come tomorrow, you are ready to lose your virginity to him," Alison exclaimed, and thus, as the night fell, Alison led you through the labyrinthine hallways of Arrow House, guiding you towards Thomas Shelby's private quarters. The anticipation and nerves danced in your chest, each step amplifying the thump of your heartbeat.

Finally, you stood before the imposing door, your palms slightly damp as Alison knocked, her knuckles rapping against the solid wood. The sound reverberated through the silence, announcing your arrival. You had not been in his bedroom before and were surprised that tonight, this was where he wanted you both to come.

The door creaked open, revealing Thomas Shelby, his eyes sharp and piercing as they scanned both you and Alison. His lips curled into a predatory smile, and you felt a shiver trickle down your spine.

"Come in, close the door," Thomas said, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

Alison stepped aside, allowing you to enter first. You walked slowly across the threshold, careful not to make eye contact with Thomas, your heart racing in your chest. You followed the path Alison had shown you earlier that evening, walking towards the centre of the room. As you approached, Thomas' presence became more pronounced, enveloping you in his powerful aura.

"Y/N, stand here," he ordered, pointing to a spot near the edge of the large, ornate bed. As you moved closer, the fine detailing of the furniture around you caught your attention.

The opulence of the room seemed to overwhelm you, a stark contrast to the simple life you had once known. Standing beside Alison, you took it all in – the rich fabric of the curtains, the intricate patterns carved into the bedposts, and the sense of power that hung thick in the air. Thomas' eyes bore into you, his intensity causing your pulse to race faster.

Alison broke the silence, addressing Thomas with a calm demeanour. "Mr. Shelby, Y/N has proven herself capable of pleasing you, so what do you expect of her tonight?" she asked.

His lips tightened, the lines around his eyes deepening.

"Well, first, I want to see how receptacle she is to my touch, and then, we shall see, eh?” Tommy said, and your heart raced as you absorbed his words, trying to hide your nervousness.

Alison seemed unfazed by his crude language, her face remaining composed.

"Of course, Mr. Shelby," she replied coolly, maintaining her composure despite the demanding situation.

Tommy's eyes locked onto yours, assessing your reaction. He leaned back against the bedpost, his gaze turning predatory. "Let's begin then."

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise within you.

"Undress, Sweetheart," Tommy then ordered, his tone commanding and authoritative. With trembling hands, you began to shed your clothes, revealing your body to him for the first time as you stood there, vulnerable and exposed.

Tommy walked towards you, his eyes trailing across your now-exposed body. You held your breath, trying to mask your discomfort. "Beautiful," he whispered, running his fingers lightly along your skin.

You felt your cheeks flush as you met his gaze, a mixture of surprise and attraction burning in your eyes.

Without warning, he grasped your wrist, pulling you toward him. Your breath hitched as you found yourself pressed against his hard chest, the heat of his body seeping into yours. You closed your eyes, trying to remain composed amidst the intense sensations coursing through your body.

"Don't be afraid, Love," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

"This isn't something to be ashamed of." Your eyes met his, finding solace in the sincerity of his words. You allowed yourself to relax slightly, the tension easing from your shoulders. As your confidence grew, so did the desire coursing through your veins.

He led you over to the bed, sitting you down on its edge. He positioned himself behind you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. "You must trust me, eh," he whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"I won't hurt you." His tender touch made you believe him, even though a part of you wondered if he was lying. Still, you found yourself wanting to surrender completely to him despite the lingering uncertainty.

Slowly, he ran his hands up and down your arms, gently tracing the curves of your body. His touch was gentle yet firm, stirring both excitement and trepidation within you. The warmth of his touch caused your heart to beat faster, filling you with a longing for more.

His touch was masterful, expertly skimming over your skin with just enough pressure to leave you wanting. As his hands continued their journey down your body, you found yourself growing increasingly aroused. You were caught between the desire to satiate your yearnings and the fear of revealing too much of yourself.

Your mind drifted to the various lessons Alison had taught you, trying to find strength in those memories. You remembered the way she spoke of Thomas, describing him as possessive yet kind.

"Now, listen carefully," he began, his voice resonating with control. 

"I want you to lie down, legs spread open so that I can get a good look at what I acquired," Thomas told you before gesturing for Alison to join you on the large bed.

Alison, ever composed, obeyed his order without hesitation. You watched her, taking note of her composure.

"Come here, pet, rest your head on my lap and present yourself to who owns you now," she said, her language surprisingly crude and dominant, just like Thomas enjoyed it.

You felt your heart quicken, unsure if you could fully comprehend her words. But as Thomas' strong fingers wrapped around your nape, you realised that you needed to submit to his will, as Alison had advised you previously.

So, you obliged, placing your head upon his strong lap and looking up into his penetrating eyes. They were cold, like steel, but there was also a hint of tenderness beneath it.

"Spread your legs wide for me, Love," he commanded, his voice harsh yet commanding.

Obeying instinctively, you extended your legs, feeling the vulnerability of your exposed position. As you lay there, exposed and submissive, you couldn't help but feel the intense mixture of fear and arousal coursing through your veins.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice echoing throughout the room. Unwilling to disobey, you raised your gaze to meet his steely eyes.

"Do you understand that you belong to me? That your body belongs to me?" He asked, his tone demanding an answer.

Nodding your head, you acknowledged his claim, feeling the weight of his ownership settling upon your shoulders. You swallowed hard, the lump forming in your throat growing larger with each passing second. As you lay there, feeling the heat radiating from his body, you tried to come to terms with the fact that you belonged to him.

"Good girl," he cooed. "Now let me have a look and see whether you are really still a virgin, eh?" Tommy smirked playfully, his eyes filled with curiosity and determination. Despite your anxiety, you felt a rush of excitement surge through your veins. This was a new experience, one that would change your life forever.

As you lay there, exposed and vulnerable, the room was filled with an electric tension. The atmosphere was charged with desire and apprehension. Your eyes darted to Alison, who remained poised and calm, seemingly unaffected by the intensity of the situation. She smiled at you encouragingly, conveying confidence and reassurance.

Your heart skipped a beat as Thomas approached, his powerful presence casting a shadow over you.

"Are you ready?" he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your core.

Nodding your head, you managed a small smile, hoping it conveyed your readiness. Your stomach flipped in anticipation, and your heart raced in your chest.

"That's my good girl," he responded his approval warming your soul. He leaned in, his rough fingers tenderly tracing your cheekbone.

"Trust me, Love, I will be gentle. I won't claim you just yet, not until tomorrow night," he whispered softly, his warm breath tickling your ear. Your heart leapt, caught between excitement and apprehension. You wanted to give yourself wholly to him, even though doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. However, Alison's assurance that Thomas wasn't entirely cruel lent you some comfort.

With a delicate touch, he began exploring your body. His hands brushed over your sensitive skin, eliciting waves of pleasure you'd never imagined possible before, finally descending to your core to assess the condition of what he purchased.

You felt a mixture of nervousness and anticipation as his fingers traced over your slit before he opened you up slightly. He then used two fingers to spread your pussy lips open slightly, determining the truth of your virginity.

You felt a twinge of pain and discomfort, which only heightened your awareness of your vulnerability. Yet, simultaneously, you found yourself becoming increasingly aroused by the intense sensations.

As he examined you, you felt a strange blend of fear and arousal, a complex mix of emotions that you had never experienced before. The knowledge that you belonged to Thomas, that he could do anything he pleased with you, sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

"You are already wet, my love. Are you enjoying this?" Tommy asked his voice husky with desire. You nodded, unable to find your voice due to the intensity of the sensations coursing through your body. His fingers were skilled, teasing you expertly, drawing out your pleasure and tormenting you simultaneously. It was a sensation, unlike anything you had ever experienced before, leaving you craving more of his touch.

Thomas's gaze locked onto yours, his expression one of satisfaction and control. "You're so responsive, sweetheart," he purred, leaning in to press his lips against your forehead.

"Let's see how you taste, eh?" Tommy said, wanting to run his tongue through your slit.

You couldn't hide the mixture of fear and excitement that gripped you at his proposal. But as his face drew closer to your core, you felt a surge of trust welling up inside you. Perhaps it was because Alison had been so kind and reassuring, or maybe it was simply your growing desire for Thomas. Whatever the reason, you allowed him to take you in his mouth, opening your legs wider to accommodate him.

As he began to taste you, you closed your eyes, letting the exquisite sensations wash over you.

Thomas's mouth moved skillfully, causing waves of pleasure to course through your body. You moaned softly, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Meanwhile, Alison watched you both intently, silently observing the interplay between you and Thomas. There was a sense of pride in her eyes but also some profound jealousy.

She wanted Thomas to acknowledge her as his primary source of lust, not some inferior second choice. However, she knew that your innocence held certain allurements for Thomas. Thus, she didn't show her feelings on her face, hiding them well.

You, however, were too preoccupied with the sensations cascading through your body to notice her jealousy.

The sensations continued to build, culminating in a powerful climax that left you shuddering. Thomas released you from his grasp, pulling away to admire your flushed face and quivering form.

You looked up at him, the afterglow of passion evident in your eyes. His gaze burned with possession and desire, the power dynamic between you tangible in the air.

"This is just tonight's beginning, Love," he murmured softly, a wicked grin playing on his lips, and your heart raced as you processed his words, anticipation building within you. 

"Now, what do you think, Alison? How many fingers could I get into her virgin hole without tearing her?" Tommy asked, his voice laced with dark desire for you.

Alison raised her brows in a challenge and considered for a moment. "Two fingers, no more than that," she replied confidently. 

"Two, eh?" Tommy mocked. "How about we start with one, Love?" Tommy suggested before asking you to spread your legs wide again. 

As you complied, your nerves became jangled with anticipation.

You looked at Alison, seeking guidance from her as you lay there, exposed and vulnerable. Her cool demeanour seemed unshaken, giving you courage. She smiled reassuringly, telling you that you could handle this.

As Thomas moved closer, his hands slowly caressed your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. He took his time, pressing his first fingers against your entrance, attempting to penetrate you gently.

You cringed at the sudden intrusion, your body tensing in response.

Thomas, surprised by your tightness, forced his digit into you nonetheless.

You cried out in pain, your body resisting his intrusion. He stopped, hesitated for a moment, then pulled his finger out carefully. Alison's expression remained unchanged, unperturbed by your distress.

"You may need some practice, Love," Thomas commented, his voice dripping with condescension. You bit your lip, trying to control your tears, fighting back the urge to succumb to despair. You refused to accept defeat, determined to prove your worth in Thomas's eyes.

"I can take more than one finger, sir," you said defiantly, looking directly into his eyes. Thomas regarded you with a mix of curiosity and appreciation.

"Let's see how much you can truly take, Love," he murmured, his tone hinting at the challenge ahead. Slowly, he pressed his second finger against your entrance, this time applying more pressure. You winced, your body instinctively protesting the intrusion.

Thomas observed your reaction closely, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

As you clenched your teeth, refusing to cry out in pain, he pushed his finger deeper into you. Despite the burning sensation, you maintained your resolve, staring straight into his eyes with determination. Alison continued to watch from the sidelines, her demeanour unmoved by your discomfort.

"Not bad, Love," Thomas acknowledged, his voice imbued with respect. His fingers flexed within you, pushing further in as you tried to bear the increasing discomfort.

Your face contorted with pain, your body struggling to adjust to the foreign invasion. With each incremental advance, you gritted your teeth, silently vowing to overcome the pain.

Alison's gaze remained steady, unwavering, her expression betraying no sympathy for your suffering. As your agony intensified, you felt a renewed sense of determination, fueled by your need to prove yourself worthy in Thomas's eyes.

Sweat trickled down your forehead, a testament to your resolve.

"I can take it," you reassured Tommy again, even with tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

Thomas was now visibly impressed with your resilience. He admired your courage and tenacity in the face of immense pain.

"I know you can, Love, but I don't want to stretch you too much just yet. My cock will take care of that tomorrow night," he groaned, withdrawing his fingers from you, causing a wave of relief to wash over you.

You wiped away the tears, taking deep breaths to calm your ragged nerves. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to regain composure.

Alison watched Thomas's every move with an unreadable expression, her thoughts hidden behind her emotionless mask. She seemed neither envious nor impressed, merely observant.

 You looked at Thomas, seeing something new in his eyes - a hint of admiration, perhaps even respect." Tomorrow night, Love, I will not be so kind," Tommy then said to you, his voice carrying a warning mixed with promise. Your heart skipped a beat, the excitement growing within you before he told you to leave his bedroom so that he could finish off with Alison.

"Mr Shelby, may I watch? Perhaps I could learn something from it for our encounter tomorrow night," you suggested, and Thomas smirked.

"By all means, Love, you can watch while fuck Alison. Although bear in mind that what I am about to do to her is not something you will be capable of enduring just yet, eh" Thomas said before motioning for Alison to come over so that he could fuck her.

She approached him with a cool confidence, undoubtedly aware of the power dynamics between them.

Your eyes followed every movement, absorbing the raw, primal energy of their interaction.

Without losing any time, Alison got on to all fours.

"Very good, Alison. She knows that this is how I like to fuck her," Tommy said before he took position behind her, grasping her hips firmly and pulling her close to him.

He was hard and ready after having toyed with you for an hour, and, without losing any time, he lined himself up with Alison's entrance without giving consideration as to whether she was wet enough or not. 

His forceful entry caused Alison to let out a sharp gasp, her body jolting slightly as she tried to adapt to his unexpectedly brutal thrust.

Thomas, driven by lust and power, took control of the situation, forcing Alison to submit to his desires. Her resistance, if there ever was any, was crushed under the weight of his dominance.

You watched with bated breath, fascinated by the spectacle unfolding before you. Alison's face remained impassive, though her eyes betrayed a mixture of pain and resignation.

In her moments of quiet defiance, she would occasionally look over at you, her gaze holding a subtle challenge. It was clear that she was both envious and threatened by your presence, torn between admiration for Thomas's preference for you and fear of being replaced entirely.

As Thomas continued his brutal assault on Alison, you found yourself growing increasingly aroused by the sight. The erotic tension between them heightened, fuelling your own desires.

You could not help but feel a twinge of envy as you watched Thomas and Alison engage in their fierce, unapologetic union. Their bodies moved in harmony, each thrust eliciting a moan or grunt from the other. Thomas's strength and dominance contrasted beautifully with Alison's feigned indifference, creating a seductive dance of power and submission.

Your heart raced as you observed their fervent exchange, your breath quickening with each powerful thrust.

The atmosphere in the room was charged with palpable sexual tension, leaving you feeling utterly captivated. Alison's performance was a masterclass in maintaining composure despite the brutality of Thomas's thrusts. It was almost as if she enjoyed being on the receiving end of his domination, albeit with a veiled resentment towards you for being his chosen concubine.

As the intensity of their coupling reached its peak, Thomas pulled out of Allison and called for you.

"Kneel and open your mouth. I want you to take my cum" he said, his voice laced with authority. You felt a surge of power as you obeyed him, opening your mouth eagerly, your lips parted in anticipation. Thomas's arousal was evident as he stood above you, his eyes filled with desire.

"Make sure you swallow, eh?" he groaned before shooting his load into your open mouth. Your cheeks bulged as you swallowed, savouring the taste of his seed as it coursed down your throat. The act served as a reminder of your place in his world – submissive and willing to please him at any cost.

Thomas watched you intently, a hint of satisfaction playing across his features. His gaze held a mixture of admiration and possession, making you feel cherished but also owned. Alison, having witnessed the entire encounter, glared at you with a jealous, defiant air.

You held her gaze, unfazed by her hostility. Though you were physically weak, your spirit was strong, unbowed by her disapproval. The battle lines had been drawn, and you knew that your relationship with Thomas would only grow more complicated as time passed.

As you cleaned up, you could not help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Though the evening's events left you drained and sore, you knew Thomas's trust in you had grown significantly.

[rapturously]

TO THE WOLVES.

𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁. | one-shot — not requested.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴. | bo sinclair / fem!reader / vincent sinclair.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁. | 5.8K.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. | threesome (m/f/m), mild degradation, spitting, vaginal fingering, dry humping, vaginal sex, breast play, tiddy sucking, dirty talk, descriptions of cum, breeding kink if you squint, begging, choking, biting, etc. this was extremely horny and I’m not apologizing.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. | wow I’m back ?? this was my first big writing project of the year and I think I’ll probably do more with it, honestly. thanks for being so patient. I said I’d have this done a month ago (lmao I lied) but here it is. extremely proud of this one. thanks for your support, I love you all so much!

TAGLIST: @dootys ; @reveluving ; @sat10 ; @milland ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @darklylucid ; @sirstompely ; @chaotichellscape ; @callsigncrash ; @peachygothgirl ; @manicpixiimurderdoll ; @sandeepics ; @rainbowcreepie ; @kiki-dohedo

August hung like a noxious cloud, oozing with sticky humidity and a brutal heat like no other. Crawdads sang in the dead of night, a cacophony that rose above the thick, Louisiana marshlands. Any heat was enough to drive you away indoors, to the cooler gloom of the Sinclair household — windows down, curtains billowing in the night.

Hikers and sightseers became increasingly prevalent, roaming the woods with a giddiness that would soon be snuffed out forever. It was best if you kept away from the onslaught that was to come, but you were never very far — screams echoed from the basement, silenced by a wax tomb.

A passive accomplice, that was what you were. Present for it all, never dissuading the twins from persuing their town of terror. Perhaps a sliver of you, a depraved splinter enjoyed it all, unconsciously reveling in the suffering, but you didn’t know yourself anymore.

Faces came and went, faces forever sealed inside wax, inside of the museum. Each with eyes that screamed fear, begging for a quick demise — eyes that lost such a lively sheen as time passed.

Sometimes you wondered what it was like to inhabit Bo’s brain, or perhaps Vincent’s — those fractured, mystifying minds that were capable of such immeasurable destruction. You would never exude chaos like they could, never be molded into their protégé, but you were their anchor.

Bo liked to pet your hair, whisper strings of vulgar words into your ear, tell you how much he wanted you. He was the thunder — tumultuous, rancorous and boisterous, yet clouded with a gloom that you couldn’t quite place, nor penetrate. Many people feared thunder, as it meant a storm was approaching, but thunder often paled in comparison to lightning.

That was Vincent — the lightning. Quick, unpredictable, unyielding — beautiful in the most terrifying of ways. He was some coiled predator, his rage subdued, agony subtle. It was hidden beneath the pale visage of a mask and beneath the many wax statues he’d poured countless hours into. Vincent’s hands were delicate, yet forged to kill, perhaps more than Bo’s ever were.

As you laid in bed, layered in a sheen of perspiration and trapped within a snare of sheets, you were only half-awake. Floorboards creaked underneath the quick, haughty steps of Bo, whose calloused fingers dragged against your cheek, his gentle way of rousing you.

“Hey,” A hoarse utterance emerged from his chapped lips, temples glittering with sweat from the fog of Louisiana heat. “Need your help.” Bo felt a pang of irritation for waking you, but it was urgent.

Stirring to consciousness, your vision swam with the bleariness of sleep, brows furrowing together. It wasn’t common for Bo to wake you in the dead of night like this, but you pushed yourself upright anyway, reaching for your robe. “What’s wrong?” You asked, attempting to swallow the growing lump within your throat.

Bo’s resolve was steadily fracturing, like the cracking of a stone foundation. He maintained a tempered glower for now, jaw set with an uncomfortable tension. “Vincent.” It only took a singular word for you to understand the gravity of the situation.

Haste drove you as you skittered out of bed, following Bo down the stairs and into the kitchen. You could make out the back of Vincent’s head — raven-coloured tresses somewhat disheveled, lithe form slumped-over within one of the wooden chairs. He was never out like this — you knew how much Bo’s twin preferred the sanctuary of the basement, his slice of seclusion.

Part of Vincent’s sweater had been torn apart, frayed fabric seeped in barely-dried crimson. The basement door was agape, and so was the front door. A shape of a body was laying just outside on the front steps, and you wondered if one of the victims had attempted an escape.

“He asked for you,” Bo’s voice did not retain the usual venom. The elder Sinclair was possessive over you, but the grievous injuries his brother had sustained far outweighed his own volatility. “M’askin’ you t’do what you can for him.”

Something pulled at your heartstrings, then and there — Vincent rarely requested your company. It was enough to warrant a look of surprise, but you couldn’t afford to stew within your own feelings.

“Of course.” Your gaze shifted, meeting Bo’s own fiery hues as he edged toward the doorway. A new pressure arose, taking care of his wounded twin, but you had stitched Bo up countless times before. This wouldn’t be any different.

It was the first time you had witnessed such vulnerability from Vincent, though unwilling, it still struck you as foreign. You fumbled around the kitchen for everything you’d need, returning to his side without an utterance.

Bo took care of the corpse outside — a likely distraction from the present. It was always him in Vincent’s position, bloodied and beaten, being torn apart and sewn up by you more times than he could count. His helplessness in the matter would be his own undoing if he didn’t keep himself occupied.

From the shadow of the front steps, Bo watched as you cleaned his brother’s wounds, gentle as to not startle him. It wasn’t your actions that made him grit his teeth, but the haunting manner in which Vincent ogled you, head canted downwards. Bo knew that look — intimately understood how his twin must’ve been staring, raking you in over and over — because it was the very same way he looked at you, too.

For the longest time, Bo deprived his twin of you, afraid that he’d come to blows over his own ugly, possessive desire, but his mind began to change. His own thoughts began to blossom into something insidious, fueled by a multitude of things �� lust, frenzy, you, and perhaps an understanding of his own flesh and blood.

An understanding of what it was like to want — to fester with desire, bleeding want and endlessly yearning for something that you couldn’t have. In a moment of vulnerability, Bo felt a pang of sympathy for his twin.

As he hauled the body toward his truck, it left the both of you out of-sight, for now.

Vincent’s cerulean hue fluttered toward the door — Bo no longer stood vigil, lost to the dusk, prompting him to focus on you. He could detect his searing glare from the beyond, as if he possessed some sixth sense for his brother’s disdainful jealousy. He valued his twin’s feelings, but a sliver of it evaporated when it came to you.

You — uncomfortably seated on dirtied floorboards, knees digging into decades-old wood as your hands scurried to tend to him. Vincent wholly understood why Bo was enamored with you. It was difficult not to be, in truth — what man wouldn’t be?

Nimble fingers curled into the dirtied, rib-knit fabric, keeping his sweater aloft, allowing you to work unhindered. It was a deeper gash than he thought, but never enough to incapacitate him. He was stronger than that, pushing himself to the very edge over and over again.

His torso resembled a battlefield, scars etched deep into his pale flesh, livid and seething. Each mark told a story — a victim, an incident, or perhaps something more. Vincent kept a thinly-veiled investment into your movements, gaze fluttering across the delicate bend of your digits. Warm water cleansed the blood from his skin, towel and pressure soon to follow.

Feeling the residual effects from Bo’s tempestuous stare and aloof demeanor, you kept quiet, dutifully working on Vincent’s wounds. The silence was deafening — perhaps too loud, filling the gap with an unusual tension. He was eerily still, glittering eye glued to you, fluttering back and forth as he followed you.

Vincent often experienced something close to jealousy whenever he saw you and Bo together — some concealed sliver of his being yearned for that closeness, too. Envy became an understatement, and his fantasies were often locked away within wax statues. He wouldn’t dare intrude on what he presumed to be Bo’s, yet a string of intrusive thoughts began to take root, salacious seeds soon to blossom into something darker.

Both were callous in their own way — Bo was verbally obtuse, whereas Vincent was physically indifferent. Yet, both were violently possessive in similar ways, more than you were aware of. It would be a volatile clash if they were both involved at an intimate level. Vincent knew that Bo would never relinquish you without malice and hostility involved somehow.

Even now, with his twin nowhere in sight, he maintained a great deal of self-control, digits tensing against the tabletop. A sanguine glow enveloped you, cast in blood-orange and the dismal, pale kitchen light — the prettiest creature he’d ever seen.

It would’ve been so swift — brushing the top of your hair, ghosting his fingertips across the contour of your jawline, or perhaps leaning closer to inhale your scent. Yet, it all felt wrong, as if he were attempting to take something that didn’t belong to him. Vincent exhaled, slow and melancholy, before leaning back within the chair.

Curiosity and concern brought about your voice, words bubbling to the surface at last. “What happened?” The wound could’ve been a product of a great many things, and you decided to not voice your list of assumptions.

“Glass.” Vincent’s digits moved sluggishly, his signing seemingly exhausted. His hawkish gaze drifted toward the glittering shards that were partially scattered across the living room floor. It must’ve been a sizable shard of glass — he’d taken a gruesome hit.

Your brow furrowed, expression twitching with concern. “I’m sorry.” The apology slipped from your lips, laced with an underlying apprehension.

“No,” You apologized for things beyond your control, and your understanding — Vincent was to blame for the carnage, and he was willing to accept accountability. “Happened more times than I can count.” He signed, a soft grunt escaping him as you began to stitch flesh together again.

Sorrow sank into your bones — Vincent always had Bo present to pick him up, stitch him back together again. You wondered what would happen if he wasn’t around to do so. You weren’t a constant in their lives until recently, but you envisioned Vincent mending himself with those dexterous hands, hands that breathed life into wax, and snuffed it out all the same.

“Tell me if it’s too much, it isn’t a shallow wound.” Your mumble emerged from between frowning lips and a voice that commanded concentration. It was easy to immerse yourself in Vincent — he was noticeably different from his brother. Vincent was wiry and musculed, but wore it like a sleek jungle cat.

Bo held muscle in his arms — the taut, working hands of a skilled mechanic, rugged and calloused. The rest of him was stout and not nearly as lithe as his twin, who stood above him in stature. You enjoyed mulling over the comparisons, the intricate details that caught your eye, be it a scar or otherwise.

Hawkish eyes carefully roved over you, drinking you in as if he’d never seen you before — again, and again, and again. Vincent could watch you like this for an eternity from behind the curtain of midnight hair and the wax-laden visage.

He tensed and bit at his sleeve as you gained ground with the stitching, over halfway through. You could detect his pain — it was palpable, rolling off of him in red-hot waves that you wanted to quell so very terribly. “Almost done,” You breathed, noticing his white knuckles grappling at the tabletop. “Sorry.” The apology emerged, rushed as ever.

Vincent’s hands were terrifying and beautiful altogether — and in the midst of mending flesh, your mind descended into a flurry of depravity. What would it feel like for him to touch you, mold you in the way he did with wax? It was sudden, took you by surprise — so much so, that heat consumed your body, a purging fire.

Only his twin had touched you — it was often rough, twined with spurts of need and carnal lust and affection all twisted into some unruly knot. Bo was good to you, better when he wanted to be, but your thoughts began to dwell on Vincent.

How would he make you feel?

As you completed the last stitch, your throat grew tight, as if this foreign swarm of newfound sensations had stolen the breath from your lungs. Part of you felt guilty, as if this was the start of a horrible betrayal against Bo — none of it was intentional.

Sluggishly, Vincent began to uncoil his body, as if the tension washed away all at once. Despite the searing pain from his abdomen, the worst was over — medication could fix it.

“Vincent,” Your voice had dropped an octave, strenuous from tension and soft all the same, “You okay?” His lack of a reaction had prompted your concern, but maybe that was just it — he was accustomed to the pain.

“I’ll be fine.” Vincent signed, slumping backward into the rickety chair, despite the uncomfortable nature of the object itself. A soft, breathy sigh escaped him, barely audible through the waxy seal of the mask. He watched you stand, fingertips matted with his blood.

As you lingered at his side for a moment longer, goosebumps erupted like a plague across your flesh, feeling the sensation of his hand catch yours. Vincent’s touch was unusually gentle, perhaps an extension of gratitude, but it lasted much longer to be only that — your throat became tight, warmth soon to follow.

“Vincent,” A hapless gasp escaped you, likely worried of Bo’s impending return. “Is everything —“

The vice-like snare of his grasp began to tighten, as if commanding you to stay for only a moment, no recoiling. With his available hand, he signed, piercing gaze boring right through you like the bite of a knife. “Thank you.” The calloused pad of his thumb drifted across your knuckles, then.

“Y’finished with ‘im?” Bo’s tempered drawl filled the room — his hands were dirtied, in the process of being wiped clean by a stained rag. He pretended not to notice his twin clinging onto you, crossing the threshold from entryway to kitchen.

“Yeah.” Reluctantly, you slipped away from Vincent, nearly leaping sideways when Bo made himself known. An uncomfortable sensation began to flourish within the pit of your stomach, a gnawing that refused to cease.

It would’ve been dishonest of him to admit that he didn’t feel some seething streak of jealousy when Vincent grasped for your hand — Bo felt it fester, snap like the crack of a whip, before diminishing. He keenly studied the startled look you wore, picking it apart, dissecting you as you passed him into the kitchen.

Bo made the short stride toward his twin, crouching down in the very same spot you were in just moments beforehand. This was done intentionally, swiftly — while you were distracted with cleaning up, he spoke in hushed whispers to Vincent.

The brothers kept low, a conversation done in rugged utterances and the brief movement of curious fingers. Bo momentarily peered over his shoulder, hawkishly watching as you washed yourself free of his twin’s blood, tidied up the kitchen afterwards.

It was agreed upon, then — Vincent’s gaze held a vast amount of understanding, and perhaps a twinge of gratitude. Bo fought against a salacious grin, yet it forcefully tugged at the corner of his mouth anyway. Both of them moved at once, as if their minds were one. Vincent lingered at the fringes of the table, movements unhindered by his injury.

You entered the fray, cleansed and dazed — your countenance reflected a semblance of confusion as Bo sauntered toward you. Something seemed off, as if the tension had suddenly flared to life, but a different tension — it lacked envy or malice, this one more familiar to you.

“She’s real pretty, ain’t she, Vince?” Bo drawled, clicking his tongue as he began to circle you like a predator flying overhead. He reveled in the way you shrank — a sheepish, bashful little thing. It was the instantaneous nature of it that left him feeling victorious, chest swelling with pride.

“Bo,” Your voice rose above a whisper, but only slightly. Instead, your stomach fluttered with butterflies, a nervousness gnawing its way into your very bones. “Stop.” Meek — your trembling tone reeked of it.

Bo finally stopped by your right side, swiping the pad of his thumb over your jaw. “Real sweet too, must be, puttin’ up with th’two of us,” As you opened your mouth to protest, he squeezed, forcing you to tense — your lips quivered. “Should hear her in bed. Mewlin’ like a little kitten.”

Vincent’s posture remained unnaturally rigid, though as Bo rambled on about the lascivious nature of your relationship, he slacked. Instead, he inched forward, tall and lithe as he leered in your direction — the electricity felt from his ogling alone was enough to make your knees shake. Dark tresses framed his visage, no obstructions this time.

“Yeah, you’ll see,” Bo purred into your ear, calloused digits stroking along your flesh, evoking a wave of gooseflesh that prickled across your skin. “Bet y’think ‘bout her, don’t you?” His inquiry was sharp, fringed with a faint venom, directed right at his brother.

You froze, a shudder rolling down your spine, skin feeling like an open furnace, as if fire had devoured you whole. The tension had reached an uncomfortable high, able to be sliced with the dullest of knives. “Bo,” You urged, unsure of where he was going with this. “What are you doing?”

He was hungry — a leering wolf, with sharp teeth and a ravenous stare. “M’brother likes lookin’ at y’too,” Bo husked, bleeding heat from behind you now. It was enough to evoke a shudder, your flesh creeping with an insatiable warmth. “You want him?”

There were little indications of humour — Bo’s voice remained steely, impervious to your bewilderment. Roughened digits slipped underneath your chin, directing your stare toward Vincent. It almost felt akin to some fever dream, a mirage that teased you in the dead of night.

No — this was reality.

“I—I…” Your stammer turned uncertain. If Bo expected honesty, he surely knew the answer already, didn’t he? Concern ate away at your gut — you were terrified of hurting Bo if you admitted your growing desires. What were you supposed to say?

“Be honest, sweetheart. M’bein’ real generous right now, he knows it.” Bo uttered along the cartilage of your ear, teeth gently scraping enough to make you shiver. He liked that — he drowned himself in making you so wound-up. “I ain’t a fuckin’ fool.” He murmured, nipping at the skin just underneath your earlobe.

A flame burned within your belly — a fire that demanded to be extinguished. You felt feverish, feeling the heat creep along your skin like a virus, or some haze. You were staring at Vincent now, who was closer than he was moments prior. Suddenly, the gravity of the situation began to feel heavy.

“Yes,” There was a relief you felt, in confessing. “I want the both of you,” Your voice nearly trailed off into some pathetic whine. “I want you both so bad.” You felt so desperate, in the best way possible. You knew that you were in for it, but the exhilaration replaced the nervousness.

“Mm,” Bo smirked, pressing a chaste kiss against the side of your head, nose briefly nestled atop your crown. “Hear that, Vince? She wants us both.” Leading the charge, he shamelessly reached around, groping at your breast in front of his twin who stood mere inches away, within arm’s reach.

Two layers of thin fabric was all that separated you from them — your baggy nightshirt and panties, concealed by the hem of the shirt itself. Bo was itching, chomping at the bit to see how much of a mess you’d become, a listless lust dancing beneath his mischievous stare.

Vincent finally closed in, peering toward his brother for approval. His dexterous hand closed around the hilt of his ivory knife, which sat soundly against his hip, begging to be utilized.

“No kissin’,” Bo uttered, his command directed toward Vincent — not you. “If y’fuck her, pull out, or this’ll never happen again.” The regulations were set — Vincent was willing to adhere to them. Kissing wasn’t something he sought from you, anyway. “Everythin’ else is fair game.”

Bo liked your mouth — that was his. He was being benevolent enough by sharing you, and Vincent knew this. As both twins shared an unspoken acknowledgment of boundaries, the fun was set to begin, and it was off to a jarring start as razor-sharp silver sliced down through your shirt.

A hapless gasp escaped you, emerging from the back of your throat. Vincent watched, endlessly hungry, desire flickering to life within his singular eye. He tugged the torn garment away, and your flesh prickled with goosebumps, due to some sick thrill coupled with the cool air.

Using the sofa as a crutch, Bo was comfortable enough to keep you pinned against him, his chest pressed snugly into your back. “Don’t be shy, Vince.” He growled, kneading your breasts between calloused fingers, planting a string of hot kisses along your neck.

You moaned, sheepishly ogling Vincent through half-lidded lashes. His breathing hitched — your eyes connected for a moment, enough for him to smooth his palm across your stomach, teasing the waistband of your panties.

It was brief — he lifted his hand toward his mask, slipping it aside enough to place two fingers into his mouth, coating his digits in spit. The realization of his intentions was what hit you the most, a pang of arousal that gathered between your legs.

Vincent’s hand lowered, quick to journey toward the juncture between your thighs. One hand tangled into a fist around your panties, tugging them down enough to barge in between, parting your legs with his sinewy frame.

His touch was incendiary — hot like the lick of an open flame, raking embers across your aching cunt. Vincent’s wet fingers found their way to your clit, causing you to sputter, whimper his name in as he stroked along your slit. He kept a steady rhythm, though it almost felt exploratory, as if he were dissecting you.

“Vincent,” You moaned, hips jolting into his hand, body beginning to rattle. Bo’s hands kept busy, nipples tugged and tortured through his thumb and forefinger, teeth grazing along the dip between your neck and shoulder. “Vince.”

The stark contrast between the brothers became glaringly apparent as time passed — you could find favor in both methods of intimacy. Vincent’s touch was borderline obsessive, yet he reveled in the compliance, the surrender. His digits continued to rub against your slit, until he began to work his way inside of you.

Your breath hitched, heart hammering erratically as his fingers sluggishly invaded your cunt. Swallowed by your tight heat, Vincent easily fell into some sort of pattern, moving his digits forward and back, just enough to make you squirm.

Bo’s digits wove their way into your hair, tugging you back at an angle, enough for his mouth to collide with yours — teeth, tongue, and lust. His jeans chafed against your backside, met with friction and the tangible protrusion of his erection. “Y’like that, don’t you?” He mumbled.

In between a flurry of feverish kisses, you could barely catch your breath, trapped between Vincent’s dexterous fingers and Bo’s greedy maw. He bit your lower lip, sharp enough to draw blood, coppery twang spattering against your tongue. Another simpering moan escaped you as Vincent curled his digits inside of you, thumb pressing to your clit.

“Yeah,” Bo exhaled, tongue catching crimson as he lapped at your mouth. “Lemme hear you.” He slurred, one hand wrestling with his belt in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure mounting within his cock.

You moaned again, cunt clenching around Vincent, legs beginning to quiver. “M’close.” A whimper tore past your lips, haplessly wedged between them. The taller twin let his fingers increase in speed, slipping in and out of your wet slit with a newfound haste. His free hand fell to your hip, as if guiding you toward an orgasm.

There wasn’t any room for recuperation — you came on Vincent’s fingers, nearly seeing stars, a white-hot haze blurring your senses. Bo spun you around, at his mercy as you faced him. Vincent was right behind you, chest nudging against your back, dark tresses brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“Open that pretty mouth, baby.” His voice was an alluring husk. Bo’s countenance was glazed with lust, hues dark and fiery — it was intense, more than you’d ever seen before. His thumb pried your mouth apart, caressing your lower lip as a show of affection.

Bo was shameless as he spit into your mouth, palm clasped tightly against the side of your jaw, digits unnaturally tense. It was more than enough to send another surge of heat between your legs, cunt still oozing with wetness and warmth.

“Fuckin’ slut, aren’t ‘cha?” Grit and desire struck you right to your core, his tone dropping an octave as he watched you swallow his saliva without an ounce of protest. Bo kissed the corner of your mouth, his hand now replacing Vincent’s. “Wet from that, look at you.” He crooned.

“Please Bo,” As pathetic as it seemed, you were desperate to have him inside of you — it didn’t matter for how long, or how much. You wanted to scratch the itch, to have the brothers fill the void within you. “Bo, fuck,” Your voice ran ragged, high-pitched and needy. “Please, Vince.”

Vincent purred — a sound akin to the low rolling of thunder. His fingers deftly swept across your shoulder, sweeping tresses aside as one hand loosened his belt. It made your heart skip a beat, stomach sloshing with anticipation.

“What d’you think, Vince? Should we let her have it?” Bo smirked — wolfish, a true mastermind as he toyed with you, as if you were nothing more than fodder for hungry predators. “She’s real needy.” He uttered, digits caressing along your cheek.

The jingling of an unclasped belt caught your attention, followed by the feeling of Vincent’s cock nestled against your rump. Gooseflesh tore across your skin like a tidal wave, and you swallowed the growing lump within your throat — he wasn’t shrewd by any means.

Bo let out a derisive snort, lip curling in a sneer. “Guess yer goin’ first,” He wasn’t thrilled, but at least he could take his time with you afterwards — torture you a little. Instead, his mouth lowered to the column of your throat, teeth playfully nicking sensitive flesh. “Mm.”

Vincent was less practiced, and twice as vigorous as his twin — his cock found its way to your cunt, and without warning, he thrust himself into you. A strangled whimper left you, devoured by Bo’s hungry kiss. Wax-laden palms clasped the curve of your hips, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises as he began to fuck you.

It was rough — you half expected Vincent to be sluggish, but his excitement and adrenaline had contorted him into nothing more than an avatar of lust. His cock smacked into your cunt with a plethora of lewd noises, stretching and filling you in a way that Bo couldn’t.

“Fuck,” You groaned, body glued to Bo’s. He was keeping busy, lips lowering from neck to collarbone, and then to your breasts. He was bent at an awkward angle, but as soon as his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, it was pure bliss. “Bo, Vincent.” A whine left you.

Vincent’s grunts resonated just beside your ear, then. Every inch of him was consumed by your cunt, tight around him as he continued to fuck you. It was hot and messy, his pace sometimes scattered and erratic, as if he didn’t know what rhythm to adopt.

You would’ve given anything to stay static within the moment — within them. The voracious way in which Vincent clawed at your flesh, fucked you as if it would be his very last, kept your head spinning around in circles. Bo handled you as if you were molded from obsidian — unbreakable and precious, lips greedily sucking at your breast. The sensations you experienced were prodigious — you felt worshipped, no — coveted.

Wax had shuffled aside, spurred by Vincent’s yearning to just taste you — even if it was brief. Goosebumps prickled across your shoulder as roughened, misshapen lips graced your flesh, unusually gentle. It was a stark contrast to his animalistic thrusts, cock buried deep inside of you whilst his mouth treated you like a princess.

Ragged breathing fanned out across your skin, staggeringly warm, coming in erratic spurts to match Vincent’s sporadic thrusts. It was where he’d always wanted to be — next to you, tangled within you, and now, his opportunity had become reality. His hips snapped forward again, swiftly recoiling to spill himself on you.

Ropes of sticky cum lay glistening against your rump and back. He obeyed Bo’s wishes, despite every fiber in his being urging him otherwise. Vincent watched with silent glee as your legs trembled, rattling like leaves. You hadn’t come again, but Bo was about to leave you unable to walk.

“How’s about another,” Bo crooned, teeth gently nibbling along your earlobe. You scrambled for the correct words, to beg again, but it all died within your throat when you felt Bo’s cock slide against your slick heat. “There we go.”

Vincent’s warmth had left you, his figure retreating away, far enough for him to watch. He had been deprived of watching your countenance when he’d fucked you — his own obsessive tendencies kicked in, a dark and twisted thing. Now, he wanted to see — wanted to hear you, let the memory linger.

Bo was being beyond generous, a sentiment that waxed and waned. If his brother was content with being an observer, he was going to put on a little show. His lips curled into a devious grin, swiveling around to push you up against the sofa, placing high enough to wrap your legs around his hips.

“Want you t’beg for it,” Bo snarled, playfully nipping at your lower lip. “Let m’brother hear whose cock you want.” It was lewd — filthy expletives leaving his mouth in ragged strings. You felt a twinge of guilt, prepared to give Bo exactly what he wanted, but your relationship was, admittedly, much closer.

“Yours, Bo,” Instantaneously, your voice climbed in octave, reaching a pitch of desperation as you haplessly clawed at Bo’s arms. You clung to him, grappling for his shoulders. “I want you, Bo, please!” You whined. “Fuck me!” You weren’t very shy about the volume, either.

Satisfied, Bo thrust himself into your tight cunt, gritting his teeth at the familiar sensation. One hand kept you steady, poised against the curve of your waist, the other finding purchase around your throat. Calloused digits sat snug just underneath your jaw, occasionally applying spurts of pressure.

Your lips fell slack, head lazily lolled backwards as Bo began to fuck you, his pace steady and somewhat sloppy. He’d been waiting, he’d been patient — he wanted what was his. For a moment, your gaze flickered toward Vincent, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken his eyes off of you whatsoever.

It made your body burn, flesh crawling with an incendiary heat. Vincent wasn’t focused on the act itself — he was fixated on you. The fluctuations within your visage, the hooded glaze of desire that danced within your eyes, and the supple curves of your form — that was what Vincent reveled in. He cared little for his brother’s antics, but you made it all worthwhile.

Bo’s mouth tangled with yours, effectively tearing your attention away from Vincent altogether. It brought you back to now, to the scent of sex, the growling, bodies all wrapped up within one another. His fingers pressed against your neck, lips all-consuming and ravenous, teeth and tongue and boastfulness.

His cock battered away at your cunt, thighs quivering from the amount of stimulation you’d already been subjected to, enough to make your stomach tighten. “Bo!” You squeaked, nails digging into the jean fabric of his button-down, holding onto him for dear life. “Bo, I — m’close.”

“Gettin’ shy?” He teased, pressing a kiss against the side of your face. Bo was borderline ruthless, picking up his pace from steady to needy, staking his claim, festering with a desire to cum inside of you. “Jus’ a little more, sweetface.” Bo murmured.

Every fiber of your being was set ablaze, and to the brothers, you looked so beautiful like this — succumbing, all ensnared within your own lust, just laid bare.

You felt euphoric, legs trembling as he fucked you senseless, about as rough as he could be without really hurting you. Precum slathered his groin, tendrils of it shooting into your cunt, his cock pulsating and throbbing with warmth. He pounded into you like a man possessed, letting his hand fall away from your jugular, slithering in between your thighs instead.

As soon as his thumb circled your clit against, you cried out, and it was over for you, then. Your body jolted and jerked, reduced to putty within his grasp, cumming on his cock without any warning. Vincent savored the blissful look you bore — eyes nearly closed, lips agape, head rolled back.

Bo grunted, snapping forward once more for good measure, cumming in-tandem with you. Virile ropes of cum flooded your cunt, all inside of you, just as he wanted. It was the rapturous aftermath that allowed the both of you to settle, chests heaving with exhilaration. Perspiration had built up upon Bo’s brow and along the valley between your breasts.

Once he pulled out of you, messy and sluggish, your feet wobbled as you landed upon solid ground. Vincent had stood up somewhere in between, lingering around, as if awaiting commands.

“Fuck,” Bo sighed, unable to wipe the affectionate smirk away from his features. You appeared pleasantly disheveled, but the unusual tension had soon settled in. “Y’should clean up.” He stated, as if he played no part in your current state.

“Asshole.” You grumbled, tone jocular as Bo planted a kiss against your mouth. You squeezed Vincent’s hand in-passing, the gesture enough to catch Bo’s attention. His heart clenched within his chest — the realization that you loved them both was beginning to settle in.

Both of the brothers watched you awkwardly clamor up the stairs — disrobed and flustered. Bo almost felt a sliver of pity, seeing as you could barely walk, but it was partial amusement, too.

Vincent stood at his side, casting a sidelong glance toward his sweaty twin, who was busy basking in all of his post-fucking glory. “We could share.” He signed, a proposition that Bo knew was inevitable. Of course, it was your choice — a choice that he’d have to live with.

“Yeah,” Bo pondered aloud, but his thoughts soon drifted into perverse territory. The way you looked, wedged in between the two of them, was too tantalizing to pass up. “We could.”

[acalamity]

I love your work and I saw that you have requests open. If you can, can you write about Gun Park with a reader who is stronger than him and he ends up falling for her. Thank you!

author's note

thank you anon! this is probably not what was expected, if anything at all. a bit of gun character study, I don't write him particularly well

to another anon who asked for jake, samuel and gun, I'm sorry but I accidentally deleted your ask thinking it'll just delete the draft (apparently not) :( but I don't write headcanons

lookism! gun park x reader. reader introduces whimsy (and peace) into gun's life

more below the wubbaboo!!

Gun Park, Shiro Oni, who comes with the doom harboured by drizzling rain, has fallen. He has fallen in more ways than one, in more ways than he thought possible. And yet, the only reason he had fallen is because of you. His ultimate demise, caused by a bright-hearted fool so unlike him.

He wonders if you realise how you changed his life; his worldview. How the very first time he saw you use your overwhelming strength was for trivial errands. How the second time he saw you use your strength, was for another errand, delivering supplies to a clinic far away. How the third time he saw your strength, it was for the numerous little children who wanted to be carried.

And how all the other times he saw your strength; it has never been for destruction. How he had turned away from someone so boring; a waste of talent— yet in the end, too was captured by you. (Nowadays, he'll know not to sneer at you for a fight, and not call your strength wasted potential).

The first time you completely overwhelmed him, he laid defeated on the ground and stared up at the sky with an odd sense of calm. Neither the excitement, attraction nor the thrill of battle he had been anticipating remained in his blood. Then, in his vision, he saw your face, concerned and worried. It was ridiculous. Someone worried for a superhuman like him? How ridiculous.

Yet not once did your concerns fade; defeat after defeat, as he laid upon the ground in utter hopelessness, with no such excitement or pumping blood, your face would pop up.

In the first time in his life, Gun Park felt humiliation. And so he laid there until a hand was given to him, "You're a bit too pathetic, you know that?"

Not even Goo Kim would say that.

— —

It made him wonder if the gentle hand upon his, capable of much more destruction than he could imagine, has influenced his own.

"Hold on!" You exclaimed, adjusting the flower crown on his head that was lowered to you. Although he wasn't sure why he was using it, nor was he certain of the purpose of the mess of scattered flowers and stems— he rather liked it, "There we go, much better."

"What's this for?" He stood back up straight, white pupils bare if his usual sunglasses staring into your soul. He watched you create another crown of flowers, intertwining their stems gently and meticulously, "Isn't it fun?"

No, Gun wanted to reply, so he says nothing instead and continued in silence. Once you were done, you handed over the second crown to him, letting him hold it with your hand over his, "Here, tie it around my head."

And so, he does, letting you turn your back to him so he could place it on, "It's ok if you don't like activities like this. But you should experience it once in your life."

You're aware of the destruction he caused, you're aware Gun Park isn't much outside of his traditions and violence. You know that he's shared a cup with another; but at least, you hope he can learn to live.

It's only when you snap a picture of the moment did Gun see the tender smile upon his own face.

[yuanology]

hey!! congrats on 100!! you've definitely become one of my favorite writers so it's cool to see you becoming more popular so quick - it's deserved. For the event, may I request "Is this okay?" or "I'll take care of you". With Blade? Just a soft scenario where it's his first time and he's a little nervous or unused to all the contact - can be either gender neutral or male reader, doesn't matter to me. :)

people like blade are not used to things that do not hurt him.

walking along the path of destruction, his own capabilities have the ability to rear its head back against him. his very existence is a double-edged sword, one without a good reason to exist. everything hurts but he has learned to tolerate the pain. it means that he is alive, it means that he is one step closer to death.

blade is not unfamiliar with the concept or sex, nor the idea of pain being played into pleasure. he isn't the type of man to indulge himself in such debauchery, but he isn't exactly opposed to it. he just finds no reason to linger in the process. sex is just another need, the base instincts of a living being.

blade is still—unfortunately—living and so he still needs to succumb to the baser pleasures sometimes. even so, he prefers quick, rough and occasionally painful tugs on his cock that will get him off as quickly as possible. he sees no point in extending the moment, not when sex is just another casualty, a side-effect of being alive.

"is this okay?" your words are so soft where they're murmured against his skin, as if you intend to brand him with your concern. your palms feel scalding where they press against the skin on his hips, your lips a licking flame as you press a kiss over his trembling pulse. "too much?"

"no." but his voice sounds ruined, fucked out. it's too much, but he's not willing to admit it. he just feels so—full of you, stuffed to the brim by the feeling of your cock buried to the hilt inside of him.

you let out a low hum, as if you understand what you mean. he doesn't doubt that to an extent, you do. "does it hurt?"

( yes, blade thinks. it hurts, it always hurts when he's with you. you're always so careful when it comes to him, as if he's something fragile and not a stellaron hunter craving death, as if he's something worth looking at so softly, so reverently. it hurts, your tenderness because people like him are not built for softness. )

"no," he answers. he snaps his hips, meeting yours in one sharp motion. a grunt escapes your lips and your hand grips his hips, keeping him in place. "what are you—"

"shh." you're so close to him, your breath tickling his neck. "i'll take care of you. relax, blade. i've got you."

blade stares up at the ceiling, feeling your lips against his throat once again, peppering gentle kisses as you let him ease into the feeling—of fullness, of contentedness.

"okay," he rasps out.

for the first time in a long time, blade lets his eyes slide shut and allows himself to just feel.

thank you so much for your request & for your support! i remember you being one of the first people to interact with my content lol. i do appreciate you a whole lot. thank you again <3 hope you continue to enjoy my stuff!

[mountainsandmayhem]

Wings. Fire. Magic. Part 2

Joel Miller x Female Reader (18+)

Masterlist || Part One

Summary: Joel takes you to The King despite your protests and everything he thought he knew is changed.

CW: I don’t want to give any spoilers so I’m just going to say that there’s some violence near the end. No smut, yet. 

A/N: Thank you @mermaidgirl30 for beta reading this for me and to everyone who has commented and reblogged the first part of this story.

Word Count: 3.2k

“You do know what the king will do to me, right?” You break the silence that has been surrounding you two since last night as Joel settles behind you on Remmer. The dragon didn’t leave your side all night, curling around you as you slept, keeping you warm and protected.

“The same thing they do with every other prisoner.” He says flatly, as if it’s not your life or the livelihood of your family that he’s about to doom. 

“He’ll either slice off my wings to take the power for himself or send me to a breeding camp.” Remmer shutters slightly underneath you before taking off for the sky. 

The sudden movement slides you back in the saddle, your body pressing against Joel’s strong chest. You can feel the cold buckles of his leathers pressing against your back and a dull ache thumps from your bandaged wing. He doesn’t push you off or adjust himself away from you, something in him has softened since he saved you last night. You lean back into him slightly to test his reaction. Even though he’s about to take you to The King, which will most likely end up with you dead, you somehow feel safe with him. That feeling of security only intensifies when he gathers the reins with one hand and then moves the other to wrap around your body.

The soft facial hair along his jawline tickles the shell of your ear as he says, “Typical Fae paranoia. You think everyone is against you.” 

You glare straight ahead at the clouds, “You saved me from sprites who wanted to slice me open for their own gain last night. Everyone is against us.” 

You scoot forward, no longer wanting any part of your body against his. Joel stops you, pulling you back against his body by your waist. His voice softens, thumb rubbing gentle circles along your side, “By not taking you to The King I’m equally as guilty. You know that.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Joel Miller. Guardian of Dragons, Warrior and Keeper of The Realm.” 

Something about you using his full titles in that sarcastic tone sets his teeth on edge. He has sworn to protect The Realm. He had to once The King found out about Remmer, that’s how it works. You can’t raise animals capable of mass destruction and not swear some sort of allegiance to The King. 

He’s taken prisoners in before, dropped them with The King and thought of them no more. But seeing you on the ground, screaming for help as those males tried to take your wings…It reminded him of when he found Remmer.

She was just a baby, no bigger than a baby bear. Her little screams filled the empty forest and when he finally found the source she was chained down, men standing around her arguing over who would be the one to cut her wings. Much like Fae wings, dragon wings are sought after and poached; however, they’re only used for dark magic.

Something in Joel snapped at Rem’s sad cries. He killed every single one of those men, all fifteen of them, with just his axe and his bare hands. 

When he unleashed the chains around the little black dragon she just stared at him curiously with bright orange eyes. He did what his father had taught him and walked away slowly, never turning his back, and avoiding eye contact. She bounced along after him and sat at his feet when he stopped walking. They’ve been almost inseparable ever since.

Joel shakes his head, you stole from him. And he has to leave it at that, because if he thinks about it too hard he’ll turn around. When he finally caught up to you in the woods the other day he wasn’t expecting to find someone as soft and pretty as you. A pinkish blush spread across your cheeks from the exertion of running and flying as fast as you could. The orange glow from the stolen egg that you hid behind your back encased you in a warm and inviting glow. If it wasn’t for the terror in your eyes at seeing Remmer, and Joel’s anger at whomever took the egg, he would have dropped to his knees right there. Gave you everything you wanted.

She stole from you, he reminds himself again.

A little voice in the back of his head speaks up, to help her family. How many Fae are you about to doom?

He can understand that call from deep in your gut to care for family. He would have done anything to save Sarah. Anything. The small hand tattoo he has over his heart warms at the thought of her. She had succumbed to an illness that takes many human children born in this world. He held her frail body as she grew weaker and weaker. When she took her last breath in his arms it had almost killed him.

As you and Joel begin to descend below the clouds a beautiful castle appears. The King’s castle sits embedded in a mountain, almost as if the mountain grew it there. A winding stone staircase leads down to a colourful village, houses and shops in pastel pinks, yellows, oranges and greens run along the winding shore. The same turquoise blue water from the meadow fills the river, wrapping around the mountain and out as far as you can see. Along the front wall of the castle are blue and white flags with the head of a lion. They flutter in the breeze and your heart matches their rhythm. 

You are going to die today.

Your breaths start coming in rapidly and you squeeze your wings tightly against your back. Fear spreads out from your chest, it feels like millions of worms wiggling and inching across your body. 

Rem swoops down and lands on top of a large flat tower on the edge of the castle. You feel Joel hesitate behind you, and when you turn your head to look at him his Adam's Apple bobs with a hard swallow. He slides down the dragon, she lets out a whine and Joel walks around to meet her gaze.

“I know,” he says quietly, stroking her strong neck. 

What does he know? What does Remmer know? The fear intensifies, you’re going to be slaughtered. You’re sure of it. 

You stare at Joel from atop his dragon. He reaches a hand up to you and you slide your shaky fingers into his grip, the glowing green cuff that’s eradicated your magic sliding down your delicate wrist. Joel's jaw flexes when he sees it. 

You swing your leg off the saddle and stand on Rem’s bent leg. Joel reaches up and places his large hands on your waist, lifting you and guiding your body down along his until your feet are planted on the floor in front of him. You’re so close that when you look up you think you might see a hint of sadness and regret in his eyes.

He says something quietly to Rem before grabbing your arm and leading you down a long winding staircase, the top of this tower must be a landing pad for dragons and other beasts. When you reach the bottom, he hesitates again before stepping out into a wide, outdoor stone hallway. You hear Rem’s cries as she flies off of the tower. 

Joel’s grip tightens on the back of your arm as he leads you towards two large wooden doors, guards flanking on each side. Their armour is emblazoned with Lions heads on their chest. You think you might stop breathing, terror is coursing through you and you’re sure the only reason you’re upright is because of Joel’s strong grip on your bicep. You walk along beside him, counting the steps to your impending doom.

When the doors part, Joel leads you down a long great room. There’s guards posted up along the walls, standing below stained glass windows. They’re easily twenty feet tall, pictures of The King's triumphs painted in the glass. Each one more brutal than the next. 

At the end of the hallway is a small set of stairs, The King and a few of his advisors sitting up top. There’s a small audience of men around the bottom of the stairs. Joel comes to a halt and bows his head at The King. You stand still. Pleasantries or not, The King will hurt you. He’s much older than you expected, balding under his crown, sun spots and age lines across his face.

“Joel Miller,” he says. His voice reminds you of the calm before a storm, eerily peaceful yet sets you on edge. He continues, “Guardian of Dragons, Warrior and Keeper of the Realm. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Good day, your majesty. I’m afraid that I have brought you a thief. She tried to steal an egg. It was recovered unharmed and she has been cooperative.”

His thumb brushes along your bicep. Is he defending you? 

The King laughs cruelly. “Did you catch me a fairy?” 

Joel’s grip tightens on your arm. You told him this would happen. Neither of you respond to his question. 

“How old are you, fairy?” He almost spits the word fairy at you. 

“Six hundred and thirty seven,” you say, just above a whisper, your throat is so dry that it’s nearly impossible to talk. 

“Is it the dungeon or the breeding camps for you?” He says to himself. The vile king's eyes trail up and down your body. You’re above the typical breeding age, but at least in a breeding camp you know what to expect. 

His eyes meet Joels, “Does she have magic?”

“I’m not sure, Your Highness. I cuffed her as soon as I caught her.”

He leans over to one of his advisors, whispering to him with a cruel smile on his face, eyes locked on your body. You can feel him trying to burn through your clothes and if Joel wasn’t holding your arm you’d cross them over yourself. 

The King sits back, linking his fingers and resting his hands on his large round belly. Fae families everywhere are starving and dying, meanwhile this “king” is living a life of glutton. His lips curl up as he says, “undress her, someone fetch the sorcerer.”

Joel moves to step in front of you when two guards grab him. You reach out for him, suddenly desperate for him not to leave you. More green bands clamp around your arm courtesy of the guards before they move their bony fingers to the clasps and zippers of your leathers. The zipper sounds grind at your teeth as they begin to expose you to The King. You wouldn’t be surprised if he commanded each of these guards to take a turn before you were sent to whatever abhorrent punishment The King and his advisors had just decided on.

Your jacket is ripped from your body before a dagger is taken to the front of your shirt. Slicing through it like a boat on water, the sound of the fabric tearing ringing in your ears. The cold air hits your now exposed breasts and the men of the audience look as if they’ve grown hungry.

Your eyes search desperately for Joel as the guards move to remove your pants, he is nowhere to be found. The leather of your belt sounds like a knife against a stone as they yank it from your body. They lift you slightly off the ground, hoisted up like some sort of sick trophy, to remove your knee high boots, quickly followed by your pants being tugged at the hem of the ankle. 

You’re naked. Exposed. Just you and your wings.

A man with horn rimmed burgundy glasses and a sharp three piece suit of the same colour enters the room. The Sorcerer. He flicks a finger and a table with shackles at the four corners appears in front of you and the guards.

“On her stomach,” The Sorcerer says in a clinical voice, his shoes clicking on the cobblestone floor as he approaches you.

As the guards strap you to the table you finally catch the sign of Joel. He’s pinned to the ground by two guards, staring up at you with guilt and shame swirling through his warm brown eyes. 

You push your lips into a thin line and shake your head at him. You knew this would happen, and now you refuse to break his eye contact. You are going to make him watch what he’s done to you, what you warned him would be done to you.

You hear footsteps behind you and the back of your eyes burn with tears. A cold and sterile hand grips around the bottom top of your wing, hand brushing against your bare ass, before tugging hard. You stare coldly at Joel as The Sorcerer stretches out your iridescent left wing. The pressure behind your eyes builds. You’re going to die here.

“Amazing,” The King chuffs, he’s standing beside your right shoulder, your face turned away from him. “Six hundred and thirty seven, you say.” He’s not asking, mostly talking to himself as The Sorcerer moves to open up the other wing, the joint of it still wrapped in Joel’s bandage. 

The King’s sharp fingers move to remove the bandage and then he trails a clammy finger down your spinal cord and over the swell of one of your ass cheeks. A silent tear slips down your face as you watch Joel’s eyes turn dark.

The King scrapes his nails down the glittery, translucent proteins of your wings and bile rises in your throat. You feel the blood drain from your face as you continue staring down at Joel. 

“Can she mate?” The King asks.

“Flip her.” The Sorcerer says, the guards move quickly, armour clanging against each other as they fiddle with the chains holding you down. They flip you roughly, slamming you onto you back and then the chains click and rattle again to hold you in place. You stare up at the wood vaulted ceiling. There’s easily over a hundred onlookers, and you can feel their eyes roaming over your naked body. You feel sick.

The Sorcerer approaches, placing his glasses on the table beside you. You allow your cheek to fall to the table away from him, making eye contact with Joel once again. His eyes are black with anger, and when The Sorcerer's cold hands press on your lower abdomen Joel’s face turns almost murderous. 

Black mist snakes out from his palms, twisting and curling until it belts around your middle. At first it feels cold and tingly, almost like when you sit cross legged for too long and your foot falls asleep. Soon, the magic in it relaxes you, eyelids becoming heavy as you blink lazily at Joel. 

Just when you feel safe, the mist gets heavy, and then it starts to squeeze, pushing itself painfully into your skin. The pressure makes it hard to breathe and you try to cry out, mouth falling open in a silent scream. It feels like air is trapped in your lungs, it’s crushing you. Panic crosses your face as you stare at Joel. The world goes dark around you, Joel fading into the distance. You hear a sharp, cruel laugh before all your senses darken.

Joel 

My whole life I’ve been led to believe that Fae are paranoid and lazy. They steal for their own enjoyment and think the world is out to get them. Since meeting you, I’ve realized how very wrong I have been. And now you’re laying on a table, completely naked, being poked and prodded at for The King's own sick enjoyment. A king that I was led to believe was good and kind.

“She may be able to be bred,” The Sorcerer says, “but she’s old, so it might not take.” 

The King thinks for a while, his beady little eyes darting around her body. My palms tingle with the sudden urge to slam my beloved axe right across his face.

“Take her wings.” He says flatly before a cruel glint crosses his face, “but wake her up first, I want to hear her screams and watch the life leave her eyes as she dies from the blood loss.”

“Wait,” I call from the ground, panic swirling in my gut. 

The King looks down at me as if I’m mud on his boots. He flicks a hand upwards at the guards holding me and they lift me roughly.

“I’d like to take her as my slave.”

The king scoffs. “You what? Do you know how rare wings and magic Fae are?”

“I’ll give you three of Remmer’s eggs.”

The entire room goes quiet. For the past three hundred years, only dragon trainers have owned dragons. If they’re needed for war we, as Warriors and Keepers of The Realm, lead them. Kings are often tempted by the fiercest of dragons and Rem scares even the bravest of creatures, if only they knew she liked to play with butterflies in her spare time and used to be afraid of her own fire.

The king contemplates for a second, waving a hand again signaling for the guards to let me go. “I want eight.” He states. 

“I have three, I can bring you two more the next time they breed.” I focus on keeping my facial expression flat. 

The King stares me down, almost as if to see if I’ll flinch or back down. He makes his way back to his throne, hands linked behind his back as he saunters up the stairs. If we were alone I would easily kill that man with the lightest swing of my axe.

After settling down in his plush royal blue throne he says, “Deal.” 

I step towards you, still wrapped in that inky black mist, face contorted with pain and fear. 

“No so fast,” The King says, “it’s a deal, but I keep her wings until I have all the eggs.”

The Sorcerer snaps his fingers and the mist moves to blanket your entire body, melting the chains off of your milky white skin. He jerks his chin towards the sky and your limp body levitates off the table. You spin like meat above fire, and I suppose that that’s exactly how you’ve been seen your entire life, and I brought you to the fucking fire. 

The mist pulls itself together into a sharp line and slices down your back. I want to tear my eyes away at the carnage but I did this. I did this to you and I deserve to feel guilty about all of this for the rest of my life. 

Thick red blood coats your back before the mist travels over you again and cauterizes your wing joints. Two glowing blue scars is all that’s left. The black mist encases your wings, sets them high above The King's throne like a hunting trophy. 

Your body falls back down to the table and I walk over to you, keeping my face set in a hard line, not daring to give away my true feelings to The King.

===================================

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44 @keylimebeag  @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot @lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @baar-ur @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog @pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde  @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya 

[kaiju-art-for-the-heart]

An Heir to the Throne: Field Research

Chapter 4

WARNING! 

This chapter contains slight nsfw mentions of a giant radioactive lizard and celestial moth getting it on. If you do not wish to have your eyeballs cursed by such mentions, skip the first two paragraphs until you reach the tilde(~) line. Or the whole chapter if its not your cup of tea.

Thank you for reading and enjoy!

It has been quite eventful for the Monarch scientists these past few months. Between studying the portals of hollow earth, keeping tabs on the other kaiju, and attempting to keep up with Kongs new tribe activities, they had their hands full. Though recently, they've been putting extra special attention into the current relationship between Gojira and Mosura. Before this, everyone assumed Godzilla was near emotionless aside from angry and territorial. What once was a destructive, calculated murder machine was now studied to be calm, capable of showing affection, and most surprising of all, incredibly gentle. The sudden changes of behavior was studied to be towards Mothra, and Mothra alone. Any other Kaiju or creature he encountered got the usual cold shoulder. This has intrigued the scientists intensely, and has been a very successful excuse to keep the worlds governments away from the couple. Though recently, Monarch made a legendary discovery after studying a large shift in behavior between the two. Godzilla had been leaving their territory less frequently, Mothra was recorded leaving only once to get "fresh air", and a strange frequency had been recorded from the two Kaiju multiple times. After some digging, and very intensive snooping, the scientists discovered the large titans had been courting each other, in attempts to mate. 

This new information had blown all other studies out of the water to have every focus on them. From researchers arguing over who would be dedicated to 24 hour watch, to archivists scrambling to find any information on the two mating before, everyone was attempting to get a glimpse at this incredibly rare phenomena. Their performance was that no one had ever seen before. It was obvious the two had no confirmed form of mating, as they tried many different ways and techniques to get the job done. The most frequent position they liked to return to was dubbed The Hoover Maneuver by other scientists. After a week in a half, the queen and king had seemed to finish their mate. By then, all Monarch personnel had known, and was fascinated by the idea. What made them do this? Would there be a hybrid lizard-moth monster on the way? And most importantly, will it be safe?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The evening sky was quite calm today. The blazing sun seemed to get farther and farther as the weeks passed by, causing the days to become just a tiny bit chiller. Within those weeks, Mothra had been resting intensely. Her aching body healed bit by bit as Godzilla attended to her every need. Her mind had been racing with everything, all at once. Excitement, fear, worry, and the occasional bits of anger swirled around her thoughts rabidly. Thousands upon thousands of years of being alive, and yet this was something new. Something she had never experienced before, and it was a very intense thrill. Sitting herself up, she found the strength to make it out of the nest and onto the beach. The sand that was far hotter during the day, was cool and comforting underneath her. Her body sank into it instantly, its grainy texture always felt interesting to her. As it encased the rest of her body, she sighed happily in recognition of her current state. Her abdomen was much heavier, and larger than before. Usually this meant she was ready to lay her egg, but this was much different. She didn't feel nearly the same as before, from the constant feeding to her body aching. The timing was also quite peculiar. She was no where near ready to lay her egg, which usually only took about a week to do so. She was curious if this was what all mothers go through when producing offspring. As her eyes looked endlessly into the starry night sky, Godzilla had finally returned with her dinner. 

His eyes lit up as he saw her. He wasn't expecting to see her up and about like this, it was relieving to say the least. Mothra's state had seemed to only decline to him, she wasn't nearly as energetic as before. Her usual chipper mood was drowned out with exhaustion most days. Though she didn't have as much energy, she still showed her excitement to Godzilla whenever she could. Her eager chirps and trills assured him that she was ok, and that this was only temporary. As he approached, a soft humming vibration emitted from him to match her eager singing. 

"I have returned my queen.." Godzilla's voice muffled, something obviously lodged within his jaws. Mothra looked up at him curiously, he normally brought back some type of sea creature for them to dine on. What could possibly be in his mouth? Maybe he had no luck hunting and had to catch smaller? She tilted her head a bit before motioning for him to settle down with her. Before she could ask, Godzilla leaned down to plop an arrangement of different flowers, plants, and fruits in front of her. All she could do was stare in shock as it all fell down piece by piece. While many were record breakingly large (by human standards) she recognized it was all her favorite snacks. It wasnt the first time he had been so kind to cater to her diet, but this was the largest amount she's ever seen him collect. It must have taken him all day to find,  meaning he may not have eaten himself. As the thoughts swirled around her mind,  her heart was filled to the brim with overwhelming joy.

Godzilla swished his tongue around his mouth, making sure he got out every inch of plant. He hated the taste, it was far too bitter and made his teeth feel weird afterwards. As far as he could remember, Mothra enjoyed feasting on vegetation far more than any meat. He knew this, and yet he had only brought them back a handful of times for her. Even though he preferred their usual catch of tender meat, his will was stronger than his stomach as he scavenged to find as many of her favorites as possible. He applauded himself for somehow remembering most of them, it was far more difficult to actually find them more than anything. He wanted her to be happy, to eat how she liked for a while without worry of becoming sick. It didn't matter to him if he skipped a few meals to hunt for only her, anything for his queen. Finally content with his veggie-free teeth, his eyes settled back onto her, surprised by how happy she had become.

"Why.. did you do this Goji?" she asked quietly, her eyes scanning through the pile of goodies for her choosing. Godzilla thought for a moment before finally settling in next to her, his tail wrapping around her comfortably. "To feed my queen." he huffed, gently grooming her wings to calm her. If moths could cry, she would have been a sniffling mess by now. She squeaked out a sincere 'Thank you' before quickly chowing down on her feast. Though it was an incredibly large amount of food, most of it disappeared within a few minutes. Godzilla watched in awe as she ate, she was far more ravenous now than what she was a couple weeks ago. He knew from this point, it was far more important for her to eat than anything. After a moment, Mothra regained herself as she contently groomed her raptorial legs. As interesting as it was to watch, Godzilla pushed aside his amusement to nuzzle into her neck. "Shall I take you to the nest my darling?" he purred, his bioluminescence shinning brightly as she nuzzled back into him. "Yes my king, let us rest now." she agreed, lifting herself out of the sand to crawl onto Godzilla's back. As she settled contently between his dorsal plates, Godzilla's attention instantly turned to the small drone that had been hovering around them for a while. His famous scowl returned as his eyes locked onto the small metal contraption. 'Its already starting' he thought to himself, lifting out of the sand and staring directly into the lens of the drone. A low growl bellowed from him as he watched the drone quickly turned away to flee the scene. 

"Is something the matter?" Mothra yawned, lifting her head to make sure there was no trouble. Godzilla  made sure the drone had disappeared before turning his attention away. "No, rest my queen. All is fine." he assured her, beginning the short trek back to their nest. This was going to be a long couple of weeks. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the drone made its way back to the closest Monarch base, the scientists had been eagerly awaiting its arrival. Many scrambled to document every small interaction and detail the drone was able to record, while others forwarded the footage to other larger bases. Though they knew it was a dangerous game to lurk around them, the possibility of missing any crucial information was too high. After word quickly got around and the footage was thoroughly analyzed, it was deducted that Mothra was indeed ready to lay. Though it was obvious Godzilla was becoming far more protective of his territory and his mate. With quick thinking and strategic planning, new spy equipment was produced to blend in with the flora and fauna of the land around them. Though some where skeptical, the equipment seemed to work well enough to go undetected for its first week. A successful test that was now their ticket to worry free studying. 

[alicentflorent]

the amount of cope I'm seeing from that fandom about helaena since the blog post is so entertaining. reading comprehension is dead because they'll try to argue that helaena was only popular because of "a missing treasury" and rhaenyras taxes when no that's not what george wrote! grrm pointing out helaena was a "sweet and gentle soul" was not accidental - its clear that he intended her being well liked because of this!! it had nothing to do with rhaenyra herself being in a shitty position.

furthermore when it comes to helaena & rhaenyra it makes a lot of sense - helaena has lived in KL her entire life. rhaenyra on the other hand has been away on dragonstone. with the timeline being different it was even longer - about 9 years (120-129).

it's so annoying because rhaenyra has other things going for her but that lot is determined to take this from her sister

like lmafo alicent girlies are even half as mad about alicents own popularity among the smallfolk not being a thing as tb are mad about grrm confirming this about helaena. because in fire & blood grrm wrote that alicent was "beloved of the smallfolk" i can definitely see that starting off as alicent being genuinely compassionate and kind hearted like helaena in the early youth of her queenship (remember this is the woman who looked after a dying jaehaerys with great tenderness) and then maturing into more calculating as she began to see that smallfolk favor could be vital given the situation with rhaenyra and aegon. but nor do I think it was all calculation and pr - I think alicent having genuine care adds more depth to her character in that no was she a sweet woman who was the soul of gentleness? no, she could be capable of cruelty but at the same time there was a side of her that made her naturally do well with the smallfolk

This!! Helaena died as a sweet young woman, her story is tragic because she was genuinely a kind person and I always imagined she was seen the way people saw princess Diana. It’s never mentioned how much she interacted with the smallfolk but I just imagine she had this natural warm, kind, loving way about her which is why she is always called “sweet”.

As for Alicent, I imagine she had some genuine care early on like you said but I imagine she was like show!margaery, she probably did charity and won the people over with her charm and charisma (she must have been charismatic, intelligent and likeable if viserys fell for her and the men on the green council respected her) and she knew how to play the game, she knew how to win over smallfolk and nobles alike. Even Rhaenyra who may not have been well liked as queen, during the destruction of war by dragon fire, was known as the realms delight, the people loved her once and she always had lots of friends and ladies around her. Alicent and Rhaenyra got more ruthless and cutthroat with age when they were women and mothers trying to protect themselves and their children and the deaths of their innocent children/grandchildren pushed them over the edge and brought out their darkest sides.

[thequietkid-moonie]

First off I would like to say thank your For your wonderful writing I really enjoy it.

Anyways can I get Hanako, Nene, Kou, Teru, With a warm hearted and exorcist S/O With powerful water and ice abilities

Kind S/O is a powerful exorsist based in water

[ HEADCANONS ] [ Hanako, Nene, Kou Teru ]

[ Toilet Bound Hanako-kun / Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun ]

Uauauauaaaa thank u 🥺❤️ im so happy knowing that you like my writing so much!! Your words motivate me a lot to continue writing!! I hope you love this as much as I did

I keep it as just based on water, sorry for that

why this sounds so... Tanjiro?

Hanako-kun

Hanako is always so cheerful and friendly, even when he is pretty open with his feeling it actually take him a while to accept them and to accept to be in a relationship with you. You being a exorsist isn't a problem for him, at first was something that startled him but you had showed him so much kindness that he grows comfortable around you

Hanako tend to do a lot of jokes about you being are exorsist, about how even when being one you end up dating a supernatural, or how he probably had defeat you by stealing your heart, and so on, but even when he makes a lot of jokes he never underestimated you, he knows what you are capable of and he respects and admire your strength

Just as he loves making jokes about you being an exorsist he LOVES bragging about your strength, he will tell everyone who is willing to heard (and those who aren't too), he is always talking about how stronge you are, about your power and the techniques you just show/teach him, about how amazing you look, he is just too excited and in love to shut up

Speaking of, even when he knows you are really stronge (probably even stronger than him) that doesn't stop him from stepping in front of you and shield you whenever you two find an agressive supernatural. He knows you are stronge but he will hate for something to happen to you, he doesn't want to lose you

Is probably that at least once you will protect him from the attack of a supernatural (or Teru another exorsist), even when he is the leader of the mysteries that doesn't mean he can't be hurt, so when you are the one protecting him he feels completely flattered, he feels small and vulnerable in the way that he feels completely safe, like he doesn't have to be the stronge and powerful honorable 7th for once

Hanako doesn't know what he loves more of you, if your strength or your kindness, your power based in the water is one of a kind, even when fighting you can be as gentle and comforting as a pleasant breeze or be powerful and destructive like a tsunami, also, just as the water, you can easily adapt to your surroundings, quickly getting used to the battlefield and fighting with elegancy. Hanako is completely mesmerize by your fighting style and doesn't lose the chance to see you fight, admiring every move you do but still on guard to step in and protect you in case things get out of hand (however he doesn't accept that out loud, never, he only says that he was sure you will do it)

As if it wasn't enough you kindness is the perfect complement, your sweet smile and gentleness while treating him always make him flustered, it took him a while to get used to be treaten with such kindness and even when he felt like he was handling it you just accept him as he is, as the supernatural, as the assassin, and you did it with a smile in your face, he doesn't feel like he deserve it but he doesn't want to lose it either

Hanako is always being playfuly and clingy towards you, always making jokes and teasing you with everything he can, both of you always have a lot of fun, but there are also moments when he just want to be with you in silent, doing nothing but basking in your presence for how comforting it is for him, for how much peace brings him, for how it calms the cruel past that hurts him but isn't ready to talk about

Rainy days remind him of you (but also make him feel a little melancholy, even if you are in the school taking classes), specially the ones where is raining just a little, when is soft and gentle, he tend to stay out let the rain fall on his phantasmagoric body, it isn't like he will get sick anyways actually this is a lie, he gets sick sometimes for doing it, but he doesn't mind at all

Nene Yashiro

Yashiro constantly has crushes on people she finds atractive, normally are crushes that doesn't last long but are stubborn, it was almost imposible for her to don't fall for your kindness and beautiful smiles however the love she felt at first started to grow stronger and more sincere, to the point where it was sure to say that she was in love

Your warm hearted personality always manage to make Yashiro flustered, whenever you are being kind towards her Yashiro quickly gets blushy and flustered, things like offering her your hand and being willing to help her always make her feel special and loved, like if it were out of a romantic novel, although even little things like smiling when you see her or asking her about her day tend to make her heart skip a beat

Even when your kindness is something that Yashiro finds completely endearing and attractive she can easily get jealous over it, she likes whenever you are being kind towards others and other appreciating your kindness too, but it doesn't take much time before she start to feel jealous over it and the more time it past the more it affects her, she could go from feeling threaten for other people to feel insecure and compare herself with others, is pretty obvious that she feels down but she doesn't want to say it directly

Yashiro doesn't pry much details about you, specially at first, is more likely she will know more and more about you as the time pass, that is why is more probably that, if you don't tell her, she will find out about you being an exorsist when you two are dating already

She could get to know that you are an exorsist for seeing you fight or someone telling her, even as an accident, but no matter how she finds out it would be incredibly surprising for her, it would even take some reasurance for her to fully accept because for your personality she never thought that you will even fight anyone

At first Yashiro though that she was the one who brought you to the mess with the supernaturals and even felt bad about it but now that she knows that you are an exorsist (and a powerful one) she feels a lot better, even she start asking your help anytime she gets into troubles or hide behind you when is scare (something that make her feel a little embarrassed)

Yashiro doesn't think much about your power but as she find out that your fighting style is based in water she grows really curious, she has an idea of how it could be but want to see it herself (not that she will put herself in danger just to be able to see it)

Yashiro knows you are powerful but actually getting to see you fight is a whole new thing for her, she can only describe seeing you fight as if you were dancing perfectly, like if it were everything around you what change to follow your lead, doing it with so much elegancy and majesty that make her heart skip a beat, and from that day she looks up at you even more and is really flustered by it

She like to brag about you (even when she got teased and end up being a flustered mess for it) because you are perfect in her eyes, you aren't just incredibly kind but also incredibly powerful, she thinks she can't have a better partner

Kou Minamoto

Getting into a relationship with Kou won't be too difficult, if you two like each other he doesn't see why not, however he is quite flustered by being in a relationship, it would take him a while and even so there will always be something new that manage to make him flustered and blushy around you

Your kindness is something that make him fall for you almost imediatly, being so warm hearted make Kou feels comfortable around you almost imediatly and it doesn't pass much time before he actively search for your company. He isn't strange to kindness but, somehow, everytime you are directly kind towards him he feels special, it makes his heart feels faster because he just feels like if you were an angel

As well, Kou never feels jealous when you are being kind towards others, he actually likes seeing you show kindness and a sweet smile to everyone else, it makes him proud of who you are, and even more because he is dating you

Kou talks about you quite a lot, he can't just stop doing it and is a little embarrassed everytime someone point it out, but more whenever someone tease him for it (his friends and even his brother). He is proud of you as the person who you are but you being an exorsist, and a powerful one, make him even more proud and even make him feel honored of being your boyfriend

Is probably that he didn't know you are an exorsist at first (is more likely Teru is the one who knows) but even in that case it won't take him long to find out since he himself is an exorsist, when he get to know he doesn't underestimated you but treat you as an equal (unless someone tells him how powerful you actually are), so the moment he actually get to know your true strength he feels flustered but a little embarrassed, but that feelings are quickly replace by the excitement (if he gets to know by seeing you fight will be even more impressive for him)

Kou will ask you a lot of things about you being an exorsist out of excitment, he is so curious about your training, how long you have being an exorsist, with how many supernaturals you had fight with and how much you know about the supernaturals. Kou even compare your strengh with Teru's strength only because he says that you two probably are as stronge as each other (he mean it as a compliment, the only time Kou compare you to someone else is to praise you)

After Kou gets used to the idea he will treat you as always and not as some kind of superior when it comes to exorcism or supernatural, and, also, Kou will ask you if you could teach him some things about your own style because he wants to grow stronger

Kou is completely surprised when he gets to know that your style is based on water but he quickly grows incredibly curious, wanting to know how it works and wanting to see you fight. Kou is satisfied if you only explain him how it works or even let him see when you train, but actually seeing you fight it completely mesmerize him, he is normally protective over you, specially when it comes to supernatural, imediatly shielding you without a doubt but seeing you carry the fight is new to him and he love it

After the first time he sees you fight he will only grow more and more mesmerize and curious about your power, asking you more and wanting to see more of it. Soon he will know why it is based in the water, whit that incredible adaptability it has, not matter how it is the battlefield, big or small, filled of things or empty, you always manage to walk as if that place were your home and fight like if you were in the perfect scenario

As well, he is amased and shocked by how you handle your power, you can express your usual kindness in soft attacks that doesn't make suffer anyone or wipe out everything like a powerful hurricane

Kou is constantly praising you and openly telling you how proud he is of you, for your kind personality and for your strength, and he will never grow tired of it

Teru Minamoto

Getting into a relationship with Teru it would take a little bit of time and effort, even when he is always kind and charming all of that is mostly a facade, both has to be close friends first and he has to be able to feel comfortable enough around you before getting into a relationship. You being an exorsist it makes things much easier since is more likely you two had work together at least once and probably know each other for a while now

Teru loves your warm hearted personality, you're always willing to help others and offer a sincere smile, he finds it cute and endearing, even a little hilarious considering that you are a powerful exorsist, he loves watching you interact with others and showing that infinite kindness

Teru can get jealous easy but he doesn't show it much, normally tries to don't do anything about it, he is your boyfriend and that helps him calm down his jealousy, however when is too much he will step in and steal your attention from the others, but it could easily go unoticed since he does it with a smile and kind words, he always find the perfect excuses

Your kindness always manage to warm Teru's heart and that lead him to be protective over you, for his duty as an exorsist he had to give up many things and mature at an early age but being in a relationship with you despite everything makes him feel really happy and he wants to protect that, he sometimes end up underestimating you and sometimes thinks that for being so kind you are also inocent

More than once Teru had step in front of you to shield you from supernatural or try to be faster on attacking in order to protect you, he just want be able to protect you (and sometimes he likes to show off a little in front of you), he normally does it out of insist (due of being the main exorsist for so long too) if you complain and ask him to let you do your work he apologize for it and tries to hold back

Teru is intriged by your fighting style, he had been raised in the Minamoto Clan, following the tradicional fighting style of the family so he had never come across a fighting style based in water and he wants to learn from you, not exactly to use it but how it works. Teru finds it incredibly interesting but what he finds more amusing is seeing you use it

He admires your adaptability and how versatile you can be while fighting, that way you two to can fight together without much troubles, even become a powerful couple, and Teru is grateful for it for different reasons, he can be sure you are safe, he can spend a lot of time together and it makes things easier for him, he doesn't have to be the only one who carries the weight of being the strongest

But as much as he love your strength it also wakes in him an wish to challenge you, and he does whenever things are more calm or he knows is something you can easily handle

As well, as much as Teru loves your kindness and warm hearted personality he feels like is a waste of time whenever you show kindness towards supernaturals, even more when you do gentle but direct attacks while fighting, in his eyes the supernatural doesn't deserve that kindness and he isn't afraid of telling you his opinion right away, however he won't stop you from doing it if you really want

[awkward-walking-potato]

Okok so think about this prompt with Erik lehnsherr

“I spent so long in the darkness I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is.”

Annd where readers mutation is basically being a werewolf, their life is constantly focused on the bad of their mutation so they weren’t every really able to enjoy anything. (Like can’t touch silver, classic werewolf crap)

You absolutely don’t have to follow it to the letter go crazy pookie I love your writing so much 🫶

Moonlit Reflections

The mansion was quiet under the soft glow of the rising moon. A gentle breeze moved through the trees, carrying the scent of autumn leaves and the distant sound of water lapping against the lake's shore. In the cool night air, you stood alone in the garden, your eyes fixed on the sky as the full moon began to peak over the horizon, casting a silver sheen across the landscape.

For years, the sight of the full moon had been both beautiful and terrifying. Its light was always a reminder of your curse, the ancient power within you that came alive with every full moon. For so long, you’d been at its mercy, forced to retreat, to hide away while the beast inside you took over.

But not tonight.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the calm that had taken you so long to cultivate. The shift was under control now. You had learned how to manage it, how to face the power of the moon without being consumed by it.

And it wasn’t something you’d done alone.

Behind you, you heard a familiar voice—deep, steady, and full of warmth you never expected from a man with such a fearsome reputation.

"You did it," Erik said, his voice soft, though it carried a hint of pride.

You turned to face him, a small smile tugging at your lips. Erik, the master of magnetism, the man whose mere presence commanded fear and respect, stood there like a protective sentinel. His silver hair glinted in the moonlight, his sharp gaze softening as he looked at you.

"I spent so long in the darkness," you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if you were speaking more to yourself than to him, "I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is."

For so long, Erik had been your silent guardian during these nights. Whenever the full moon approached, he made sure that every trace of silver in the mansion was removed, even from the most mundane objects, so that you wouldn’t accidentally harm yourself. He had learned the intricacies of your transformation, always ensuring you had a safe place to ride out the change when you couldn’t control it.

On the nights when the shift overtook you, Erik was the first to carry you back to the mansion, cradling your exhausted body with a care that surprised even him. His hands, capable of so much destruction, had always been so gentle with you.

Now, standing under the same moon that had once held you in its grasp, you felt free.

Erik stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. "You’ve endured so much," he murmured, his voice low, as though speaking louder might shatter the delicate peace of the moment. "You’ve always had this strength, but now… now you’ve found your way back to the light."

You chuckled softly, though there was a lingering melancholy in your tone. "It’s strange. I thought controlling the shift would mean that I wouldn’t feel so different anymore. That I could finally enjoy things like everyone else." You held up your hand, examining your fingers as if expecting them to betray the wolf within. "But I still can’t touch silver. I still carry this inside me."

Erik regarded you carefully, stepping even closer until he was just a breath away. His hand lifted and, for a moment, it hovered between you as though he was contemplating whether or not to touch you. Finally, he placed his palm on your shoulder, the warmth of it grounding you in the present.

"You are who you are, with all the gifts and burdens that come with it," he said, his tone firm, but not unkind. "But I would never wish for you to change. Not for anyone else’s comfort, or their sense of normalcy. You are strong because of what you’ve endured. And I will always make sure that no harm comes to you, not from the moon, nor from the world that would judge you."

There was a weight to his words, a solemn promise that spoke to how deeply he cared for you. You hadn’t always known what to make of Erik when you first arrived at the mansion. His cold demeanor, his unyielding philosophy on mutantkind, had made you wary. But then you’d seen another side to him—a quiet kindness that revealed itself in small, thoughtful actions. The way he would check in on you after a particularly rough night, the way he would stand at your side when you felt out of place among the other mutants.

The way he always made sure there was no silver in the room, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to consider your safety above all else.

Your gaze softened as you looked up at him. "You’ve always been there for me," you said, the words catching in your throat. "Even when I felt like I didn’t deserve it."

Erik’s hand slid from your shoulder down to your arm, a gesture of comfort and reassurance. "You’ve never needed to earn kindness, not from me. You’ve given more of yourself than you realize."

The two of you stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, the world feeling strangely still, as if nothing else mattered in that moment but the understanding between the two of you.

The beast inside you had once made you feel like an outsider, forever doomed to the fringes of both mutant and human society. But with Erik, you never felt like a burden. He had seen all of you—both the person and the wolf—and had accepted you unconditionally. He never flinched in the face of your power or your struggles.

Erik's hand returned to yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. "The moonlight suits you," he said softly. "You’ve found your way through the darkness, but you belong here, in the light."

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you held them back, instead offering him a quiet smile. "Thank you," you whispered. "For everything."

Erik’s hand tightened gently around yours, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to simply exist in the moment—no fear of the moon, no worry of the wolf. Just the two of you, standing in the moonlight, together

[chainofhyrule]

My Star

There were many so-called “simple pleasures” the Deity had given up hoping for, long ago. Those pleasures, it seemed back then, would forever evade his company. His only remaining hopes had been dashed over the long course of his imprisonment. He never pictured he’d have much of a life of his own, let alone a happy one, where he wasn't ever only needed as a weapon of war. Nor could he have imagined he’d ever be anything but just that; a mere tool made for destruction of mass proportions. Centuries spent as a weapon of war had sharpened his blade yet dulled his spirits, and he’d long ago convinced himself that this was it. That this was all there was to him. He’d even stopped seeing it as a problem.

…But then he met you.

You, so kind, so warm, and so gentle with him in every way, despite his lumbering size and threatening demeanour. Despite everything he was, and had been up to that point. He knew, and so did you, that all it would take was a flick of the wrist, and someone could get hurt, even if only unintentionally. When asked if that frightened you, you’d responded with a smile, and held his hand in yours with warmth entirely foreign to him. Yet it was not unwelcomed.

‘I trust that you wouldn’t, though. Even though you can…I trust that you wouldn’t.’

How the Deity’s heart leaped at the sincerity of your statement, at the time, was far beyond him. You were so small compared to him, so seemingly fragile in his hands. He was afraid to touch you at all for many days after his meeting you, for fear that he would mistakenly harm you. How could something as small and precious as you hold up to a god designed for war? Such a thought that you’d even be capable of such a thing had evaded him.

…Until he saw you in battle.

You belonged, he knew, with the gods. There was no changing his mind on the matter. The Deity even had to convince himself many times that he was not watching a dance or a show, but a fight. Your movements were so carefully precise, so fluid in delivery, and so graceful in execution, he couldn’t help but watch in sheer awe of your divine skills. You were the perfect epitome of beauty and strength, grace and skill. Your blade, barely even visible as you swung it, cut down enemies with such swiftness he had to wonder if you were secretly a deity yourself. However, he knew fate to be much less than kind, especially to you.

Your years would pass in the blink of an eye for the Deity, and he cursed the cruel hand of fate for such an atrocity. Without even so much as another second thought, he found himself wishing he hadn’t even wasted those precious days following your chance meeting, unwilling to even accept your walking beside him for the fear of somehow hurting you. Now, there was nothing he found himself wanting more than to have you by his side, every single day, while he still had you.

From that day forward, the Deity admits he tried forging some kind of connection. With you. He noticed you growing more bold in attempting a bond between yourself and him as well, and he was more than accepting of your affections. For instance, the Deity liked to say that he didn’t require much, so he scarcely ate at meals, if at all. You didn’t seem to take well to that. You even went so far as to force a bowl or plate in his hands, sitting pressed against him in some way to encourage him to eat. All he could think about in those times was how warm you felt against him, and how small, but he knew your capabilities. He always finished his helping.

You cared about him. He quickly found himself reciprocating that care, for you. So now, comparing himself now from the days following your meet, felt so…surreal. So…impossibly, wonderfully true. 

He had his back against a tree, sitting straight against it, with your cosy form nestled into the space he’d created for you by crossing his legs. The group of heroes had stopped in a small clearing along the road for the night, after a long day of trying to make it through a field of monster camps. The one called ‘Wild’ was cooking something in an iron pot, with the one called ‘Four’ helping to cut a few things for him. The one called ‘Wind’ was drawing with a stick in the dirt close by. The others each sat somewhere around the clearing, sleeping, or performing weapon or armour maintenance. You, however, seemed content to sit in the Deity’s lap, back against his chest, nose in a book.

The Deity couldn't help but notice how perfectly you fit in his embrace, his body surrounding yours like a living frame. You were so comfortable here, and so at peace. Soft sounds of entertainment left you every so often, from the book or from the group’s antics. Your laughter in response to some of their stories was perhaps the most divine sound he’d ever heard, and though he wished it were him bringing you such joy, he was glad to be here for the sound of it.

Perhaps it was uncalled for, but the Deity had a thought. You were cuddled so naturally against him, the scent of your shampoo—and what he assumed to be the worn pages of your book—assaulted his senses in all the best ways. You were the only thing on his mind, as you would always be. He wanted to somehow express his own content, as he was not always best with his words. You seemed to enjoy his touch, always reaching for it, even in the beginning.

The Deity hummed to himself, and hunched just slightly to wrap his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Your startled little yelp amused him, though it caught the attention of the rest of the group. The Deity couldn’t bring himself to care much, however, as he had you.

You, so kind, so warm, and so gentle with him in every way. Should he not at least attempt to reciprocate those attributes? He wanted you to know how grateful he was to you, even if he couldn’t find ways to say it. You were worth every attempt, he thought—that, and anything and everything he could possibly give you. He’d gift you the very stars in the sky above if he could, until you beheld to him a galaxy in your eyes.

“Everything okay, Fierce?” you asked him softly, your book forgotten as you placed it on the ground at your feet. The Deity hummed again, into your neck, sending vibrations down your back. He noticed a slight shiver travel against his chest in return. How interesting.

“I am only making myself comfortable, my star.”

A breathy sound then left your lips, resembling a cross between a light chuckle and a happy exhale. He hoped he hadn’t startled you too much, but you’d surprised him when your hand reached up behind you to cup his jaw, and you twisted your neck to kiss his cheek in a lingering press. A great warmth flooded his chest at the simple gesture, spreading down to his fingertips in a curious phenomenon. One he’d never felt before, but longed to feel again.

When your lips left his cheek, he was perplexed to find how cold his skin felt in their absence. He resisted the urge to touch his fingers to the spot, instead clasping his hands around you.

“Fierce?”

Your voice sounded small. Perhaps it was to keep the others from listening, so he acknowledged you with an equally soft tone.

“Yes, star?”

He heard you exhale quietly, observing the way your cheeks pulled from behind—a sign you were smiling. He wished he could see it.

“Why do you call me your star?” you asked him, your hand falling from his jaw to brush against his hands across your waist. “It’s sweet.”

The Deity took a moment to consider his words, and looked up towards the night sky far above. He had so many things he wished to tell you about his choice of endearment, but struggled to find a way to express them. Eventually, he opted for simple honesty.

“Because, my love, before I had met you, my world only ever consisted of darkness. Confined to a mask, used only as a method of protection against foes of terrible sorts. When not of use, all I endured was a lightless and lonely shadow.” He buried his nose in your hair as he continued to speak, speaking quietly so the others—namely, his previous host—could not hear him. “Until I met you. You, my shining star, became my light—my beacon of guidance—leaving smaller stars in your wake for me to follow. You’ve given me hope for something…far greater than I’d previously thought possible. For that, I shall be forever grateful.”

The Deity took careful notice of your stillness, and leaned to try and get a look at your face. Had he frightened you somehow? He wanted to somehow explain that frightening you was not his intention. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away.

He expected your silence, perhaps not in this context however, but not the sudden strain of movement against his arms around you, as though you were trying to leave. The Deity felt his heart sink, his head feeling oddly heavy on his shoulders, but removed his hands to allow you to go. Even if every muscle in his body longed for you to stay. He would not force you.

He perhaps expected you to run to one of the others, maybe distance yourself from him. If that was your wish, he’d accept it, if somewhat reluctantly. He really didn’t expect you to only turn into him, your arms raising to hug his neck.

“You’re not alone here,” he heard you whisper into his ear, as you hugged him tighter. He didn’t want to move. “I won’t let you be.”

Any doubts clouding his mind cleared way for you, lining your path to his heart with warmth, and the Deity didn’t know how much more he could take before he really scared you away.

You held no shame in your actions, straddling his lap as you held onto his neck, your face buried in the crook of it. Your breath was so warm against his skin, your touch electric. Everything about you clouded his senses, but he’d be the last to wish it away. This was the closest you’d ever brought yourself to him, and the Deity hugged around your back to keep you there as long as he could. Strong arms supported you against him, and if any of the others had anything to say about the display, they kept it to themselves. He’d likely have ignored them anyway.

He had you. You were here, and you weren’t going anywhere. You had his heart in your hands, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit he was weak for you. He longed to have your heart, and he hoped this was a step in the right direction.

That, he thought, would be the greatest treasure imaginable.

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