#a mark in their bodies to forever remind them of the past

[liulyam]

OK ALSO i like astarion bg3 for thé same reasons, there’s something abt narratives of terrible people with issues of identity learning to move forward and accept themselves for who they are/define themselves on their terms, and perhaps become a little better, that makes me GO CRAZY

i legitimately could make a venn diagram with these three and their similarities. it probably would be catered to me and only me but i could absolutely do it

i’m thinking again abt how vergil dmc and jace mtg have so much overlap in story and also why i like them

vergil 🤝 jace: stories about self acceptance through first having to lose a part of himself, learn to not be defined by the past or trauma, associated with blue, fire related trauma, abused by a former master/mentor and used as a weapon, HAS A SON. also the murders but that’s a given. also autistic and trans

[dksfml]

off my face - yjw

pairing: jungwon x reader genre: soulmate au, mega FLUFF word count: 6.6k summary: in a world where each person has a soulmate mark indicating where they will be touched by their soulmate for the first time, there’s jungwon—the soccer team captain you’d like to be ruined by forever—who has no soulmate mark at all. what does that make you, someone whose mark has changed color because of him? author's note: finally!! here's your most awaited blond jungwon fic that i skipped sleep for<3333 inspired by this amazing prompt my friend sent me.

One touch and you got me stoned. Higher than I've ever known. You call the shots and I follow. Sunrise, but the night still young. No words, but we speak in tongues. If you let me, I might say too much.

You sat near the front row, posture perfect, eyes narrowed as Professor Min’s lecture on ancient mythology took a surprising turn. Today’s topic wasn’t just history—it was soulmate lore, the mysterious marks everyone was born with, and the myths that surrounded them. The professor’s calm, seasoned voice filled the room, but the air buzzed with barely contained excitement. Everyone was alert, even the usual back-row whisperers, captivated by the promise of something rare: a sanctioned discussion about their most private marks.

“These soulmate marks,” Professor Min began, his gaze sweeping the room with a faint smile, “are said to be the final traces of a bond forged in a past life. Legends tell us that in each lifetime, we may be separated from our soulmates, lost to distance or circumstance. But the marks,” he gestured to his own faintly darkened palm, “are said to be the soul’s way of leaving a trail—a reminder.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Everyone had a mark, a small patch of inky darkness, as distinct as fingerprints, mapped out on their bodies. Some had them on their palms or fingertips, waiting for the day a handshake or brush of fingers would light up that mark with color. Others had them in more curious places, whispering of fated touches in the most unlikely moments.

"The legend says," Professor Min continued, "that these marks were painted by one’s soulmate in a past life, a vow made in hopes to meet again, to find each other across time."

You clenched your pen a little tighter, the faint tickle of wonder battling the urge to keep your expression blank and unfeeling. You’d always kept your interest in soulmate marks private. They seemed so full of mystery, and the idea of your soulmate waiting for you somewhere was oddly… reassuring. You glanced down, conscious of the mark behind your knee, hidden like a strange secret that even you could barely understand. What kind of first touch would even reach there? The thought was both amusing and baffling, and you stifled a wry smile.

Around you, other students leaned in to chat, loud enough that their conversations blended into a steady hum. Your classmate Arin nudged her friend, laughing as she displayed the faint mark on her palm. “I’ve been dying to know who’ll shake my hand one day,” she whispered excitedly, her eyes glimmering with hope.

But your gaze drifted just beyond Arin, landing instead on a familiar figure lounging in the middle row with his legs stretched out, looking every bit like he was born to disrupt things without lifting a finger. Jungwon. Handsome in a way that seemed almost unfair, with striking, dark eyes framed by lashes that cast subtle shadows on his cheeks, and hair the color of midnight that fell in soft, tousled waves. He had this effortless, magnetic presence that drew people toward him, like he knew he didn’t need to try.

As captain of the soccer team and one of the most well-known faces on campus, Jungwon somehow managed to look both sharp and relaxed, as if the attention his looks or reputation brought him meant nothing. You’d been crushing on him since last year, an avid fan always present at his games, cheering him on like a lovesick fool. Whenever he scored a goal, you felt your heart leap, and you couldn’t help but unleash your inner fangirl, your excitement spilling over as you screamed his name. Right now, he seemed half-listening to his friends, a hint of a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, eyes drifting up to the ceiling before refocusing on his friends. It was that easygoing confidence that made him impossible not to notice—and, for you, impossible not to think about.

It was a boy from his friend group, Jay, who interrupted the class chatter by slapping a hand down on the table and teasing, “Come on, Won. You don’t have a soulmate mark, my foot. No one gets off that easy.” The comment was light-hearted but loaded, and more than a few students turned to look.

To your surprise, Jungwon didn’t react with one of his usual witty comebacks or careless shrugs. Instead, he just rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of something almost vulnerable flashing across his face. “No, really,” he insisted, almost apologetically. “I don’t have one. I checked a million times as a kid.”

Your pen paused mid-note, and a slight, irrational disappointment prickled in your chest. It was hard to believe, especially about someone like Jungwon, whose very presence seemed destined to leave a mark on others. Soulmate marks might be rare, but someone like him not having one? It felt impossible, like a missing piece that no one noticed until it was too late.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe he just hadn’t found it yet. After all, some people only discovered their mark when it finally turned to color. Sometimes it wasn’t a visible spot on the skin but something far subtler—a shadow in the hue of their lips that would only brighten after a first kiss, or a darkness lingering in an eye, invisible until the gentle touch of someone wiping away their tears brought it to life. The thought sent a strange warmth to your cheeks as you glanced back toward him, wondering if Jungwon’s missing mark was just waiting for the right person to unlock it.

Still, he looked surprisingly honest, a faint hint of sadness clouding his otherwise bright gaze. For someone so magnetic, it was as if he was caught drifting in space, without any tether connecting him to anyone at all.

“Alright, alright,” Jay relented, raising his hands in surrender but laughing all the same. “Guess someone’s too cool to be fated to anyone, huh?”

The professor’s voice cut back in, and you forced yourself to refocus, though your mind lingered on Jungwon’s quiet expression and the flicker of something in his eyes, something both resigned and deeply private. Could he really be alone in a world where everyone else was bound to someone?

“Imagine having your mark on your knuckles,” Arin whispered beside you with a grin, oblivious to the moment that had just passed. “You’d probably knock your soulmate out before you even realized they were ‘the one’!”

Another round of laughter scattered through the room, like a shared inside joke. The air felt charged, as if everyone were suddenly curious about each other’s marks, glancing around with new eyes. You let out a small sigh, tapping your pen against your notebook with a faint smile. As much as you tried to keep up the class president, model-student act, the idea of soulmates fascinated you in a way you’d never quite admit.

When the bell finally rang, the room filled with that familiar end-of-class chaos. You started packing up, keeping your head down—until you noticed Jungwon slinging his bag over his shoulder, looking effortlessly put-together, as usual. He laughed at something his friend said, his expression relaxed, his dark eyes flickering with amusement. But you couldn’t help catching the faintest flicker of something else in his gaze as he glanced at his friends—like a momentary, unguarded look that felt… wistful?

Okay, maybe that was just you being overly imaginative.

You let out a little huff as you slung your own bag over your shoulder, shaking off the strange pity you’d felt moments before. So what if Jungwon didn’t have a mark? You barely even knew him. Well, you kind of knew him, but from a distance—and with way more daydreams than you’d like to admit. Still, it was silly to wonder about him, right? With your head full of these thoughts, you walked out into the hallway, lost in a world where maybe, just maybe, he was wondering about you, too.

And as you brushed past a group of friends, laughing and shoving each other, your hand slipped over the back of your knee, where your own mark was hidden—quiet, waiting, and as mysterious as ever.

The sky was an endless blue, stretching wide over the school field as your class spilled out onto the grass for PE. With the teacher conveniently on vacation, today’s instructions were simple: enjoy the free time. Most of your classmates took to the field, breaking off into little clusters for a lazy game of soccer, light stretches, or simple gossip sessions by the bleachers.

As class president, you took it upon yourself to ensure no one went too far or caused trouble. Your duty, as you saw it, was to survey your classmates from a slight distance, keeping an eye out with the calm, serious gaze you’d carefully perfected. Yet even from the sidelines, your eyes found themselves drifting toward a familiar figure on the field, drawn to him like magnets.

Jungwon was at the center of the field with his friends, casual and relaxed, but his every move carried an elegance that made your pulse skip. He was laughing at something his friend said, his eyes crinkling as he kicked the soccer ball back and forth, the glint of a confident smirk tugging at his lips. His ease on the field was mesmerizing, a mixture of strength and grace that made it hard to look away.

You reminded yourself to focus, scanning the field to check on the other groups. But before you could pull your attention back entirely, a voice called out, and you saw Jungwon pivot to chase the soccer ball—only for it to ricochet off his foot, headed directly toward you with alarming speed.

In the split second it took you to react, you felt a sharp thud against the back of your knees. The impact sent you stumbling forward, knees buckling beneath you as you tumbled to the ground. Pain flared up where the ball had struck, but it was drowned out by the shock of it all.

“Oh no—are you okay?” Jungwon’s voice was breathless with concern, his steps hurried as he reached you. You barely had a chance to process his arrival before he knelt beside you, face flushed and clearly panicked. His hand hovered awkwardly as if afraid to touch you, his usual calm replaced with something far more vulnerable.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— Are you hurt?” he stammered, his voice unusually soft. He reached out gently, his hands carefully brushing against your arm as he tried to help you up. “Can you stand?”

Your mind struggled to catch up to the moment, and it took everything you had to keep your stoic demeanor intact. Jungwon was close, closer than he’d ever been, and the intensity of his worried gaze was unexpectedly disarming. Even as pain pulsed through your knee, you couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how intensely he focused on you, as if everything else in the world had fallen away.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. But as soon as you tried to stand, pain shot up your leg.

Jungwon’s expression shifted to one of determination, and before you could protest, he slid one arm under your knees and lifted you up, his other arm around your shoulders. The world tilted as he held you in a firm, steady grip, his face barely inches from yours. “We’re getting you to the nurse. No arguments.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his closeness, by the warmth radiating from him. “Oh—okay.” The words left your mouth almost on instinct, your brain still catching up with the fact that Jungwon was carrying you, his focus set entirely on you. His hands brushed your arm as he adjusted his grip, and you felt a strange warmth bloom under your skin, something unfamiliar and electric.

The walk to the nurse’s office was quiet, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered to you, the gentleness in his expression as he murmured, “Sorry again. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt the class president.”

Your lips parted, searching for something to say, but the way he looked at you—soft, maybe even a bit shy—left you wordless. All you could do was nod, your heart pounding louder with each step as you held onto the feeling of his arms around you, wondering if he could hear it too.

It wasn’t until you glanced down that you noticed it—a faint shift of color beneath your knee where the ball had struck. The mark, once hidden and dark, now radiated a subtle but unmistakable bright yellow hue, soft and warm against your skin.

You froze, eyes wide, as the realization settled in. Jungwon was still mumbling apologies, unaware of the discovery you’d just made. Only he could have caused the mark to change; he was the only one who had touched that spot. The idea left you breathless, your mind scrambling to make sense of it all.

In the clinic, the nurse examined your knee with a quick, professional assessment. “You’ll be fine,” she declared, sending you off with an ice pack and a faint smile. But your thoughts were still racing, tangled up in the startling realization that Jungwon might actually be your soulmate.

The whole walk back to class, you replayed the moment in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it was a coincidence. Perhaps someone had brushed the back of your knee at some other time, and you simply hadn’t noticed. But deep down, you knew the truth—the mark had only changed when Jungwon touched you.

And when you returned to class, he was there, hovering near the door with a worried frown. He looked up as you approached, eyes bright with relief.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a slight smile breaking through the concern etched into his features. “I was worried about you.”

Your heart skipped as you nodded, doing your best to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. Just… a bit shaken up, that’s all.” You felt the weight of the new secret pressing down on you, but you forced yourself to smile.

Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in that effortlessly charming way of his. “I’m glad. I’ll be more careful with my aim next time.”

You smiled back, feeling the weight of the mark’s new color, of the quiet truth only you knew. As Jungwon returned to his seat, your gaze drifted to the back of your knee, where the mark lay hidden under the fabric of your clothes, now touched by color—by him.

In the days following the incident on the field, the world seemed to shift around you, humming with an energy you couldn’t quite shake. The back of your knee, where Jungwon’s touch had changed your soulmate mark to a soft, distinct yellow color, was a constant reminder of the possibility that your crush—Jungwon, the ever-handsome and kind soccer captain—might be something even more significant than you’d ever dared to imagine.

“How’s your knee?” he asked, his voice warm and tinged with that familiar gentleness that made your heart stutter.

“Oh, it’s fine, really!” You waved it off, attempting to tuck your leg further under your desk, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint new color to the mark that still lingered behind your knee.

Jungwon didn’t seem to buy it. “Are you sure?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned down, intent on seeing for himself. Before he could get a closer look, you tugged your skirt down a little farther, hiding the mark as best as you could.

“I’m sure, really,” you insisted, trying to keep your tone casual. “It’s just a little sore, nothing to worry about.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on you, unreadable. Then he nodded, standing up with a quiet, sheepish smile. “Alright. I’ll trust you, but only if you promise to let me know if it starts hurting again.”

You managed a nod, clutching your books a little tighter to keep your hands steady. “I promise,” you said, hoping he didn’t notice the flicker of nerves in your eyes.

Your third shared class of the week was English, and just as the teacher assigned the day’s group work, the class began to shift into pairs. Coincidentally (or so you told yourself), the seating arrangement placed Jungwon near you that day.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. He offered you one of his signature, heart-stopping smiles. “Mind if we pair up? I mean…if you’re okay with it.”

With an effort to keep your expression neutral, you nodded. “Sure,” you replied, your voice steady even though your heart was anything but.

Settling at a table near the window, you both pulled out your notebooks. The task was straightforward—analyzing a poem about soulmates. You caught a breath at the irony, and Jungwon, seemingly unfazed, began reading the passage aloud. His voice, low and calm, wove through the words as you listened, though your mind kept wandering to his every movement, the way his eyes flickered thoughtfully over the page, how his fingers held the pencil lightly but with intention.

“What do you think?” he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, willing your focus back to the assignment. “I think…well, it’s romantic. But it’s also kind of tragic, right? There’s always this sense of waiting—like, what if they don’t meet?”

Jungwon’s gaze flickered up, lingering on your face a little longer than necessary. “Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful. “The idea that you’re waiting your whole life for just one person…it’s a lot of pressure.”

He paused, eyes settling on you, as if searching for something beneath the calm exterior you held so tightly. “Do you… believe in it? Soulmates, I mean?”

Caught off guard, you looked down, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of your notebook. You thought of your parents, of their own lovely story about finding each other through their marks, and how you’d grown up with those tales of destiny. And now, here you were, sitting with the very boy who might be your own fated match.

“I think,” you began slowly, “that I want to believe in it. My parents…they have one of those classic stories. It’s hard not to believe in soulmates when you’ve heard stories like that all your life.”

He nodded, listening intently. “I get that. I guess…sometimes I wonder what it would be like. But it’s hard to picture when you don’t…you know, have any marks yourself.”

The quiet sadness in his tone took you by surprise. You’d never considered what it might be like to go through life without a soulmate mark, to feel like something intrinsic was missing, a feeling that destiny had passed you by. Suddenly, your thoughts flickered back to the legends the elders told—how markless people were said to carry the weight of unrequited love from a past life, doomed to wander without a soulmate to mark them in this one. The idea hung heavy in the air, mingling with your sympathy for him.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter, then,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Maybe people without marks find their person too, in other ways.” You couldn’t help but think that perhaps Jungwon was one of those souls, burdened by a love that never came to fruition.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Jungwon seemed lost in thought, his gaze drifting out the window as he considered your words. And just then, a strange sense of comfort washed over you, knowing that even if he was unaware of it, you shared a connection that went beyond what either of you could see.

“Maybe,” he said finally, and then he flashed you a lopsided grin. “Well, even if soulmates are real, maybe it’s a good thing I’m mark-free. I don’t think I’d want someone to find out I was their soulmate because I hit them with a soccer ball.”

His laughter rang out, and you couldn’t help but join him, but beneath the mirth, your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him everything—to reveal the secret that could bridge the chasm between you. But as the words formed on your lips, fear gripped you. What if you were wrong? What if he truly didn’t have a soulmate mark, and this moment of connection was just a fleeting illusion?

So you swallowed hard, plastering a smile on your face that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, let’s just keep that between us, then,” you replied, hoping to mask the anxiety swirling inside you.

Inside, the truth weighed heavy, a secret that felt more like a burden than a bond. Keeping it hidden seemed safer, easier—even if it left you feeling like a ghost, drifting alongside him but never truly reaching out. The thought of him being one of those markless souls—the ones who carried the pain of a love never realized—made you ache. You didn’t want him to feel that emptiness, and yet, here you were, hiding a truth that might shatter the fragile connection you shared.

Perhaps it was better this way. Better to hold onto your heartache in silence than risk shattering the bond you had built, no matter how tenuous it felt. As you returned to the assignment, the bittersweet taste of longing lingered on your tongue, mixing with the thrill of possibility, leaving you torn between the hope of what could be and the fear of what might never come to pass.

Finally, during your biology class, your teacher assigned a laboratory cleaning rotation. By the luck of the draw—or maybe a twist of fate—you found yourself paired with Jungwon. It was supposed to be a simple task, but as the two of you gathered supplies and began tidying up the classroom after hours, you felt the weight of every quiet moment.

Jungwon appeared beside you as you straightened a stack of textbooks, arms full of markers and erasers. His casual, laid-back attitude only heightened the quiet thrill that being near him sparked in you. As he handed you an eraser, your fingers brushed slightly, and you pulled back quickly, heart racing.

"Are you always this… serious?" Jungwon teased, his lips curving into a half-smile. "I mean, you don’t have to look like we’re cleaning the whole school."

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “It’s just how I work. I take tasks seriously.”

He nodded, still smiling. “You’re impressive, you know. It’s like…you’re always so composed, like nothing rattles you.”

Caught off guard by his observation, you froze momentarily, not sure how to respond. Behind your serious exterior, you were anything but composed—especially around him. Before you could answer, he turned away to tidy the bookshelves, leaving you wondering if he’d picked up on the effect he had on you.

After a while, Jungwon returned to the task at hand, dusting off a few of the windowsills. It was quiet for a few minutes, the sounds of your combined effort filling the room. You both worked in sync, a silent rhythm that had developed without either of you realizing it. And then, with an abruptness that caught you off guard, he spoke again.

“Hey,” he said, hesitating. “I know this might be a weird question, but… where’s your soulmate mark?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications you weren’t ready to unravel. Your heart thudded as you carefully set down the books you’d been holding, gathering your thoughts.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks. "Um, it's… it's on my knee," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment made you shy, and you instinctively shifted your weight, the hem of your skirt falling to cover your knee even more.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, curiosity glimmering in his eyes. “Oh? Is it… already in color?”

You hesitated for a brief moment, weighing your words. “Uh, yeah,” you replied, biting your lip. “It changed a while ago. But it’s not a big deal.” You left out the part about him possibly being your soulmate, feeling the weight of that truth settle heavily in the air between you.

His expression shifted slightly, disappointment flashing across his features before he masked it with a casual smile. “That’s cool,” he said, his voice a bit quieter now. “I guess… it must be nice to have that certainty.”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to keep the mood light despite the sudden heaviness in your chest. “I mean, it’s comforting, I suppose.”

But beneath your words, a sense of longing stirred. You noticed how his gaze faltered for a moment, and it struck you then how much he had hoped for something different. He had seemed eager, maybe even hopeful, and the realization stung a little.

Jungwon cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over you both. “So, um… did you see the last soccer game?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I think we really need to work on our defense.”

His attempt at lightheartedness felt slightly forced, and you could see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Still, it was nice to see him trying to shake off the heaviness from moments before.

“Yeah, I caught a bit of it,” you replied, grateful for the shift in focus. “You guys played well, though a couple of those goals were pretty close calls.”

He chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Yeah, I think I almost gave our coach a heart attack with that last-minute save,” he said, grinning. It was an infectious smile, and you found yourself smiling back despite the weight still resting in the back of your mind.

The annual school festival arrived faster than expected, and the campus buzzed with activity and excitement. Classrooms were transformed into themed booths, hallways were draped with handmade decorations, and students wore colorful festival shirts and badges, their faces bright with paint and laughter. You found yourself stationed at the face-painting booth, brush in hand, ready to tackle the endless line of eager students.

You’d always enjoyed events like these—participating in the festival offered you a rare chance to relax and feel connected to your classmates outside of the usual seriousness you maintained as class president. Here, you were just another student, painting stars, hearts, and stripes on familiar faces.

“Hey, what’s up? Need a painter?” your friend Taeyoung called out to the next group approaching your booth. You followed his gaze and felt your heart skip when you recognized Jungwon and his friends heading your way, laughing and jostling each other. He wore a loose festival shirt with sleeves rolled up, a casual look that somehow made him even more handsome. You quickly glanced down, suddenly hyper-aware of your paintbrushes and the paper towels you clutched a little too tightly.

The booth was busy, and with most of your fellow painters occupied, it didn’t take long for Taeyoung to pair Jungwon with you. “Hey, Y/N, looks like you’ve got a VIP customer! Captain Jungwon wants to be a canvas today,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he nudged Jungwon playfully.

Jungwon chuckled, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—an eagerness mixed with a hint of shyness. “Yeah, I guess I’m in your hands now,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “No pressure, right?”

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure as your heart raced. “Uh, right! No pressure at all,” you replied, your voice a little too bright. “What do you have in mind?”

You forced yourself to meet Jungwon’s eyes, fighting back the nervous excitement bubbling in your chest. “So… what would you like?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jungwon’s usual confident smile softened a little, and he seemed slightly hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture that made your stomach flutter. “Maybe a couple of stars on my cheeks? And… maybe a small cat on my forehead?”

You stifled a laugh at his request, realizing that behind his composed demeanor, he had a playful side you hadn’t seen before. “A star and a cat. Got it,” you whispered, dipping your brush into white paint. You reached out carefully to steady his face, tilting it slightly toward the light. Your fingers lightly touched his cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the spark that jolted through you at the contact.

Jungwon closed his eyes briefly, letting out a small breath. You tried to ignore the slight flush you felt creeping up your neck, focusing on drawing a perfect star on his left cheek. You painted in silence, but every so often, he’d open his eyes and glance at you, making your heart race each time.

With one cheek finished, you moved to the other side. He leaned in closer, giving you the perfect angle. The space between you seemed to shrink with every second, the sounds of the bustling festival fading into a distant hum. You were hyper-aware of everything—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from him, and how your fingers gently brushed his skin. When you finished with the stars, you pulled back slightly to look at your work, meeting his gaze as you did.

“They look good,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

You swallowed, breaking eye contact to reach for a new brush and dip it in black paint. “Now for the cat,” you said, trying to stay calm. “Hold still.”

You carefully moved to part his hair at the center of his forehead. As your fingers brushed through his bangs, you froze, your eyes widening as you saw something strange—a small patch of his dark hair was shifting, lightening to a soft honey-blonde under your touch.

“Um… Jungwon,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you stared at the transformed lock of hair falling against his forehead. “Your hair…”

“What about it?” He turned to you with a hint of confusion, glancing up as if trying to catch a glimpse of the change. “Did I mess it up?”

You shook your head, the words tangling in your throat as disbelief washed over you. “It’s… it’s changing color.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, then brushed his fingers through the area you’d touched. His movements stilled, the warmth in his expression fading, replaced by something deeper—something unreadable. The air thickened around you, a heavy silence filled with unspoken questions.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to decode the truth hidden beneath your surprise.

You nodded slowly, your heart racing. “Yeah, I… I thought it was just the paint at first, but… it’s definitely not.”

The realization hung in the air, electric and palpable, igniting a spark of tension that sent shivers down your spine. Jungwon’s fingers gently traced the newly lightened strands of hair, his expression a mix of wonder and trepidation. You could feel your pulse quicken, an exhilarating rush flooding through you as you grasped the meaning behind this strange phenomenon.

Time seemed to stretch in that moment, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in your chest. Here he was, the boy you’d admired from afar, unexpectedly transformed before your eyes. Jungwon—the one who had unwittingly painted your world in vibrant colors, now literally changing right in front of you.

Suddenly, self-consciousness washed over you like a cold wave. You averted your gaze, stepping back instinctively. “I—I should go finish with the others. They’re probably waiting for me…” Your voice wavered, betraying the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could dwell on it, a paint container wobbled on the edge of the table, knocking into your elbow. In your panic, you stumbled, sending brushes and colors sprawling over yourself. “Oh no!” you yelped, scrambling to clean up the mess.

“Y/N, wait!” Jungwon exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. He stepped closer, his hand closing around yours, halting your frantic movements. “Stop. Just breathe.”

His grip was steadying, grounding you amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts. “Let’s find somewhere quiet, okay? You need to clean up.” His voice held a calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm inside you.

You felt a rush of warmth at his concern, but your mind spun with confusion. “But… the booth—”

“Trust me,” he said, his gaze unwavering, a silent promise passing between you. “Just for a moment. Let’s talk.”

With a nod, you allowed him to guide you away from the festival’s noise, your heart racing not just from the moment, but from the undeniable connection building between you. The thrill of discovery was tempered by the anxiety of what it all meant, and yet, in Jungwon’s presence, you felt something shift—something new and exciting, just waiting to be explored.

He led you through a quieter section of the campus, where the walls were lined with colorful murals painted by students, the air filled with the faint scent of paint and creativity. The laughter and chatter from the festival faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves overhead and the distant sound of music drifting from the booths.

As you turned a corner, Jungwon paused, the air around you suddenly thick with anticipation. He glanced around, ensuring you were alone, then leaned against the cool brick wall, his posture relaxed yet focused. His gaze locked onto yours, intensity radiating from him. “My hair… it’s slowly turning blond. Isn’t this what soulmate marks are supposed to be like?”

His words hung in the air, electrifying the space between you. You felt the weight of the moment press down, your heart racing like a wild drum in your chest. “Right… your soulmate mark,” you stammered, the tremor in your voice betraying the chaos inside. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it might just be a coincidence, but now… it's all starting to make sense.”

Jungwon stepped closer, the seriousness in his expression deepening. “You mean you knew?” His voice was low, the edge of urgency evident. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The air crackled with tension, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I didn’t know it was you! I thought—” you cut yourself off, frustration bubbling within you. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward. You’ve been my crush longer than you’ve been a friend. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep things from being awkward with you, especially when my mark changed?”

Jungwon’s expression shifted, vulnerability breaking through his confidence. “Your mark... is it.… when did it change? Am I—was it before… or after we met?” His voice was tight, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

You took a deep breath, feeling the memories rush back. “The day you carried me to the nurse’s office, you idiot.”

He blinked, taken aback by your response. “Wait… that day? But I thought...”

His expression softened slightly, the intensity in his eyes shifting as he took a step closer. You held your breath as he knelt down, his fingers hovering over your soulmate mark. The moment felt electric, a mix of vulnerability and anticipation coursing through you.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, giving him permission to touch it. As his fingers brushed against your skin, a shiver ran down your spine. Jungwon chuckled softly, the sound breaking some of the tension between you. “Can you believe this? It feels just like yesterday when I accidentally hit my crush with a soccer ball at her knees,” he said, shaking his head with a bemused smile. “The same crush I’ve wanted to approach since 10th grade but was always too afraid to mess up, especially with how she glares at boys.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the image of a younger Jungwon fumbling with his words as he tried to impress you suddenly vivid in your mind. “I didn’t mean to scare you off,” you admitted, your heart swelling with warmth. “I thought you were just… confident, you know?”

He shrugged, a hint of shyness creeping back into his demeanor. “I try to be. But it’s hard when you’re crushing on someone who’s out of your league.”

“Out of my league?” you repeated, incredulous. “Jungwon, you’re the captain of the soccer team! Everyone looks up to you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous around you,” he replied, his gaze locking onto yours, sincerity pouring from his words. “It’s different with you. You make me want to be better.”

The air between you thickened with unspoken emotions, each heartbeat echoing the connection that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. You both stood on the edge of something monumental, the laughter of the festival fading away, leaving only the two of you and the promise of what lay ahead.

The next day, Jungwon strolled confidently down the hallway, his head of hair transformed into a stunning honeyed blonde that turned heads with every step. The shift was striking—bold, noticeable, and oddly fitting—making it seem as though he had always intended to embrace this change. Whispers and awestruck glances followed him like a gentle wave, yet beneath that cool exterior, you could see the spark of mischief in his eyes, especially when they met yours.

“Wow, he really went all out,” Arin murmured beside you, her voice a mix of surprise and admiration. “He must’ve bleached the whole thing. I didn’t think Jungwon had that in him.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure while your heart raced. “Yeah… surprising, isn’t it?” you replied, though a smile betrayed your nonchalance as you watched him navigate the crowd like he owned the place.

Unaware of the true significance of his transformation, your classmates continued their commentary. “Looks good on him, though,” one girl remarked, her tone infused with genuine admiration. “Like he was meant to have it all along.”

Jungwon seemed completely unfazed by the attention, wearing his new look with a blend of pride and ease, as if his blonde hair was a badge of honor that only you understood. It was a mark that connected the two of you in ways that no one else could fathom—an intimate secret wrapped in boldness.

As the hallway thinned out, he lingered by his locker, his casual demeanor slipping just a bit as he caught your gaze from across the hall. He lifted a hand, brushing back his hair with an effortless charm that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach—a subtle nod to the secret you shared.

You walked over, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. “It suits you,” you said, keeping your voice low, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

His eyes softened, gratitude shimmering in their depths. “Good to know,” he murmured, his tone low but filled with warmth. “After all, it’s your fault it looks this good.”

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at his words, and before you could respond, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice even more as he added, “And don’t worry. The secret’s safe.”

In that crowded hallway, with laughter and footsteps echoing around you, it felt like you and Jungwon were enveloped in your own little world. His blonde hair, like a silent vow, was a reminder of what only the two of you understood: a hidden connection, pulsing with promise and anticipation, waiting to be explored.

[lalunanymph]

MOONLIT DREAM

SUMMARY a budding jade aficionado receives a personal lesson from her lover

WARNINGS established relationship, outdoor sex, boat!sex, blasphemy, sensory deprivation (use of blindfolds), sensory play (with a brush), dirty talk, petnames (little love, little one), soft!zayne, orgasm control, edging, begging, fingering, dirty talk, marking, pulling out (zayne cums in his own hand cause he's a mf gentleman like that), astra hate, allusions to theories of zayne's myth, mdni, 18+

DAWN SAYS FIRST ONE IS HEREEE istg this event has me by the THROAT I know it isn't very canon-compliant but I wanted to do something based on the vibes I got from the cards so I hope you all enjoy this! I will eventually cross-post this to a03 so if you want to follow me there, it's under the same username! <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── SYLUS ⊱ XAVIER ⊱ RAFAYEL

The art of jade carving was slowly dying out.

Touted as a precious stone the color of rich grass, its value was placed not in its glossy, green finish, but on the weight of meaning it carried.

To gift someone a jade pendant meant you wished luck, prosperity and success on them. Mothers would often lend their sons their necklaces hidden in the lapels of their hanfu as they took their official tests, while a groom’s parents would adorn their new daughter-in-law with jade jewelry to bestow upon the newlywed couple blessings of marital bliss and harmony. 

On nights like these, you liked to wander these grand, opulent hallways, lost in thought as the glimmering green gems twinkled from ceilings, pillars and statues.

The moon was bright tonight as you caught sight of Zayne, a royal court physician your family had connections to. 

(And who was also, your secret-not-so-secret lover). 

He was struggling under the weight of his documents, and you rushed forward to greet him, calling out his name. 

“Y/N—there you are,” he gave you a small smile, warmth twinkling behind his green eyes. The sheen of them reminded you of how jade shone. “What’re you doing up so late? The moon is bright tonight.”

You flushed, gathering yourself before you divulge your deepest thoughts to him. “I was up till yesterday night trying to read up on jade carving. Did you know the practice is diminishing?”

Zayne, though not much of a man of the arts, could concede on your astute observation. “I see,” he teased, “And you thought that by devouring clips of them, you might have a chance to save this dying art?” 

Used to his teasing, you huffed and wagged your finger. “At least I am dedicated to a cause that matters. Tell me, Mr. Zayne, don’t you have a passion you want to protect, too?”

At your question, his eyes softened.

“Perhaps.” He glanced at the number of documents in his hand. “I have some summons to work on. Maybe you might like to keep me company and tell me all about your discoveries of jade carving while I work?”

The offer sounded too good to resist. You followed him down the hallway and into the vacant space—an unoccupied room linking right to the court library. It was connected by a veranda, where the man-made lake ran around it, a shallow body of water meant for aesthetic purposes commissioned by the emperor himself. A pile of scrolls laid on the shiny, mahogany desk, and you realized too late that you were in his private office.

“Zayne—”

While the idea of spending more time with him was intriguing, you couldn't risk a court scandal by being seen with a man at such late hours. He didn’t stop you when you stood, though the look in his eyes held you back from leaving too soon.

“It is fine, Y/N. I have checked for guards and there are none at this hour. Besides, aren’t we both past the boundaries of such careless affection?”

He grabbed your hand, and you let him tug you closer. Sitting in his embrace, you relished in the secrecy of your meetings under the moon, this hidden fondness belonging only to you two. 

“I wish to hold you forever like this.” Zayne was not someone who waxed lyrical about his feelings, but tonight felt different.

Far more intimate.

His touch echoed with shades of absolute need when he tilted your face up, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered.

Intrigued, you let him take your hand, stepping out of the balcony and onto the connected veranda. You hadn’t immediately noticed a line of candles sat by the edge of the water, too caught up in his embrace. Zayne led you right to the makeshift dock where an ornate boat rocked in the man-made lake, stepping on its deck first before holding out a hand to you. 

Taking his familiar, calloused palm in yours, you lost your footing for a split second, tumbling right into his arms. 

“Oh—”

“I got you,” he murmured, righting you on your slippered-feet.

Zayne made sure you were alright and tightened his hand on yours, taking you into the anterior single cabin, where a smaller version of his desk stood, the light of the moon illuminating his warm cheeks.

“I thought we could spend some time here—away from any prying eyes.”

A smile spread across your face, delighting at this romantic and secluded initiative.

“I see. So, you have me trapped right in your hands while I ramble on about jade carving?”

You should have known your lover always had a special trick up his sleeve. He wasn’t called the brightest official without his uncanny knack for deciphering what it is people around him truly wanted.

“No.” 

He gestured for you to sit on the plush cushions, and removed a box from the side of the hull, opening it. Bringing out paint brushes, scrolls, newly minted jade pendants and glass bowls which he filled with water. Zayne let you touch them, enamored by your bright gaze and excitement.

"You... remembered?"

He smiled. "Of course, I did."

Touching your cheek, he said, "When your lover develops a fixation on something, you do your best to try and satisfy her."

Pleased and slightly flattered, you turned your attention to the rows of jade waiting for you.

“Are we sending our wishes to be carved on these pendants?” 

Fondly, he nodded.

“Yes. I thought this would be a great step in our courtship—to have our wishes bestowed on these jade jewels for us to wear. A memento of our love.”

You flashed him a smile so bright, it could rival the moon up above.

Sitting down next to him, Zayne watched as you dipped your brush in ink, slowly filling up the scroll with your earthly desires which the jade carver would put onto these pendants. 

I wish for Zayne to always be healthy and happy, you fluidly etched onto the paper. I wish for him to find success in court. To grow in his filial piety and strength. May he always be kind, courteous and brave.

Glancing at him, you were surprised to find him dozing off, elbow perched on the mahogany desk, head laid resting against a closed palm. The lights from the palace veranda and the moon in the sky played with the shadows on his face, making him look younger than his years of twenty-seven. The innocent curve of his brow, the slight parting of his thin lips, stirred a desire within you. 

A need to push him and see how much he could take before he broke.

Grinning to yourself, you picked up the prep calligraphy brush, still dripping with cool water, and gently ran the bristles over his lower lip. Zayne grunted in his doze, but didn’t stir, exhausted from his duties to pay your foolery any mind. You smirked, wondering if he would feel it when you dragged the brush down his jaw.

Still—nothing. 

Besides a furrow in his brow, Zayne remained locked in his slumber. A part of you wondered if the sensation felt akin to cool wind brushing his skin, and you decided to up the ante. 

Taking the brush down to his neck, this time you managed to garner a sweet, sweet visceral reaction from him. 

Zayne’s nose twitched, a sound of consternation and… desire?... leaving his lips. 

He sighed. You paused.

Tucking your lower lip in between your teeth, you took the brush now to the hollow dip of his collarbones. Another sigh, another baited breath.

But, he didn’t open his eyes.

Growing bolder, you glided the brush down the groove of his toned chest, mesmerized by the silvery trail of water left behind—a delicate mark of your teasing on his pale skin.

A part of you wanted to see what his entire body would look like ‘painted’ with these slick marks; your curiosity mingled with a stirring desire to have him completely under your spell. 

As you dragged the damp brush down to his chest, intent on finishing up your canvas for the night, you felt the gentle grasp of his hand around your wrist, stopping your descent from going any lower.

“I see I woke up at the wrong time,” he teased.

Whatever remained of his nightly exhaustion dissipated, his breathtaking green eyes gauging your reaction with the ghost of a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth. 

Zayne’s skin and lips were tingling from the effects of your little ‘painting session’.

As much as the hunger inside of him was roaring to overcome you, he wanted to see what you would do next; how else you would surprise him. 

Deciding to tease him even more, you dropped the calligraphy brush, hearing it roll onto the barge’s floor somewhere under the desk. You slid your fingers across his hand, feeling his touch gliding on your open palm.

“Carving jade requires a clear mind,” you murmured, your fingertips breaching the hem of his ornate cuffs, touching the warm skin of his wrist underneath the clothes. “This is a test.”

Zayne was not expecting you to tighten your grip on his wrist, or for you to boldly drag him on top of you. 

His gasp brushed the tender shell of your ear, the heat of his body on top of yours made you shiver.

“How bold you are, little one,” your lover murmured, settling on his elbow to gaze down at you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “You are quite commendable indeed—getting a court official into such a… compromising position.”

The moon glowed, the broadness of his shoulders eclipsing its luminescent rays from fully spilling onto both your tangled bodies.

“I merely wanted to share my passions with a certain court official, but it appears he found the entire ordeal boring,” you quipped back, throwing in an eye roll for added effect. 

His thin lips twitched in amusement, the hand on your cheek moving down to briefly cup your jaw. “Alright, then. Why don’t we make your little session a bit more interesting for me?” 

Before you could ask, he took the discarded brush you had dropped, dipping it in a pot of water. Dabbing off the excess, he touched the firm tip to your cheek, his jade green eyes darkening with an unnamed emotion.

“You speak while I simply… listen... and return your little painting favor. Whoever can retain their composure without breaking first will win a month’s worth of rabbit candy.”

Not one to refute his games or back down from a dare, you raised a brow. “Are you questioning my resolve, Mr. Zayne?” 

He forced back a huff of laughter, trying to retain his equanimity. 

(Which was steadily chipping away the more you provoked him). 

Zayne hummed. “I do not question it. I want to test it.”

As he spoke, he glided the cool paintbrush from your cheek to jaw. “And to make this more fun for me since I have not heard of the intricacies of jade carving, I want to test your knowledge further with this—”

From his lapels, he removed a silk ribbon, one which you recognized to wrap up mooncake boxes. 

Flushing warmly from the implications of what he wanted to do next, you attempted to keep your voice steady, but failed.

“Playing dirty, Mr. Zayne? I never mistook you for such a bad sport.”

A glimmer of mischief ignited in his eyes, and he placed the paintbrush down next to your neck, coaxing you to raise your head so he could wrap the soft strip around your eyes.

“You are always testing my resolve. You should know I always repay the favor.” 

Despite the intensity of his request, a playful intimacy remained between the two of you. Whatever happened, you always trusted Zayne to put your wellbeing and dignity above everything else.

“Alright.” 

You raised your head, letting him tie the makeshift blindfold around your eyes. 

Hidden in darkness, you could only rely on your senses of touch and hearing to guide you on what was happening. You heard the rustle of the paintbrush picked up again by your ear, felt the damp tip on your jaw. Zayne glided the brush down the side of your neck, secretly enjoying your quiet gasp of surprise.

“Now, little one,” he hummed. “Tell me all about the intricacies of jade carving since you know them so very well.”

Your heart was pounding, but you managed to keep your calm when you recited the first fact to pop into your mind. 

“U-um… j-jades were known as the ‘essence of heaven and earth’.” Your gasp melted into a stifled moan at the sensation of his warm lips chasing after the cool trickles of water left behind.

“I see. Enlightening. Do tell me more.”

His husky voice brushed the shell of your ear, and your stomach tightened in knots. 

Unfair. Zayne was unfairly using your weakness against you.

He knew you were always sensitive to his kisses; his touch. 

A bead of clear water trickles down your neck, and you struggle to think of the next fact as his lips follow the winding trail the liquid carved along your skin, each kiss soft and deliberate.

“Jade has a sharp resonance and that is why it was often used as chimes—mhm.”

He nuzzled his nose into your pulse point, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine from your skin. 

“I am listening,” he reassured, and you could imagine the smirk playing on his lips. “And I am interested. What else is there for me to learn about jade, little one?”

As you fought hard to recall another fact, your hands instinctively tightened, crumpling the soft material of his hanfu in your grasp. 

“With n-new drilling tools, jade can now be made in larger scales of production—”

The sensation of bristles on your skin interrupted your train of thought. Nothing could have prepared you for the sting of his teeth biting down on your neck. Zayne’s heated breath caressed your sensitive throat, leaving goosebumps on your skin in their wake. 

“I think I have quite the knowledgeable grasp on this matter, little one.”

In a swift yet gentle motion, the blindfold melted off your eyes, and you caught Zayne gazing down at you affectionately. 

The damp brush and these damn games were discarded to the side in favor of him dragging you onto his lap, letting you sit astride him. 

Warmth suffused across your cheeks, and your entire body was tingling from the sensation of the rough bristles mingling with the contrasting tenderness of his lips on your skin. You felt the tension tightening in your belly, tensing the muscles on your thighs wrapped on either side of his waist.

Zayne took this opportunity to roam his hands across your back, down your sides—feeling the smoothness of your robe underneath his touch; the way you shivered as if caught in a chill.

“Are you afraid?” 

His gentle whisper was followed by a sweet kiss on your temple.

Yearning sparked from the tips of your fingers down to your toes.

You shook your head.

“No, Zayne.” 

Smiling to himself, Zayne cradled your head in his hands, nudging you further up the plush pillows he prepared for tonight. The sight of you, all sprawled out with the warm palace lights and the shining moon illuminating your flushed cheeks, looking far too ravishing for your own good filled his mind with a light-headed daze.

He couldn’t believe you were here, that you were his. 

A low grumble resonated from his chest, and he pressed his lips to your ear, delighting in your little shiver in response.

“You have to forgive me, little one. I cannot control myself when I am with you.”

His traced circles onto your cheek with his thumb, absorbing your hitched breath, the way your body shifted under his broader, muscular one. 

As he spoke, he planted a tender kiss on your cheek. 

“It is not my fault that someone gets distracted easily when carving intricate patterns… and appreciating the moon.” 

He pressed another soft kiss to your temple, worshiping you with his entire soul. 

Never mind that the bright lunar rays were burning into his skin. Or, he felt the unseeing eye studying his every move. 

All that mattered to him in this instant was you—your sounds, your sighs, the look of desire and love in your eyes. 

It was everything and more that Zayne could wish on his fallen luck. He wanted nothing more than to claim you under his god’s eye, defying logic and order to demonstrate his undying love for you. 

“Are you feeling what I am feeling as well, my little love?”

He looked to you for confirmation.

Consent.

You nodded wordlessly, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Yes, Zayne. I feel it.”

That was all the permission he needed. Zayne leaned in and captured your lips in a heated kiss, his desire for you pouring into every movement. Every breath. 

He needed to make you his completely; needed to love you with his entire being. 

His lips touched your ear again, his scratchy whisper igniting your desires. His nimble fingers, deft from years of practiced writing and studies, twined with yours, holding you impossibly close.

Another tender kiss right on your cheek. “Then we will just have to blame the craftsman… and the moon.”

Careful yet firm hands shed your robes from your body, the rocking boat adding momentum to your every movement. Zayne took his time to undress you, marveling as inches of flawless, moon-soaked skin appeared before his eyes. Taking his time to run his fingers over your body, he breathed you in, his eyes fluttering to half-mast as he savored this moment of peace. 

When your body was fully bared to him, he sucked in a deep breath.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled.

Zayne’s hands roamed your body with a newfound possessiveness, his expression a mix of tender yearning.

The sight itself was too much for you to bear; the shame, lust, and need coalescing together to bring you to your knees. 

You tugged him closer, unable to stand another minute apart from him. 

He fell right into your embrace, your eager hands undoing the loop of his hanfu, baring his full chest, dragging it down his shoulders. 

The act of undressing one another, meant for the marital doings of a husband and wife, felt natural when it came to Zayne.

Such love shared between the two of you sprung forth like a fountain, effortless in cascading your bodies in ebbs and flows. Zayne kissed you like you would disappear if he opened his eyes, his lips soft and tender against yours.

It made your heart full to bursting, overwhelmed by the love of it all.

Taking the lead, Zayne helped to reposition you on his lap, this new angle allowing you to control what came next.

The moon was his unwilling accomplice, painting you in the most alluring light. Its rays shone brightly, illuminating the brightness of your hair, your skin.

You gleamed like treasured jade right in his arms, and Zayne would never let you go again. Not in this life, or the next.

You were his to treasure, to hold. To cherish and love—his obedience to Astra be damned.

He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, bringing you into his arms; feeling you lift your hips and gingerly take him. The tightness of you, enveloping him slowly, drove him mad with need.

But, Zayne reined his lust in, focused on your pleasure. He would never do anything to hurt you; all he desired for was to see you happy. 

You are doing so well, he praised, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Good girl. That’s it—go on and make yourself feel good.

Emboldened by his praise, you braced your hands on his chest, wincing at the stretch. 

It wasn’t the first time you had taken him, your months of courtship blooming into a rapid need of each other.

But, it was the first time you were doing it so publicly, boldly declaring your claim on one another.

If anyone walked by, word would soon reach the wrong people of this escapade. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

You wanted Zayne, needed him like you needed air.

He was as enamored as you were, watching you take him. 

You were a vision above him, a moonlit dream he could only wish to hold onto for the rest of his life.

“You truly are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen,” he breathed, placing his palm on your cheek. The melted look of devotion in his eyes was second to how secure and safe he made you feel.

With Zayne, nothing was closed off or too much—everything was in order, right and sweet as it was meant to be.

Your head lolled back, the pleasure taking center stage to this act of consummation burning your veins.

“Zayne… you feel so good…”

The sound of his lover’s praise drove him into a frenzy, and he let his immaculate self-restraint slip; giving into the vulnerability. 

Zayne’s beautiful emerald eyes glimmered, taking in the heavenly sight of your smooth skin, your hard nipples carving a silhouette of erotic desire in the barely-lit night. 

He leaned up to gently run his tongue over them, trailing goosebumps across your chest. You moaned, lost in the haze of the pleasure, putty to his whims.

“I cannot believe you all mine…” His voice broke, trailing off into awe. 

Dedicated to showing you his entire devotion, Zayne let his innermost thoughts flow freely. 

“The way the moon shines upon you… the luster of your hair in the night… gods above, you feel like a fever dream, my love.”

A soft whimper left your kiss-swollen lips. Zayne ran his thumb over your lower lip. 

“Do you feel it?” His breath is heavy and desire-filled.

He could not wait to see you coming undone for him.

“How much do I belong to you?” Infused with yearning, his words made you tremble. “I am all yours tonight. I want to give you everything you desire.”

Zayne…

He grunted, the sound of his name on your lips a glimpse of heaven opening up.

Sweat beaded on his brow, a droplet trailing from between your breasts to roll down towards where you were connected.

Zayne halted its path with his tongue, lapping at it gently. He ran his tongue over the curve of your jaw, across your pulse point—stopping to nip and suck the tender flesh until he was sure the marks of his affection would bloom upon your skin.

The idea of anyone taking one look at you and immediately deducing you belonged to him drove him wild with desire.

He wanted to mark you, inside and out.

You belonged to him and no one else.

Not to the world, not to your people or your books.

But, to him.

And he belonged to you. 

The moon rays seemed to blister his skin, an angry curse waiting to consume him whole. But, Zayne didn’t care for the warning, making a mockery of his god by claiming his beloved right under His light.

He brought you in for a tender kiss, just as your walls shuddered around him. 

The romantic atmosphere, the way his tender gaze bore into your soul… was all too much for you to hold back.

But, before you could come undone, Zayne stilled your hips, a pinch on his brow.

He captured your lips in a heated kiss, one which silenced your moans and protests, giving you what you longed for.

Zayne picked up his pace, surprising you with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“That look on your face,” he murmured huskily. “I love it. I love when you rely on me to come undone, my love.”

Your toes curled, his heated words making a shiver of need run down your spine.

“Zayne…”

Yes, my love. He moved his hand between your thighs, teasing you with delicate circles on your flushed nub.

What is it you desire?

“You.” 

He smirked, hearing the desire and need in your tone.

“You have me.”

The ball of heat tightening in your belly demanded to be released.

No… I need you in a different way.

In what way? He raised a brow, looking irresistibly smug. 

Your lover intended for you to say it out loud. To tell him explicitly what it is you needed.

Wetting your lips, you shifted your hips, feeling the head of his length graze your sweet spot.

You winced, and murmured, I need you to make me come undone. 

But, Zayne was adamant on drawing out your needs.

“Just a little longer,” he promised. “I swear it will feel better once it is drawn out.”

You trusted him, letting him take his time.

“You’re pleasing me so well tonight, my love,” he praised in a soft voice, the look of devotion in his eyes never wavering. “I think I can give you what you are yearning for…”

However, his promises came with a caveat: 

“Only if you beg for it nicely.”

A jolt of arousal sparked through your bloodstream, tightening your walls around him.

Zayne grunted, his composure hanging by a loose thread.

The circles on your clit grew sloppier, a sign of his unraveling.

You couldn’t hold back the need any longer, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Please…” your thin whisper illuminated the dark interior of the barge. 

Please, Zayne. I need this… I need you…

Not one to push his beloved too hard, Zayne relented instantly; his chest swelling with pride at your obedient response.

Surging forward, he wrapped a hand around your waist, bringing you down onto the plush pillows as he took over.

Undulating his hips, he felt you falling apart underneath him—your toes curling, fingers lacing through his hair, tugging hard. 

Already coming undone? I can feel your control slipping, my love…

Yes, yes. You chanted, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Languidly nuzzling your neck, Zayne’s command was a heated whisper into your ear.

I know you need this—I can feel how much you need it. Let go, my love. 

It was the permission you needed. In an instant, you spilled over, following his command, always his obedient, sweet lover. 

He worked you through your contractions, feeling your entire body tensing under his touch. His cock splitting your walls over and over again drove you to the peak of your second release, and Zayne took pride in how you dug your heels into his lower back, crying out his name.

The official didn’t care who would be hearing; if the universe would conspire later to end him for his disobedience.

He couldn't think about anything else, not when you slumped into his arms, his voice a low hum; mumbling reassurances into the hollow of your throat. 

Careful to pull out and release into his own palm, Zayne didn’t care for your muffled outcry. He wouldn’t dare besmirch your body with his seed inside or out—prioritizing your dignity above all else.

The dark-haired man was careful to wipe his release on a spare silk handkerchief he brought onto the barge, taking another one to wipe the mess you made between your thighs.

Sated and glowing from your release, you let him work on you, quietly enjoying the devotion in his eyes and touch. 

Zayne’s smile was soft and hazy as he pulled you on top of him, letting your head rest on his chest. 

Longer, sturdier and calloused fingers traced patterns on your back, watching how the moon shone through the slanted windows, drawing shadows over the expanse of your skin.

His arms wrapped tightly around, pulling you deeper into his embrace, unwilling to let go. 

Outside the boat, a storm began to brew, dark clouds closing in and concealing the moon from sight. 

The balminess of the night gave way to a blessed, cooling drizzle, enveloping the boat much like his arms, keeping you safe and grounded. 

With the light of the moon extinguished, the glow of your smile became the brightest thing in the night as you leaned in, cradling his face, 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly. 

His love for you shone brighter than any celestial being could, limitless and profound, as he lost himself in the warmth of your touch.

“I am perfect.”

Not one to give him a moment of peace, you cheekily quipped:

"So, does this mean you are giving me a month's supply of rabbit candy?"

Zayne's eyes twinkled, and he chuckled, shaking his head at your question.

"If I recall," he turned you over, pinning you back onto the pillows, desire alighting his usually stoic and steady gaze.

"It was not I whose composure wavered, my little one."

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost on other websites and claim as your own. do not feed my content to AI.

[girllblogging777]

𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑀𝐼𝑆𝑆𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑃𝐼𝐸𝐶𝐸

↳ mattheo riddle x fem!reader (fluff, little angst)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1,5k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : you and mattheo reunite after two painful months of being away during summer.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

two months. sixty-five days. a thousand five hundred and sixty hours. that was the amount of time mattheo had spent away from you. two months of being secluded from the rest of the world, and from his own world, his girlfriend. two months of enduring the worst and most painful pain, both mentally and physically, inflicted by his father.

ever since he’d started at hogwarts, six years ago, mattheo had always dreaded the time he had to go back to the place others called “home.” despite the whispers and reputation that followed him at school, hogwarts was his refuge. it was the one place that gave him space away from his biggest enemy. because that’s what voldemort was to him, his enemy, not his father.

although mattheo rarely opened up about his family life. or the lack thereof, it was painfully clear for you what he was going through. you knew he would return to school with bruises on his body and scars on his heart, reminders of whatever horrors he had been through at the riddle mansion. the truth was, you had spent the entire summer in a state of anxiety, unable to sleep and feeling like a piece of your soul was missing and hurting. the fact that you couldn’t contact him gnawed at you and made you full of guilt and worry.

“you don’t understand ! if something happened, i would never know,” you had told his friends, who you kept in touch with during the summer. “are you sure he’s okay? i want him back, i can’t bear the thought of him going back there again.” you declared when they all tried to reassure you.

as you said your final goodbyes to your family on the train platform, your eyes wandered the crowded station, desperately looking for the familiar brown-eyed boy you craved like oxygen. one by one, your friends appeared, excited to be back here for another year at hogwarts. you forced a smile, hugging them and making small talk, while fighting to keep your mind off mattheo’s missing presence..

once on the train, pansy cornered you and began to share every detail of her summer flings. you listened politely, but eventually you excused yourself, heading away from your friends and wandering through the narrow corridor of the train. still no sign of mattheo. your heart sank a little more every time you passed through another compartment where he wasn’t.

finally, you found an empty compartment and entered it, sitting down and resting your head against the cool glass of the window. the rhythm of the train was comforting, and despite your best efforts to stay awake, your fatigue won the battle. “where are you, matt ?” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips before you fell in a deep sleep.

the gentle movement of the train and the distant sound of voices in other compartments surrounded you as you slept, your body curled up on the wooden seat. the weight of the past few months, of sleepless nights and constant worry finally caught up with you, pulling you into a deep slumber.

you didn’t hear the compartment door open. you didn’t see the familiar figure standing there, hesitating, his breath catching in his throat as he looked at you for the first time in what felt like forever. mattheo’s heart ached at the sight of you, your face peaceful but marked by the signs of exhaustion and worry.

for a moment he just stood there, letting the reality of your presence wash over him. he had replayed this moment in his mind countless times during those two long months, as it was the only thing that kept him going. but nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming rush of emotions now that he was here, seeing you again.

finally, unable to bear the distance any longer, he stepped forward. slowly, carefully and as if afraid to break the fragile peace of the moment, he knelt down beside you, his hand trembling as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

the touch was featherlight, but it was enough to wake you up. your eyes fluttered open, the memories of your dreams slowly giving way to reality. and then you saw him. mattheo, his familiar brown eyes filled with something deep and raw, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“mattheo…” you whispered, as if saying his name would make him disappear, as if he was just another dream. but he was real, he was here with you, cupping your cheek and brushing it softly with his calloused fingertips. “it’s me,” he murmured with a rough voice filled with emotions. “i’m here, love.”

you sat up with a pounding heart, your hands reaching out to touch him, to make sure he was real. your fingers traced the lines of his face, the familiar curve of his jaw, the faint bruises that were fresh on his skin. your eyes unconsciously filled with tears, and you couldn’t hold them back any longer. “i was so scared,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “i didn’t know if… i thought-“

“shh” mattheo whispered, pulling you into his arms, holding you close as your body shook with sobs. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” you clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his robes as if you could somehow keep him with you, keep him away him from leaving you again. your touch was hurting his bruised body but he didn’t budge, because your presence was worth all the hurt in the world. “don’t ever leave me like that again,” you pleaded against his chest. “i can’t lose you, mattheo.”

he held you tighter, his own eyes stinging with tears he refused to let fall. “i won’t ” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “i won’t ever leave you again.” for a long moment, the two of you just held each other with nothing left but the sound of your breathing, the beating of your hearts in sync. you slowly pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still cradling his face.

“you’re hurt,” you said softly, your eyes tracing the bruises, the dark circles under his eyes, the pain that was visibly there. “what did he do to you?” mattheo shook his head slightly, closing his eyes for a moment as if trying to block out the memories. “it doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m here now. that’s all that matters, i’m home.” because that was the truth, no matter how much time he spent back at the riddle manor, the only real home he had was you.

you opened your mouth to say that it did matter, that he couldn’t just brush it off like that and that you needed him to talk to you, but the look in his eyes stopped you. there was a darkness there, a pain that made your heart ache. you knew he wasn’t ready to talk about it, not yet. so you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “okay,” you whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “you’re home, baby.”

mattheo seemed to melt under your touch and closed his eyes, his arms still wrapped tightly around you as if he was afraid that you would disappear. but you didn’t. you stayed right there, grounding him and reminding him that you would never leave. “i missed you so much,” you broke the silence, whispering. “every day, every night… it was like a part of me was missing.”

“i missed you too,” mattheo admitted, his voice barely audible. words of affirmations were rare for him, so you cherished each one of his words. “it was the only thing that kept me going. knowing that i’d come back to you.” you looked into his eyes, seeing the truth in his words, the vulnerable side of him he didn’t let anyone else see. you rested your forehead against his, softly tracing the shape of his lips and trying to memorise every single feature of his face.

“i’m not letting you go back there again,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears that were about to fall again. “i want to be with you, always.” your boyfriend nodded and tightened his grip on you. “i won’t leave you again, i promise” he declared, a promise he intended to keep.

with that, he pressed a delicate kiss on your soft lips, both of you afraid to hurt one another. you kissed him back, reassuringly tangling your fingers in his curled hair as his hand found your waist, fitting perfectly like a missing puzzle piece. it was gentler than your usual desperate and hunger filled touches, but it meant everything, a promise that the two of you would only ever stay together and protect one another.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : woop woop here’s a little back to school motivation for y’all, once again highly inspired by a convo from character ai… i loved this request (please give me more !) likes/comments/reblogs are appreciated <3

tell me if you wanna be tagged when i post !

@tateshifts @shiftingwithmars @yikesitslush @elsie-bells @reys-letters @redeemingvillains @helendeath @jolly4holly @fluffycookies22 @fbvreadingblog @bellatrix-lestrange5 @moonlightreader649 @icantkeepmyplantsalive @iris-qt @clar2aa @dexoq @larmesdevanille @myunperfektstorys

[shokosmokes]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡minors dni˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧⋆｡‧˚

soft possessive satoru fluff, board line smut but not really

satoru flirts with you in french

not proof read so i apologize for any grammatical errors ㅤ/ᐠ - ˕ -マ

Gojo Satoru absolutely adores you.

Almost a little too much.

Always late to important meetings and skipping out on missions just to indulge in you.

There’s no surprise when he comes over to your place a little too early when you know he’s supposed to be out on a mission.

“Had to speed run… it so I… could come over… sooner duh” he says between kisses, he’s practically attacking the entirety of your face with soft, quick pecks, trailing down your jaw.

You giggle at the feeling of him peppering your face with kisses, “tell me how much you missed me”.

He holds you against him as you sit on his lap, straddling him.

Satoru smirks, his teeth grazing the base of your neck, leaving hickeys that would remind you how he missed you. His teeth nip at your skin, as he looks up at you with darkened eyes.

"So much," His lips caress your neck, placing more hickeys in a trail, "I missed you tons."

His teeth tug at your earlobe, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. He could never get enough of you. Satoru would forever worship you.

You let out a soft moan at the feeling of his mouth on your ear. He knows just how sensitive they are. “More, tell me how much you adore me”.

Satoru smiles against your skin, satisfied that he elicits a reaction from you. He traces your jaw with his tongue, placing open mouthed kisses to your cheek. His lips move to your neck, biting and sucking in your skin, leaving hickeys as if he was marking you.

"I adore you," Satoru murmurs against your skin, his voice low and sultry. "I think about you every second of the day, and night."

His fingers knead into your soft skin as he holds you tighter, like he was trying to merge into you.

Your body warms with affection, sending a giggle past your lips as he holds you. “I adore you, mon cheri” you say just above a whisper.

Satoru's eyes never leave yours, his hands squeezing into your skin possessively, leaving marks behind. He's always found you adorable, and that would never change. Satoru places his lips on your ear, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear, whispering, "Je t'adore."

He loves your giggles and he'd do anything to make you giggle or laugh. "You're so cute, baby. I love you so much."

Satoru wants to ruin you and make you his.

The feeling of his tongue sending a chill down your spine. You lean in, placing several soft pecks against his lips.

“Love you so, so much, Toru. Love of my life, the light of my life, fire in my loins” you say between kisses, squishing his cheeks between both of your hands, jutting his lips out into a cute little pout. Giggling as you lean in to sink your teeth into his bottom lip, tugging lightly, placing a kiss over it before pulling away.

Satoru's eyes darkened with desire, his hands pressing harder into your thighs when you bite his lips. He smirks, finding your actions hot as he leans in to capture your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

His teeth nip at your lips as you tug at them, tongue flicking across the roof of your mouth. "Mon bébé, tu es à moi," Satoru whispers hungrily, his voice full of desire.

He pulls back to look into your eyes before he begins to leave marks down your neck.

“Ya know I don’t actually speak French hehe” you giggle, pink dusted across your cheeks from the undivided attention you’re receiving from Satoru.

"Do you want me to translate what I said?" Satoru asks with a soft laugh, his blue eyes crinkling when he smiles.

He nuzzles his face against your skin, placing kisses to your shoulder and collarbone, a hand squeezing into your thigh. He wants to spend the rest of his life with you, to love you and spoil you so much.

"Mon bébé means my baby." He smiles against your skin, kissing your neck.

"Tu es à moi means you're mine."

And a jolt of electricity, of absolute adoration, courses through your body.

“God I love you Satoru, I could just devour you” you lean in to give him a deep passionate kiss, your tongue gliding against his.

Satoru smiles against your lips, returning your kiss with as much passion and affection as he could. His arms wrap around your waist, wrapping you in a tight embrace, as if he were scared to let you go.

When he finally pulls back, Satoru breathes out, "I love you too, with all my heart baby. I'll never let anyone take you away from me. You're mine, all mine."

He presses a soft kiss to the spot above your heart, as if to mark you.

Your fingers finding their way into his hair, lightly tugging on the soft snowy tuft. “Say it again”.

Satoru leans in closer to you, placing a soft kiss on the middle of your chest, his breath hot against your skin. He looks up at you, his blue eyes filled with love and adoration.

"Mon amour, je t'adore, you're mine."

Satoru's voice comes out hushed, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear this. Just you. This was for you.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thanks for the read hehe… this was an impulse, mainly self indulgent piece, hope you enjoyed

[mitfloya]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

pairings. Rafayel x gn!reader

wc. 6.8K

synopsis. He believes that by isolating you, he can protect you from the outside world and ensure your happiness together. In his twisted mind, this is his way of creating a perfect and eternal bond, you’re his muse, his statue of beauty, his own aphrodite.

warnings. The following content contains elements of obsessive behavior, yandere thoughts, stalking, possessive behavior, and may include poorly written narratives. Reader is referred to as 'you'. Proceed with caution, as this writing may be unsettling or uncomfortable for some individuals.

a/n. Hiyaaa! Thank you so much for the people that have helped me make my post manage to slip through the timeline! I kid you not I had to break my spine with this issues I kept running into (the ori yandere Zayne post is gone, I’m sorry for the inconvenience), if any of you have any suggestions on how to make my post made it into the tags please tell them on the comments section. Get ready and have some snacks and hope you enjoy reading another hc I made

♡ Please reblog and comment on this post are much, much appreciated ♡

A manchild…? you love this guy? Me being a slander and simp at the same time

To put it simply, Rafayel is always the damsel in distress and YOU are his knight shining armor. He needs your attention and protection 24/7, you don’t want him to end up dead, do you? The whole universe will miss him. 

First of all, he loves you. Second of all, he hates you. 

You’re like a goldfish, how could you not remember the vows you both made when you were just a little kid?! The mere fact that you failed to recognize his face shattered his heart into pieces, for you hold immense significance in his life.

The weight of your indifference crashed upon him like a tidal wave, leaving his emotions in ruins. It was like a tornado tearing through his soul, causing a gut-wrenching ache that seemed to consume him from within.

It creates a twisted cycle of emotions that he struggles to contain. He yearns for the love you once shared, yet despises you for not remembering the bond you had. 

Perhaps he regrets not taking action in the past to ensure he could always locate you, to have left a distinctive mark upon you as a means of tracking your whereabouts.

You should’ve recognized him at first glance. Where have you been? He thought he lost you, he doesn’t even want to wish upon your death but you make it harder for him not to.

You’ve grown so much and so many changes but you’re still the same person he met at the beach, and it makes him feels so many emotions at once, it’s the first time he has managed to put a rein over his emotions, he could’ve coax you to come to his studio and locked you up, if you were to recognize him.

His heart longed to show much he misses you yet his mind tells him to seek revenge. It’s like his body and soul is splitting. Do you know how much damage you are causing him?

You must understand, my dear, that he is determined not to repeat past mistakes. It is time for him to take drastic measures, to make a promise that will bind you to him forever. He sees you as his ultimate protector, his unwavering shield. From this moment forward, you will never leave his sight again.

In his eyes, you have always belonged to each other, from the very beginning. Your destinies intertwined, your fates entangled. He craves the security of knowing that you are by his side, guarding his every step, his every breath. No longer will he allow even the smallest sliver of distance to separate you.

From the beginning you are his as much as he is yours.

His artistic talent is both his greatest strength and his greatest weapon. Through his art, he immortalizes his love and hatred for you, capturing the complexities of his emotions with every stroke of the brush. His creations serve as a constant reminder of his twisted desires. 

Initially consumed by hatred, he concealed his love, allowing it to resurface gradually, in subtle and tender ways. 

It’s the slowest burn you could ever imagine. Painstakingly slow.

As Rafayel's hatred gradually diminished, he began to express his feelings more openly, albeit subtly, leaving significant hints about the depth of his emotions towards you. Similar to a small forest fire that grows steadily, each progression was deliberate and methodical until it consumed the entire forest, an uncontrollable blaze that can’t be extuingish.

Say goodbye to freedom and welcome to his world, now that you’re his. He will be the center of your universe.

Clinginess is an inherent trait of Rafayel's nature. He craves your presence and attention, unable to bear the thought of being separated from you even for a moment. He will go to great lengths to ensure that you never leave his side.

You've grown accustomed to his playful nature and constant need for attention, but be prepared for an amplified version, as his demands intensify. Good luck dealing with your man ♡

He is a man of pride, he immortalizes you through his art, proudly showcasing pieces dedicated to you at his exhibitions. While abstract in form, this exclusivity serves to intrigue others, leaving them pondering what makes you so special in his eyes.

Unknown to you hidden away within his personal stash, there is a gallery dedicated solely to you. Every piece of artwork revolves around your existence, capturing his obsession with meticulous detail. The walls are adorned with portraits, each stroke of the brush reflecting his twisted love for you.

But at the very least, he showers you with lots of love and affection, no more holding back.

In relationships, he presents himself as a calm and romantic partner, radiating an aura of serenity akin to the sea. He enjoys spending quality time with you, whether it be casual outings or simply sharing space in silence. With him, you will never feel alone.

But do not be deceived by the calm waters, for they possess the ability to draw you into the depths of darkness, leaving you submerged and unable to resurface. His obsession remains unpredictable, much like the ever-changing tides of the sea. 

Oh, how you've stumbled into his clutches the moment you made that fateful vow. There is no turning back, my dear. You have fallen into the siren's trap, lured by his haunting charm. You are now forever entwined in his grasp, unable to break free. You should have thought twice before crossing paths with him if you weren't planning to stay.

He has two preferred methods of dealing with nuisances. He may choose to be smug and show off his superiority, rubbing his success in their faces. He revels in flaunting his success and talents, using them as a means to intimidate and belittle those who dare to steal you away.

However, if they persist, he is unafraid to resort to physical means, utilizing violence to eliminate them from your life. He goes to extreme lengths, even shedding blood and concealing the evidence of his actions, all in the name of safeguarding your well-being and maintaining his possessive hold over you.

His possessiveness knows no bounds, his desire to claim you as his own overpowering any sense of reason. He will go to great lengths to ensure that no one else can possess you, viewing you as his ultimate masterpiece.

When faced with difficulty or resistance from you, Rafayel won't hesitate to take drastic measures. He is willing to use any means necessary, including drugs, to put you to sleep and kidnap you. He will isolate you in his studio, ensuring that you will be together forever.

His studio, the place where he creates his art, becomes both a sanctuary and prison for you. Within its walls, he controls every aspect of your existence, dictating your every move and stifling your individuality. It is a place where his obsession can flourish unchecked.

You will forever remain under his possession, as he claims you and binds you eternally.

© 2024 mitfloya — all rights reserved. kindly refrain from altering, translating, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[youryurigoddess]

The summer that was never supposed to end

You’ve probably noticed how in Good Omens 2 Crowley’s eyes are brighter, more saturated, as if glistening with liquid gold. We’ve already covered his hair. And it’s not only the visual aspect of him — even in objectively stressful conditions, Crowley appears mature and put together, way cooler and more protective than before. Even his faults are heavily romanticized in the past and present scenes, reminding of the S1 body swap, when Aziraphale projected his love to him on the way he played the demon in Hell.

It’s not just the demon. The whole season is more vibrant, bolder, filled with sunshine. Just like a summer that was never supposed to end. Like a memory of a loved one seen through the eyes of someone who thinks of them every day until the end of the world.

S2 seems ridiculously saturated, whimsical, and full of red and gold, just like a certain demon. Aziraphale not only painted his bookshop in his image, but literally colored the whole world in Crowley’s colors. It was such lush and saturated and blooming with warmth and hazy light.

It’s either that all the newest events are just another memory seen through a certain angel’s eyes, or said angel actively made it appear this way — as in, his feelings grew so strong that they’ve started to warp the reality around him. And it’s a well-known fact that Aziraphale has a tendency to affect his surroundings, either unconsciously, when his presence in the bookshop literally lightens up the sky seen through its windows, or very much consciously, when he takes over the position of a master puppeteer and manipulates people with or without the help of his miracles.

S1 was more dramatic and apocalyptic, but not particularly gray — at least not as much as the color grading typically used in portrayal of similar apocalyptic narratives. S2, at least as seen through Aziraphale’s own La Vie En Rose lens, is vibrant and saturated. And those colors drastically fade in the heavenly light of the elevator during the credits, suggesting that they won’t be as visible in the course of S3.

But I don’t want to ramble about the apocalypse sandwich and the three-act structure here, so let’s circle back to S2.

Good Omens 2 was really set in a summer that was never supposed to end. But it did, autumn crept in, and there was no chance of hearing the nightingales sing. They all had left by the time an angel and a demon finally kissed.

In the most literal sense: the very last nightingales usually migrate from the UK to their wintering grounds in Sub-Saharan Africa in the first days of September.

Aziraphale was right that nothing lasts forever — and the passage of time on Earth is marked by subtle details invisible to the immortal eyes.

The main thing about autumn migration is how sudden and hard to predict it is. The birds start disappearing gradually, often without notice, until at some point they are no longer here. Much like the angel leaves the bookshop — their shared nest — to spread his wings and fight.

And it was basically announced on the poster.

Can you see the migratory formation of birds up in the sky? It looks like Aziraphale is the last one to get off the ground and fly.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗜𝗡

　　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Y/N is caught between the past and the present, struggling to overcome her love for Chris while trying to move on with Alex, a kind and understanding man. When Chris reappears in her life, Y/N is forced to confront her feelings and make difficult decisions.

WARNING: Crying, angst/comfort with a happy ending.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by @ecliphttlunar and @sturniolohisteric

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Ever since she was a teenager, Y/N had always wondered what death would feel like. Those who have experienced it are not here to tell stories of it. Would it be painful? Would she feel it squeeze her heart with its dark touch, or would she sigh for the last time in her sleep, letting the darkness take her without noticing the transition?

But now, for her, death was not the last breath escaping her lungs, nor the melodic sound of machines beside her body in a hospital room. It was something that drowned her from the inside out.

His style is infused throughout her closet, his smile carved into the Polaroids she's kept as memories for years. She could still hear his voice, everywhere, in the people passing by on the street, the same Boston accent fresh in her mind.

Dying was not a singular event but a collection of small moments, of broken promises and shattered hopes.

Y/N wondered if she would ever be able to erase those memories, or if his shadow would always be there, an inescapable presence around every corner, in every look.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The city skyline, jagged and imposing, reflected in the windows of the triplets' Los Angeles home. The rooms were simple, modern and decorated perfectly to suit their personalities, but they seemed cold and impersonal at that moment, devoid of the warmth that once marked their lives with Y/N, but especially that of one person, Chris. It had been six months since they broke up, but Y/N's absence permeated the air, a ghost haunting every corner.

Chris was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at the framed photograph on the nightstand. It was an old picture of him and Y/N, taken during a trip to the coast where they were celebrating their two years together. Their smiles were wide and genuine, their arms wrapped in a tight hug. The sea breeze had tousled her hair, and her eyes shone with unspoken promises. Now, it seemed like a lifetime ago, a different era when happiness seemed to last forever.

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. Emma, ​​his current girlfriend - or not anymore -, had left a few hours ago after a tense homemade dinner. They had been together for a few months now, but the connection felt forced, artificial. He tried to be present, to participate, but his mind always went back to Y/N. The laughter at the simplest jokes, the comfort of touch, the silent understanding that flowed between them effortlessly. With Y/N, he felt complete, understood, at home.

Meanwhile, across town, Y/N stood on the balcony of her new apartment, the city lights casting a soft glow on her face. She had also started seeing someone, Alex, a kind and patient soul who seemed to genuinely care. But try as he might, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

Alex was wonderful, but he wasn't Chris.

The memories of her time with Chris were a constant, painful reminder of what she had lost.

Y/N crossed her arms around herself, trying to ward off the cold that didn't just come from the cool night air. She remembered the nights spent in Chris's arms, the way he held her close, her back pressed firmly against his chest covered in Fresh Love's hoodies, his heartbeat sounding like a comforting beat against her ear. Those nights were full of whispered confessions and shared dreams, a sanctuary of intimacy that now seemed so far away.

Y/N wandered into the living room, unable to bear the sight of the painful memories any longer, it was comical how she could almost hear his loud laughter and whispered promises of love against her ears.

The girl poured herself a drink, hoping it would ease the pain, but she knew better. Alcohol might provide a temporary distraction, but it would never fill the void Chris had left.

She wondered if he thought about her, if he missed her as much as she missed him.

As the night grew darker, both Chris and Y/N found themselves reaching for the phone, the desire to hear the other's voice almost unbearable. But they stopped themselves, knowing it wouldn't change anything.

They really tried to move on and build new lives apart, but their hearts still belonged to each other. It was a cruel irony, to be so close and yet so far away, to love so deeply and yet be unable to be together.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The next day, Chris met Emma for lunch after fighting hard against Nick and Matt's complaints. He had to apologize and put an end on it.

She talked excitedly about her day, her eyes shining with excitement. Chris was smiling and nodding, but his thoughts were miles away. He wondered what Y/N was doing, if she was having lunch at her favorite Italian restaurant at that moment, if she was accompanied or alone, if maybe she found someone who made her feel complete again.

He felt a pang of guilt, knowing that Emma deserved someone who could give her all her attention, someone who wasn't haunted by the past.

It was not necessary to note that Emma soon noticed, again, his mental absence. A fervent discussion installed itself between both bodies, where Chris just nodded, knowing that he was on the wrong end, keeping his eyes down.

The boy left the restaurant without a girlfriend.

Meanwhile, Y/N was in a coffee shop with Alex, who was explaining a new project at work. She tried to focus, to be present, but her mind kept going back to Chris. She remembered how Chris listened intently to her, his eyes never leaving hers, making her feel like she was the only living person in the world.

With Alex, it was different. He was kind and caring, but there was no spark. There was no magic.

She felt suffocated.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Days turned into weeks, and both Chris and Y/N continued their charade, pretending that they were fine, that they had moved on. But in the quiet moments, when they were alone with their thoughts, the truth was inescapable. They were still in love, still yearning for each other, still incomplete. Their new lifes seemed like shadows, pale imitations of what they had shared.

One night, Chris was sitting by the huge window in the living room, looking out onto the sparsely populated street, feeling the emptiness in his heart almost suffocating him.

The boy fished his phone out of the front pocket of his hoodie, his finger hovering over Y/N's name. Should he call? Would it make any difference? He hesitated, torn between his desire and his fear of rejection.

Across the city, Y/N was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Alex had kissed her goodnight and quickly fallen asleep, but Y/N was wide awake. Her eyes, which roamed the darkness of the room tirelessly, found her cell on the bedside table, thinking for long seconds before picking it up, her heart pounding.

Her fingers scrolled through old messages from Chris, the words a bittersweet reminder of their love. She wanted to send a text, to say something, anything, to bridge the gap that had grown between them. But doubt gnawed at her.

What if Chris had moved on? What if her text only opened old wounds?

At that moment, as if guided by some invisible force, both Chris and Y/N decided to connect.

Chris took a deep breath and dialed Y/N's number, his heart racing with each ring. At the same time, Y/N typed a short, halting text: "I miss you."

The phone rang twice before Y/N's screen lit up with Chris' name. Her breath caught in her throat as she processed what she was seeing before sliding her thumb over the green button.

"Chris?"

"Y/N." He said softly, relief filling his voice.

Y/N's eyes filled with tears upon hearing the voice that her ears had begged to hear again. Her eyes darted briefly towards Alex before she slowly got up from her own bed, walking out of the room stealthily, towards the balcony.

"I was about to text you." The girl's voice came out in a timid whisper, her free hand curling into a fist of anxiety. "I miss you, Chris."

"I miss you too. Every day, every moment. Being without you… feels wrong." Chris let out a shaky laugh, a mixture of joy and pain.

They fell silent, the weight of their words hanging in the air. It was a painful truth they had been avoiding, but now it was exposed.

"Chris, do you think we made a mistake?" Y/N asked after long minutes of listening to his breathing on the other side, her voice shaking.

"I think about it every day." He admitted. "We thought we were doing the right thing, giving each other space, but all I felt was emptiness. Nothing and no one compares to you, Y/N."

"Oh, Chris." Tears streamed down Y/N's face, her teeth gripping her bottom lip in a death grip in an attempt to hold back the sobs.

"Can I see you?"

"Now? Chris, I... Alex is with me." Y/N shook her head, even though she knew he couldn't see her, sniffling as her fingers pressed her eyes lightly, trying to ease the tears.

"Right, Alex..."

Chris was silent for a moment, processing the situation. His mind was in turmoil, but the need to see her, to be with her, was overwhelming. He knew he couldn't wait any longer, that every moment away from her was torment.

"I understand." He said finally, clearing his throat awkwardly, trying to keep his voice steady. "But... Can we talk in person tomorrow? I really need to talk to you."

Y/N nodded. She knew they had to. Ignoring her feelings wouldn't get them anywhere. It would only hurt them more.

"I know. Can we meet tomorrow? Maybe at our place?"

Our place. The little cafe where they spent so many mornings together, laughing and planning the future. Chris's heart skipped a beat when he heard those words.

"Yes, of course. Tomorrow at ten?"

"It's a date." Y/N replied softly, feeling a mix of anxiety and hope.

After hanging up the call, Y/N remained sitting on the balcony, her mind rushing. Chris's words echoed in her head, and she knew she had to make a difficult decision. She looked inside the apartment, where Alex was sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the internal conflict she was facing.

After a few minutes, the girl took a deep breath and returned to her room. She sat in the corner armchair, hugging her knees and watching her casual date sleep. He seemed so calm, so serene, which made her feel a weight in her heart, the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him, but she knew she was already doing it just by being with him.

The hours passed slowly. Y/N couldn't sleep, anxiety gnawing at her insides as her fingers moved against each other frantically. Her thoughts were a tangle of memories, doubts, and hopes. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Chris's face, felt his touch, and heard his voice. And that made her more awake than ever.

Around seven in the morning, Alex started to move. He turned over in bed, ready to get up, looking for Y/N next to himself. When he didn't find her body, he opened his eyes slowly, blinking to adjust to the low light in the room, a consequence of the sun that invaded through the cracks in the white aluminum windows. His eyes quickly found the girl's silhouette in the armchair, and his confused expression turned to concern.

"Y/N?" He called softly, voice hoarse with sleep. "What are you doing there? How long have you been awake?"

"Alex, hey... I lost sleep." The girl met his eyes quickly, sadness and determination reflected in her eyes.

"Is everything okay?" Alex frowned, his orbs studying Y/N's facial expressions, noticing her discomfort.

"Alex, we need to talk."

"What happened? You look worried." He sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, her eyes lowering to her fingers, which were clenching her palms in anxiety.

"I... need to be honest with you. Something happened tonight that made me realize a few things."

"What was it? You can tell me." Alex tilted his head, concern rising.

She slowly got up from the armchair and walked to the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress, next to him. Her right hand worked to find Alex's hand, feeling the warmth and gentleness in it, and that only made everything more difficult.

"Chris called me."

"Chris? Your ex-boyfriend?" Alex frowned slightly.

Y/N nodded, her tongue moistening her lips quickly, preparing to begin.

"Yes. We talked, and... I realized that I still have very strong feelings for him. I tried to move on, I tried to build something with you, but it's not fair. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to me." She pressed her lips into a thin line, feeling Alex's fingers squeeze hers.

Alex was silent for a moment, processing her words. Finally, he sighed and looked down at his clasped hands.

"You still love him, don't you?"

"Yes, Alex. And it's not because you're not wonderful. You are amazing. But my heart… my heart, is still with Chris." Her voice broke slightly as her eyes filled with tears, her heart clenching in fear and guilt. "I'm sorry for holding you back for so long." A lone tear escaped, running down her cheek slowly.

"I appreciate your honesty, Y/N... I knew, you know? In a way, I felt like there was something you were holding back. Something that was keeping you from being completely with me." He squeezed her hand gently, his eyes full of understanding.

"Aren't you mad?" She raised her eyes to him, widening them in surprise at his response, sniffling as her free hand reached up to her own face, wiping away the single cold tear.

Alex shook his head slowly.

"No, I'm not. I'm sad, of course. I really like you, and I thought we could build something together, I had a million expectations. But I understand that you can't control your heart. And you were honest with me, and that's more than what a lot of people would do. I can't force you to stay with me."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, relieved by his understanding, feeling her heart lighter.

"I didn't want to hurt you, Alex. You deserve someone who can love you completely, without reservation. And I... need to work this out with Chris. See if there's still a chance for us."

"I hope you find what you're looking for, Y/N. And if things don't work out with Chris, I hope you find someone who makes you happy. You deserve it." Alex smiled sadly, but with genuine kindness.

She squeezed his hand one last time, feeling a rush of gratitude.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N's head was a mess as she carefully dressed, choosing an outfit she knew Chris liked. As she looked in the mirror, trying to tame her hair, she remembered the lazy mornings when he would do this for her, a playful smile on his lips.

Chris was also anxious. He tried to hide his nervousness from Nick and Matt, but his brothers - who knew him more than he knew himself - noticed.

"You're going to see her, aren't you?" Matt asked, a knowing smile on his face as he spread peanut butter on his rice cracker, watching him from his seat at the dinner table.

Chris just nodded, taking big, quick gulps of his Pepsi.

"I have to do this. I need to know."

"Good luck." Nick muttered, patting him on the shoulder as he walked past him, sitting in the chair opposite Matt's. "We're rooting for you."

The cafe was almost empty when Y/N arrived. The girl chose a table at the back, where they usually sat and waited, feeling her heart beating wildly. Her eyes traveled frantically from the door to the window and back again, watching the passersby, trying to calm her nerves as she cracked her knuckles.

Chris arrived a few minutes later, still as handsome as she remembered. The boy stopped in front of the glass door of the establishment momentarily, his eyes sweeping the place, accompanied by his brow furrowed in confusion and anxiety, quickly meeting hers.

It was as if an instantaneous and joint spark ran through their bodies, both of them feeling a wave of emotions that almost knocked them over.

Chris took a deep breath, starting his steps towards her, sitting down with a shy smile in the free chair in front of her.

"Hey." Chris whispered, his voice soft, full of contained feelings, and only at that moment did Y/N understand how much she missed hearing the boy's voice in person.

"Hey." Y/N, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, an embarrassed nasal laugh escaping before she clears her throat, blinking rapidly.

The silence between them was not uncomfortable but full of unsaid things and pure feelings.

Finally, Y/N broke the ice.

"I... haven't stopped thinking about you, Chris. Ever since we split up, everything feels so empty."

Chris nodded, leaning his upper body on the base of the table and taking Y/N's hands - which were still tangled up in an act of nervousness -, interlacing their fingers gently.

"Me too. Nothing and no one could fill the void you left. I tried to move on, I really did, but it's impossible. You're the person I love, and it took me so long to notice that. It cost me almost losing you completely."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. They both knew it wouldn't be easy, that there would be many things to resolve, but at that moment, all that mattered was that they still loved each other.

"I don't know what it's going to be like." Y/N resumed, her voice shaking as her eyes traveled from blue eyes to pink lips. "But I know I want to try, Chris. I want to rebuild what we lost. I can't let you go. Not again."

"I also want that." He responded quickly, his voice increasing in volume significantly, squeezing her hand tighter. "I know we made mistakes, but I want to fix them. I want you in my life, Y/N. I can't live without you. I don't want to."

The relief and joy that flooded Y/N's features were undeniable. For the first time in months, she felt like there was hope that they could find a way back to each other.

They spent hours talking, remembering the good times and acknowledging the mistakes of the past. They decided that they wouldn't rush things, that they would take it all one step at a time, but most importantly, they would be on this journey together.

When they left the cafe, hand in hand, they both felt that a new chapter was actually beginning. Maybe there were still obstacles to overcome, but they knew that as long as they had each other, they could face all of it. Their love, despite all the challenges, was strong and truthful, and that was all they needed to start over.

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @junnniiieee07 @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @mattsneezing @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @watermelonreid @fratbrochrisgf @elordilover @somegirlfromasgard @hpyjw @annamcdonalds67 @always-reading @slutsformatt @chrissturnsss @selenascorner

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[kiss-me-cill-me]

i’m not sure if anon has already requested a character for that song but if ur up for it CAN WE HAVE THAT SONG WITH JONATHAN CRANE. also i just listened to that song for the first time in like 3 years and got major deja vu lmao 😭

also ps i love u and ur writing !!!

This is related to another ask from an anon, requesting a fic based off of Katy Perry's song, The One That Got Away. I am so sorry to both of you that it's taken me forever to write this, but thank you for your patience and support <3

Now We Pay The Price | Pt. 1

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Life hasn't turned out exactly the way you wanted it to. Isolated and distraught as you watch time slip by while you sit, trapped in Arkham, your only wish is to recapture the way that things used to be.

Warnings: Angst, whump, sexual themes but no explicit smut, mental health themes, obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mention of needles, mention of sedatives, unrequited love, established past romantic relationship, ambiguity

A/N: I hardly ever write angst, so please be gentle with me lol. But with the song inspo, I couldn't help but go in that direction. Slightly nervous to post this, but also happy that I've branched out from my comfort zone a bit!

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Lying on your stomach, feet in the air, you stretched the thin cotton sheets with your hand. Just enough to give them the tension you needed to glide a ballpoint pen over the fabric, scratching over and over the same mark to make it appear complete. This was far from the perfect medium for doodling - but sheets were what you had, and so they were what you used.

Even the pen was contraband. You knew you weren’t supposed to have it. What anyone thought you’d do with it… honestly, you had no idea. As if you could use a pen for anything other than what you were wrapped up in doing now - carefully and determinedly drawing hearts.

You stopped to rest your head for a moment on the pitifully thin pillow. Across the room, blank white concrete stared back at you. Day in, day out. Endless. The same room with the same walls.

Picking up the pen again, you placed the tip right in between the lobes of one of the many hearts. Scratch, scratch, scratch. A messy, zig-zagging line bisected the doodle. 

Broken.

You sighed, and started to color a different heart, filling it with blue ink that didn’t seem very inclined to stick to the bed sheets. It was slow going. The deep azure tint reminded you of deoxygenated blood, like you would see in a textbook diagram. Once the heart was completely filled, you moved dutifully on to the next.

A rustling at your door made you jump. Quickly, you stuffed the pen under your pillow, and turned up the sheets to hide your drawings. It wouldn’t be very good for you if anybody saw them.

You sat up, arranging your rumpled jumpsuit as neatly as you could. Leather straps hung off the sides of your bed, and you spared them a glance, bristling at the memories of having them lashed over your body. 

The metal door slid open slowly, until you could finally see…

Him. Your heart skipped a beat and a half as he stepped stiffly into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He didn’t make a show of locking it, but it was still all too hard to miss the way his hand stopped short at the keyhole, before slipping into his pocket.

“Jonathan. I’m so glad-”

“Don’t call me that,” he bristled. “In here, we don’t know each other. Please. You always forget that.”

“...Dr. Crane,” you corrected yourself. 

His tone was so bitter that you could feel it in the very back of your throat, trying to claw its way down to your heart. You swallowed, trying to bite back the taste.

“I’m sorry. I was just happy to see you.” You smiled, pushing through your discomfort, for his sake.

Crane was clearly agitated. He took a few steps into the room, before turning around and facing the door. For one brief moment, you couldn’t see his face, until finally he turned back. His eyes were ice as they stared down at you.

“Do you have any idea how difficult you’ve been making things for me?” he spat. 

The accusation hurt, of course. Though you knew very well what he meant. You had been acting out, more than usual, as of late. And although it wasn’t without a purpose, you could see that it was wearing him thin. But… how else were you supposed to see each other? 

Arkham Asylum wasn’t exactly known for its model patients. It took a lot to get Dr. Crane’s attention.

“If we spent more time together, I wouldn’t be so difficult,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even.

Crane pinched the bridge of his nose, in that way that you were well acquainted with. He’d always had that habit. Back when you’d first met, you had loved making him get frustrated - just enough for a laugh. Some things never changed.

“You’re really backing me into a corner,” Crane sighed. “And I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“Let’s talk,” you offered, patting the bed. “That’s what you’re here for, right?”

Crane, reluctantly, sat down. You could sense his exhaustion in the way that he almost collapsed onto the bed, hands gripping the edge for support. You inched a bit closer, enough so that your knees touched briefly. Crane pulled away.

You wanted to reach out; put a hand on his shoulder, just like you’d done so many times before. He used to like it when you touched him. Sometimes, you liked to think that yours was the only gentle embrace that he had ever known. Maybe it was silly, but the thought of it always made you feel better.

Now, Crane’s eyes held nothing but menace as he glared over at you, as if you were a stain on the bed sheets. You wondered, vaguely, what had happened to change things.

So much. So much that had led you to this place, where you could be so close to him and yet felt more separated than ever.

“I hate to say it, Doc, but I think I’m going crazy in here,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He barely had a reaction; a deep sigh the only hint that he’d heard what you said at all.

“And why do you think that is?” he asked, finally. 

The psychiatrist in him always came through to shove even more distance between you. Like a shield, put up just when you’d started to press through the fog of tension that hung heavy in the room. You swallowed your frustration at being kept out, and tried to answer him honestly.

“Because I barely get to see you,” you replied.

That was the wrong answer, and Crane’s shoulders swung abruptly to face you. 

He was scary like this. Almost scary, anyway. If you didn’t know him better, the look in his eyes would have sent you cowering. 

But you did know him, so well, and you remembered with sudden clarity that he’d always been bothered by feeling inadequate. You felt awful; you hadn’t meant to imply that he wasn’t doing enough.

“I’m sorry,” you soothed, before he could say anything. “I know that you’re busy, but-”

“But you continue to make yourself into a problem,” he hissed. “You know the only reason you’re in here instead of rotting away over at Blackgate is because of me, right?”

You nodded, too shocked by embarrassment to speak.

“Then for my sake, why don’t you act like it?”

“I’m…” You paused for a moment, sharp tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m just… lost without you,” you whispered. “You know that. I always told you I would be.”

The first tear fell, and you tried to hide your face.

“Don’t cry,” Crane sighed.

You could hear the harsh tinge of annoyance in his voice, and wished that it was anything else. Even his pity would have been better than knowing that your feelings were now nothing but inconvenience. You choked on your own throat, trying to stifle a sob.

“Please don’t cry,” he mumbled, slightly softer this time.

But now that you’d started, you couldn’t make yourself stop. If anything, the tears were only coming faster, and you felt yourself start to shrink into your own chest. The little black pit that always seemed to sit there, now swiftly opening up to swallow you.

With a deep and lingering exhale, Crane pulled you close. Suddenly, you were back where you both had been, so many years ago: one person’s cheek pressed into the other’s shoulder. Tears soaking into fabric that seemed to be stained with sadness. You let out a half-laugh, half-sob, and nestled into the crook of his neck.

“Remember when I used to do this for you?”

Crane stiffened slightly beside you.

“Things have changed since then,” he muttered. 

Your memory suddenly flashed back to the first time he had used the words “dysfunctional attachment” to describe you. That had hurt worse than anything else. Even more than all of the other occasions to come, when you’d heard those same words and worse fall from his lips. They could never truly compare to that first time, when your whole world had come crashing abruptly to the ground.

His arm dropped away from you, but you kept your face pressed into his shoulder.

“Things haven’t really changed,” you said. “I still belong to you.”

“You don’t.”

Two words that stung worse than hundreds of needles. You tried to pretend that the wind hadn’t been knocked out of you, as you replied.

“I do. And I will. Always.”

You looked up at him with wet eyes, a trace of the old life that you’d shared together still evident deep within your pupils. Even if only the memories of it lived inside of you, they still lived. They were still something.

“You need to move on,” Crane said flatly. “I know it’s not easy in here, with me…” He sighed. “I did what I could to protect you, but maybe it would have been better if I had just stayed out of your case. Blackgate would have at least given you distance.”

“I don’t want distance,” you whispered. “I just want to be with you.”

“You can’t be.”

Always so stubborn.

“I could be, if you’d help me get out.”

Confusion flashed across Crane’s face, quickly replaced with raw terror. 

“Escape Arkham?” His eyebrows furrowed, nearly knitting together. “You can’t be serious. Do you even realize what-?”

“I know, I know,” you hummed. “But just think - we could run away together, just like we always talked about.”

“Stop.”

“Don’t you remember? We promised-”

“Things. Change.” Crane’s voice almost shook as it thundered.

You brought a hand up to his face, gently coaxing until he looked at you.

“But they don’t have to,” you breathed. 

Your eyes drifted down to your wrist, to the space just below your thumb, and over the little tattoo that was etched into your skin. A heart - just like the ones littering your blanket, hidden carefully from Crane’s view.

“Remember when you gave me this?” you asked, holding up the tattoo in front of him.

“No; I remember you doing that to yourself.”

“At first, sure,” you chuckled. “But then, you helped me to finish it, ‘cause-”

“Because I didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Crane muttered. “Just like you always seem to. Even now.”

You ignored his remark as your hands drifted down to collect one of his pale wrists, then lifted up to your face. The sleeve of his suit jacket slipped back, revealing the spot where once, long ago, you had given him the same mark. Just with a felt-tip pen; he would have never allowed you, even back then, to deface his own body in the same way you had yours. 

At the time, the impermanence of it hadn’t seemed to matter. You’d been too distracted; elated by the way that his and your matching blossoms of ink had pressed up against each other as you’d held hands. 

Now, you pressed a kiss to the blank space.

“Us against the world, Jonathan. Remember?”

Suddenly, his fingers pressed into your face, digging into the sides of your chin as he forced you back into focus.

“Don’t call me that,” he warned, once again. “How many times do I have to tell you? That life doesn’t exist in here.”

Your hands still dangled from his wrist as he continued to crush your jaw, not letting you look away. But this was the one part of him that you didn’t want to face. The part that didn’t need you anymore.

“Jonathan. You know the reason I’m in here, don’t you?”

“Are you asking if I know about your case? All of the crimes you committed?” he huffed. “Because yes - I was very involved in the trial, and it was nearly impossible to keep everyone else in the dark about…”

Us was the word that he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“That’s not what I mean,” you said. “I mean, do you know why I did those things?”

“Stop - please don’t tell me this again.”

“I did them for you,” you cried, your emotions getting the better of you again. “I do everything for you. So don’t you dare pretend you don’t need me, when really the only fucking reason you’re not stuck in here with me is because I always-”

“Stop.”

Crane’s hands tore away to grab you by the shoulders, wrenching you back to reality. Somehow he always managed to do that. To pull you straight out of the riptide, just as it was about to sweep you away.

“I never asked you to do what you did,” he hissed, articulating each word between clenched teeth.

“But I did it anyway,” you spat. “Because you always get into trouble. Because I told you I’d be there for you, no matter what. And because I always keep promises.”

“I don’t need you to anymore.” Crane’s hands squeezed you uncomfortably. “I don’t - I didn’t need you to ruin your life for me.”

“My life isn’t ruined if it’s for you.”

“Jesus Christ…”

Crane’s hand came up to rake through his hair, but before he could pull away fully, you caught him. Fingers clenched tight to the front of his suit, you pulled back and forced him to fall with you. Your back hit the bed, and Crane scrambled to catch himself before his full weight could slam into you. His body perched just above yours, caging you in his arms.

“This. You must remember this.” 

Your words were a whisper, barely loud enough to pass from your lips to his ear, despite how close he was. Your legs frantically came up to tug at his waist, trying to force him closer.

“This was the only time I felt alive,” you continued. “When we were like this. You remember.”

How could he not? You could still live in that moment, if you tried hard enough. As if it had been only yesterday. Both of you nervous and fumbling, nearly falling off of the bed as he hovered over you and you clung to him. 

The way that your bodies had melted together, almost desperately, in a way that had made you feel certain that neither one of you would let go. Letting go then had meant something worse than death; it meant a life that dragged on without you and him together. 

The stale echoes of passion still rang in your ears as you looked up, silently begging for him to rekindle the spark that had been there.

Crane’s expression was all but impossible to read. His face half-hidden beneath bangs that fell into his eyes. The two-second pause was like a lifetime as you awaited his answer.

“Of course I remember.”

Your heart soared, flying recklessly up.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s the same now.”

Broken. Smashed hard against the cold floor of your cell.

“I don’t believe that,” you breathed. “I can’t. I-”

“You need to,” he interrupted. “Because it’s the truth.”

You stayed stock still on the mattress as Crane briskly pushed himself up, disentangling himself from your limbs. He exhaled as he tugged at his jacket, trying to make himself presentable. 

You weren’t sure how he could find the nerve, after ripping your whole world apart.

“I’m upping the dose on your sedatives,” he informed you, still not meeting your gaze. “But I would prefer if you could find it within yourself to behave so that I don’t have to. I don’t like to do this, but-”

“Appearances…” Your voice drifted through the room. “Have to be kept up.”

He had told you as much, probably dozens of times. Just like he’d told you the old life between you no longer mattered, or even existed. If it ever had.

“I’m glad you understand,” he said shortly. 

His back was already turned, but you looked up to watch him drift out of the room, quickly pocketing the keys on his way out. 

Your head fell back, hard, but the sensation did nothing to ground you. You felt all too lost and adrift; trapped in a situation you had created. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end up.

Your hand drifted silently under the pillow, and wrapped around the barrel of the pen that was still hidden there. 

Suddenly, grotesque understanding of all the reasons why no one would want you to have such a thing flooded into your consciousness. The possibilities were many and bleak, but they all led back to the same conclusion. It was just like you had told Crane earlier.

If your life together didn’t exist in this place, then the only solution was to leave. 

You smiled. With resolve swirling dangerously inside your veins, you vowed to make sure that nothing like this ever happened again. You were going to be together, no matter what. 

There would be no getting away.

This fic now has a Part 2! Read it HERE

[whaleofatjme1920]

Passing Autumn Nights

[Proxies (Toby, Masky, Hoodie) X GN!Reader]

[Warnings: Like, none?]

[AN: also known as the 'fuck me i just miss autumn' fic and LOVE writing slice of life things.]

[1356 words <3]

Reblogs are appreciated!

Moments like these never last forever. Fleeting, careless, and bittersweet, they remind you of a time long, long passed. The moon is rising and a chill runs through the air. It oddly warms you and reminds you of friends that pass in and out of your life just as freely, though in your past life it might have caused you minor concern. 

You sit on the hood of this stupid car Toby stole. It’s sporting a giant dent in the side, and some of the paint near the tires is rusting but it’s taken care of the four of you so far. In your hand is a pack of cigarettes. You don’t smoke. You tried it once and hated it, coughing up like a crude imitation of a dragon lighting up your first attempt, and never tried again after that. They’re actually Tim’s; he wants you to hold them to help kick his habit. 

Brian says it’s a sign he’s trusting you more and more. After all, no one knows Tim like him, and you trust your right hand’s judgment. 

Laying in the back seat is Brian himself. His forearm is over his eyes to shield them from the harsh overhead lights in the parking lot. He smells like pine, the woods, a bit of whiskey but not too much. He’s got his back windows rolled down as he waits with you for Toby and Tim to finish whatever the hell they’re doing inside the grocery store. You all needed some cash, and Tim has ways of getting it without any suspicion raised. Whole registers, wallets, purses, things lifted without so much as a smile on his face and an oddly friendly, ‘have a nice day’ in response. 

In your hands, you play with the lighter Tim also left with you. You flick it a few times before finally hearing your right hand’s voice. 

“Leave it,” he hums tiredly, not bothering to move his forearm from his closed eyes. “Thing’s low enough.”

You smile softly and cap it before resting it back in your jacket pocket. For a mid October day, it’s only a little cold, which is surprising. You expected it to be chillier. Or maybe that’s just your proxy blood telling you to not register cold the way a human might. There’s scrapes all over your body, some from missions, others from training, only one from The Operator himself. You trace over the heated mark on your clothed thigh and internally wince, remembering when you upset him. “Sorry,” you apologize half heartedly as you run your thumb in slow circles over the smooth box of cigarettes. “Just get antsy waiting.” 

Brian hums again in response as if to ask ‘why’, but makes no further move to press. He just smiles slightly in response to your presence. “You can always ask them how they’re doing,” he says. When you glance over your shoulder to peer at him through the windshield, he tapes at his temple. Head talk, of course. 

You squint a bit across the parking lot and feel a small bout of relief wash through your system as Tim and Toby step out of the store, bags in hand from legitimate purchases, and well, you can feel the things they acquired outside of legal bounds. “No need to,” you say in response to Brian. 

“Get off the hood,” Tim chides you slightly, but he makes no further move to disturb you. It’s said much like an older brother would to a pesky younger sibling. 

In solidarity, and out of a love for annoying his leader, Toby haphazardly opens the trunk of the car, tosses the bags inside which earns a scowl from Tim, and then bounds over to sit on the hood with you. He leans back a bit, resting his tired body alongside yours. “Kinda crowded in there,” he says to you, knowing you’re curious about how it all went. “Bit too crowded for a Thursday at 8pm,” he muses further. He runs his fingers through his chopped brown hair, gazing at the night sky. The moon has always captivated him. Reminds him of simpler times. He likes autumn just as much as you do, and this feels like the best it’s going to get. 

“What took you guys so long, then?” You inquire as you and Toby listen with half attention to Brian and Tim’s conversation. Something about future work, run of the mill proxy lifestyle things. 

Toby rummages around in his pockets and pulls out a handful of dum dum lollipops he lifted. He gives you a toothy grin and nods for you to pick a flavor before he settles on blue raspberry after you’ve chosen. He crinkles the wrapper, shoves it in his pocket and then holds his hand out for you to give him your wrapper as well. He pops the sweet thing in his mouth and savors the taste before shrugging a bit, “you know Tim. That’s how it always is.” He smiles when Tim taps the windshield in slight annoyance. 

“C’mon, get back in the car. We got somewhere to go,” Tim says as he starts the car up. Either you two get in, or he’s driving with you two strapped to the top of the car. 

“Shotgun-!”

“Sh-oh come on,” Toby sighs in defeat as you snicker in triumph and slide off the hood of the car. You pat his shoulder and then round your way to the passenger seat, settling in and feeling oddly warmer despite not registering you were cold to begin with. You watch as Toby slouches his way to the backseat with Brian, who at first, does not want to move for the former runt. When Toby shoves him, Brian only laughs and tells him to ‘not get your panties in a bunch’. 

“So, where are we going?” You ask as Tim puts the car in drive and smoothly leaves the parking lot. You’re always surprised at the places proxies end up. Right now, you’re in southern Illinois right around Ruth’s hometown. You wouldn’t tell her, but you visited her family’s farm and left a small gift. She would say it’s far too much, and even dangerous for proxy influence to be near her folks and younger siblings but The Operator’s always been fond of her. He wouldn’t hurt them. Not while she performs beautifully for him. 

Tim props his left arm up on the sill of the car window, resting his head there as he drives with one hand. He’s very relaxed, preferring driving at night as opposed to dealing with everyone else when the sun is out shining. He won’t admit it either, but he loves autumn nights like these too. He watches the lights of the town start to fade as you head further south. “Stopping in a small proxy town, meeting with EJ, then Jeff is gonna tag along. Something about… a farm? Lotta farms lately,” he chuckles tiredly. “It’s kinda perfect for Halloween - I’ve never seen The Operator so fascinated with a witch before. So, that. He said he wanted us with those two, and we’ll get further directions once we’re at said farm.” 

Brian clears his throat and adjusts his posture so he’s sitting up. “That farm gonna have pumpkins?” He asks. It’s surprisingly out of character for your right hand, arguably one of the most brutal proxies in your team. 

Tim shrugs. “Fuck if I know.” 

You laugh softly, “why? You wanna carve some?”

Some part of Brian’s old world personality shines through. His smile, the crinkle in his eyes despite him being older and no longer a college student but a weathered, jaded proxy is visible as he nods slightly. “Yeah,” he sniffs slightly, gaze now falling out the window at the orange, red and yellow trees visible from the car’s headlights as you pass, only to see them disappear as the four of you roll through. “Always liked autumn,” he says. 

There’s that warm, gentle feeling again. You focus on your lollipop, feeling the presence of something mulled and sweet. This is as good as it’s gonna get. 

“Yeah,” a pause, “me too.” 

[so-mordor-itis]

Quirks About Leon

-He needs his coffee black. He will not drink it any other way. Sugar and milk just make it too smooth, too creamy. When he wants to wake up in the morning, the bitter taste of black coffee is just the kick he needs. Adding anything would make him feel more sleepy and start to remind him of the past when he actually enjoyed adding two cubes of sugar into the beverage. He may like chocolate and other types of sweets, but his coffee is separate.

-Leon is a gift giver. He has a lot of money but doesn't exactly know what to do with it. He's so accustomed to traveling back and forth, living on take out and plastic bins of leftovers. When you ask him to spend money on himself, he'll look at you funny and say, "Like what?" So, instead, he'll buy you gifts. He knows what you like, created a list in his head. Leon made himself observant, and he uses that to his advantage. He'll catch your gaze lingering on something too long, and suddenly, it's on the kitchen counter. You give him a glare, and he just returns it with a "You were practically drooling over it. I couldn't let you not have it."

-Over the course of your relationship, Leon gains the habit of pulling you close to him. It's kind of a protective nudge, and it shows a bit more in public. For instance, sitting in an airport, he'll lean over for your hand and tug you slightly closer. Waiting for a crosswalk, he'll feel for you next to him before crossing the street. He just likes to reassure himself that you're there and you're safe. You'll notice he tends to place you behind him.

-During a moment of passion, lips locked, fingers curled in his hair, teeth clashing--he'll pat your thigh or the lower part of your leg, telling you it's okay to wrap your legs around his waist. The pat is an encouragement even. He loves the feeling.

-Leon was forced to learn how to adapt quickly. With the experiences from Raccoon City and his intense military training, he learned there was always a possibility for anything. There was no such thing as impossible anymore. He removed that word from his vocabulary. He observes your body language, the tone of your voice, the emotion in your eyes. Leon tends to notice what you're feeling before you even tell him. He can't help but be a bit amused when he asks what's wrong and you look at him as if he's just read your mind and you hate it. He hides that part, not wanting to upset you further in case you truly are down.

-You had to tell him you loved him first. Those three little words were terrifying to him; they held so much power, and that left him feeling so vulnerable. Leon was scared that the moment he could allow himself to admit to you (and his own consciousness) that he was in love with you and his heart was forever yours, you'd leave. Or be forced to leave or...something more horrifying that left a bitter taste in his mouth. When you finally said the three words to him, he felt them tumble out shortly after. If you could find the courage to say them, so could he. He wonders if you truly know the hold you have over him.

-He adores tracing any scars or stretch marks or any part of your body. To him, they're what make you unique, what make your body your own. Leon learned how to come to terms with the scars that were left from Raccoon, with the mental gashes and bite marks. He traces over yours as a message, telling you he doesn't mind them. A reassurance.

[marthawrites]

The Gift That Keeps Giving

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 3.8k+

Can be read as a one shot but reads best as part 2 to A Gift for the Queen (pls be kind it was the second thing I wrote ♥)

About: You've happily stayed with Daemon and Rhaenyra since her birthday. They have a little game up their sleeve to play with you.

Includes: Explicit sexual content!! *takes a really deep breath* involving typical canon incest, M/F/F content, p in v, female masturbation, pussy slapping, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), forced orgasm, orgasm denial, overstimulation, some degradation, manhandling, crying, adult language, and aftercare. With a sweet ending. WHEW. That's a mouthful. Idk friends there's a lot going on here and if I missed anything I apologize!

Note: Hello lovely reader! I'm not in charge of your imagination, but I write with the implications that Westerosi men go in raw and are uncut. Do with that info however you like. As always, reader is nondescript! Huge shout out to my girl Eliza who is just fucking awesome and I love her. This has been stewing in my brain forever and I finally was able to get it out. It's filthy. Please, enjoy! ♥

-

While it wasn't home, Dragonstone remained lovely. What made it even more lovely was the attention Rhaenyra bestowed upon you during the early mornings and late into the evenings. The Black Queen, despite (or perhaps in spite of) the neverending amount of responsibilities she had, had an insatiable taste for pleasure.

Her body showed all the signs of motherhood: faded stretch marks, widened hips, heavy breasts, and a soft cushion of fat around her middle. If she was beautiful before, deemed "The Realm's Delight" by her uncle-husband, then she was even more so now. Motherhood fit Rhaenyra. And in turn she was a good mom, too. 

You couldn't imagine how she balanced everything on her plate. Being a caring mother, a Queen against an upsurer king, a wife… How?

Daemon and Rhaenyra, like many in their ancestry, could only be sated by the fire of a fellow Targaryen. Twin flames from somewhere deep and ancient in the earth. Together they burned. You were certain it was the passion they shared in their intimate moments that kept them in check; a contained bonfire instead of rampant wildfire.

The Rogue Prince, still standing by what he said the first night you shared with them, had yet to let you have his cock. "Whores aren't deserving of my seed." As much as you savored every second of pleasure with Rhaenyra, you ached for him.

Doing as you were told, you sat in one of their chairs and were allowed to merely watch as Rhaenyra rode her husband until sweat sheened on her skin and her legs shook from exertion. It was torture. Daemon had a beautiful cock. Thick, solid, and forever eager to be wrapped around his wife's needy cunt; seemingly as many times as she'd like. And there you were. Both of your legs draped over the arms of the chair to expose yourself wide open, fingers fucking into yourself at the show, unable to reach the kind of climaxes Rhaenyra experienced. Your fingers were half useless despite their best efforts.

"You're being awfully quiet over here," Daemon crooned, walking over to you once he and his wife were finished. Sweat sheened on him too. "Is your Queen fucking her prince so boring?"

You'd been far from quiet. A blush had taken home in your cheeks and your folds glistened with evidence of orgasm. "Never boring," you breathed in reply, looking up at Daemon from beneath your lashes.

He tutted and swatted your hand away from your center. "You are. Perhaps you need to be reminded just how loud you can get." Bringing two fingers up to your mouth he pushed past your lips until his Targaryen signet squished against the corner of your mouth. He smirked at your eager acceptance. He planted his other hand upon the back of your chair, eyes keen on you.

Were your gag reflex any weaker it would have stuttered around his abrupt intrusion. The shadow of his bulk looming over you caused a whine of anticipation to escape your throat, vibrating around his fingers.

He pulled them out and a lewd little line of spittle broke between your lip and the tip of his finger. 

"My prince…," you purred, heart thumping wildly beneath your flushed chest. "I do think I need to be reminded. I haven't had a cock in sooo long… my fingers can only go so far. They are much smaller than you." Unintentionally – or perhaps wholly intentionally – your hips squirmed in a silent beg for any sort of attention he might give you.

Dark amusement swelled his pupils. "Small and pathetic," he said sardonically. "Can you even reach where you're begging to be touched?" With his question he delivered a quick smack to the fullness of your spread cunt. 

You yelped, surprised, eyes popping open as a second slap followed. "A-ah!" Your legs closed in an attempt to shield yourself from his touch.

"Play nice with our sweet girl," Rhaenyra chimed from the bed. Amusement laced her words too. "We want her to be eager to play later. Isn't that right, husband?"

Flicking your attention to the marital bed you saw that Rhaenyra didn't look up or anything else – content to lay and relax in bliss for a few moments longer before getting ready for the day.

Daemon sniggered, one big hand easily parting your legs open. You weren't squeezing too hard, merely had your thighs pressed together to keep yourself protected from further taunts. "That's right," he replied to his wife over his shoulder before turning his gaze back to you. “Our favorite, and prettiest, whore.”

The weight of his gaze sent your own pupils swelling. You smiled at his praise. “Always happy to be in service of my Queen. And King.” The Prince Consort liked it when you called him that. He liked it even more when it spilled from your pretty lips in a beg for him to fuck you – a gift he still hadn’t given you. Most, though, he liked it when you and Rhaenyra half whispered it on your knees between sharing his cock.

A third slap was delivered to your cunt and you barely managed to muffle a startled whimper behind a bitten lip. “How quickly do you think you could come on my fingers?” He tilted his head in question, eyes still sharp on yours. In the same motion he squeezed the back of your chair for extra support while pushing two calloused digits into your yearning center. He knew right where to find that delightfully sensitive spot along your walls. He sought it and abused it. And, to make matters all the more lascivious, his thumb worked your clit in tandem. “You won’t get a second chance, girl. If you wish to come, then come. Now.” His pace was brutal. And wonderful. He had no shame when it came to pleasure; the obscenity of the wet slaps from his finger fucking sent you over the edge quickly.

The coil of pleasure in your belly snapped with all the force it had been wired with; a straining haste that left you gasping as if Daemon’s hand were wrapped around your throat. A moment ago you were merely under his gaze. Now, your thighs squeezed his forearm as bliss washed over you in hot waves of desperation. You whined a string of moans so sweet it sent the towering prince to near purrs.

“Say thank you,” he said, pulling his fingers from your clenching depths.

“Thank you, my prince.” 

That is how Daemon and Rhaenyra left you for the day. Alone to do as you please; eager for their return. Duty called and kept them away until after sundown.

-

“Will Daemon not want to be present for this, your Grace?” You were barely able to whisper between heated pants. 

Rhaenyra had propped pillows beneath your backside to give herself a better angle to your soaked core. Her arms were looped around your thighs so she could support herself upon her elbows. She was happily face down into you with her ass up and pointed to the door. Slowly, she lapped, and slowly, she sucked, seeming to be more than content to have you as many times as she pleased. Your fingers curled in her soft hair. It was in a single haphazard braid and you didn’t feel guilty for messing it up anymore than it already was. 

A playful hum vibrated against your folds. “Even in this room I am still the Queen. If my lord husband isn’t happy with what he sees upon arrival, then, well…,” she paused, thinking. “I suppose he won’t get to play.” She returned her attention to you and your eyes rolled closed at the skill of her mouth. 

Just on the edge of your pleasure, right before you were flung into the crest, the door opened and Rhaenyra looked over her shoulder to see who would come in so rudely. The peak she’d been working you towards was gone in an instant. If you were lucky, it wouldn’t take long to reach again.

“Sȳz bantis, ābrazȳrys,” good evening wife, Daemon said softly in High Valyrian – their ancestral language a thing you still couldn’t understand. “Emare kirimves?” having fun He asked with a quirk of brow.

“Kessa,” yes she replied, grinning.

By now the door was latched and locked behind him. “Ȳdra daor ivestragī nyke keligon ao,” don’t let me stop you he said and he stepped further into the room and began to disarm and undress.

Were these two ever not horny? You thought privately to yourself. Almost daily, and sometimes multiple times a day, they coupled. You’d witnessed firsthand their sex life was far from boring – and that’s only what you’ve seen! Surely you hadn’t witnessed all that their passion could bring. 

“Ziry's mazilībagon, valzȳrys,” she’s set, husband Rhaenyra said with a glimmer you hadn’t seen in her eyes before. Her attention turned fully to you, then, a smolder behind her vibrancy. “Tonight it’s my turn to watch,” she cooed, delicately kissing your sensitive bud in departure.

A shudder ran through you at the combination of her words and lips. Could she really mean…? Was tonight the night you’d been waiting for since arriving at Dragonstone with the Rogue Prince? Excitement shot through you as Rhaenyra moved from the bed to the chair you normally sat in. Even fully nude she looked like a queen should. Poised. Regal: a glimmer of something mischievous or unhinged – perhaps both – right there behind her eyes.

Daemon, now nude, wordlessly beckoned you over. He stood at the edge of the bed: every burn and scar of his seasoned warriors' body on display in the low light of their room. You obeyed with barely any other thought in your head. The same glint as his wife's shown in his face. You were nothing but a play thing for them. A pretty little bird for them to clip and make sing. If Dragonstone – their room – were your cage, you cared little. Who would ever complain about being in service to the Black Queen and her Prince Consort?

"Kiss it," he said evenly, a bite of sternness behind his tone.

He wasn't yet hard. Even his flaccid manhood made your thighs clench. It was as handsome as the rest of him and you wasted no time in trailing warm kisses along his cock, reveling in the sensation of him growing harder beneath your attention. "Gonna let me have it all for myself tonight?" You asked, pumping along his length with a spit-slick hand. Your kisses were open mouthed and wet, tongue accompanying here and there.

"Be a good little whore and quit teasing. If you want it hard then make it hard. Stop this playing," Daemon sneered down at you, pinching your chin between thumb and forefinger to turn your eyes up to him. "Have you had a good day lazing about like a spoiled cat?" Head tilted with his question, traditional silver tresses catching moonlight. "No thoughts in your pretty head… daydreaming about being bent over and fucked. How does it feel to haven't anything to fret over?" A mock laced his tone – bitterness and amusement alike.

You merely smiled up at him. Taunting. "Boring…," you replied before taking his tip between your lips. He tasted warm and salty. Your head bobbed forward and backward as you worked him up the way you knew he liked it. Musk filled your nose and your core instantly clenched. You wanted nothing more than to have him thrusting in and out of you: claiming you, taking you, using you for his pleasure. And if you were lucky, Rhaenyra would join too.

He laughed dryly. "A spoiled little bitch." He twitched in your mouth. By now his cock was fully hardened and slobbery; your eyes glassy from need and strain. Whether prompted by your words or a wave of lust, he grabbed the sides of your arms, squeezing harshly, and maneuvered you around to his liking.

Before you could put it all together, you were on your hands and knees atop the bed with Daemon looming behind you. His cock seared your skin. You gasped wholly surprised and wanton as you looked up to where Rhaenyra still sat and watched; purple eyes alight with wickedness. "Your Grace…?" You asked, spine bending down tantalizingly to prop your ass firmer against the Rogue Prince. Lust consumed your blood and you gripped the plush bedclothes, cunt throbbing with anticipation.

"It's time for you to have your fun. And for me to have mine," she replied, lips pouting in a smile before flashing her teeth in a delighted expression. In her hand she held a phallic shaped object and you knew exactly what it was. The base portion that was meant to be held sparkled with an array of dazzling cut gemstones. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds. The toy the Black Queen meant to fuck herself with gleamed with enough wealth to buy youself a comfortable new life – and yet for her it was merely another thing. An object to use for pleasure as her husband fucked her sweet little pet. She looked at Daemon with a tilt of her head, her body lax and open for the voyeuristic experience. Whatever was shared between them was private, meant for only husband and wife, and Rhaenyra bit her bottom lip in anticipation.

Daemon’s hands gripped your hips and your heart thumped to a new high. Somewhere in the back of your mind you wondered how many other women – or men, if the rumors you'd heard of the dragon prince were true – were in this position before. Words couldn't even form on your tongue. All you could manage was a sultry connection with Rhaenyra as your eyes stayed on her. Eager. Excited. Fucking elated. 

She began circling her clit right as Daemon lined himself up with you. His tip was swollen with as much need as coursed through you, and he pushed himself into your saturated core. 

Immediately your jaw slackened with a lusty gasp. He was so big, and so thick, and so hot, that the air was forced from your lungs. He pushed deeper and your eyelids fluttered, fingers gripping into the smooth quilts. With a final flex of his hips and thighs, he was fully hilted into you. 

The weight of his torso fell over your back. "If I were any smaller you'd be loose around me, whore," he hissed by your ear, one big calloused hand palming up the length of your spine until it reached the back of your neck. He held you there, mindful of his finger placement, before dragging his hips backwards. 

You barely had time to miss the delirious stretch of him, because when he snapped forward into you, an unrestrained moan shuddered through your form. "O-oh! Yes, Daemon, please…!"

He grunted as his grip tightened around your hip, fingers sinking into the soft flesh that padded there. "Was it your Queen who got this cunt so wet? Or was it me?" He asked, the slaps of his pelvis against your asscheeks quickly filling the bedchamber. The natural clench of your body had his already hot blood boiling. The desire to relentlessly pound into you for his own high and pleasure clouded his mind. As much as he'd love to give into that primal part of himself, he wouldn't. There wasn't any fun in that. At least the kind of fun he and Rhaenyra were after.

"Both," you barely managed to say. He'd hardly been fucking you for longer than a few moments and already he had you cockdrunk and ready to drool into their expensive bedding. His pace and pressure hit you at all the right angles. You’d been with Rhaenyra and Daemon exclusively for a couple moons now, and you hadn’t the satisfaction of a cock in that time. The backs of your legs tightened. Your toes curled.

A dark laugh vibrated out from Daemon. "Look at you... already dazed out on my cock. Little slut. You don't get to finish yet," he said with a firm slap to your backside, pulling out and leaving you empty right before climax could wash over you. "Watch your Queen's perfect cunny take her toy." Pulling you by the hair at the back of your head, he turned your attention forward as he slid into you once again. His pace, while still as powerful, was slower this time. His balls slapped against your clit to add another level of obscenity to the lewdness of the night’s event.

The denial of your orgasm seemed to spur Rhaenyra on even more than she already was. The smooth leather wrap of the dildo shone with her slick. Her hips rolled in tandem with her wrist, and both were accented by her pants and whimpers of solo bliss. Pleasure relaxed her face. She grinned at both of you.

Wonderful tension coiled in the pit of your belly. Warm, and tight, and tingling, echoes of it reverberated throughout your entire body and your eyes closed with the sensations. Daemon’s grip hardly laxed, yet you still found the strength to push back against him to meet his thrusts. It was maddening. Beautifully maddening. Something – perhaps nothing – changed in his pace and the embers he’d been stoking threatened to combust. “I’m gon–... fuck, please, my prince… Don’t stop!”

Instantly, he pulled out of you and stopped. The entirety of his length was shiny with your arousal; even the hair of his groin was damp with you. He laughed when you turned your head over your shoulder to glare at him with wetted eyelashes. “You should see yourself right now. Pathetic.”

Rhaenyra’s ministrations grew hotter and sloppier, climax seeming to threaten her as well. Unlike you, she didn’t have anyone controlling the reins. The Black Queen gave into her pleasure and allowed orgasm to take her. Panting, shuddering, and glowing, she was lovely in the throes of her peak.

The squelching of her bejeweled toy sent Daemon half-feral. He flipped you over on your back, leering down at you as he squished your thighs flat against your breasts. You were bent in half and each thrust led him to the deepest parts of your cunt. You half screamed behind your hand, jolts of white hot ecstasy webbing throughout your senses as he fucked you. “Cover your mouth again and I’ll fucking smack you,” he huffed between throaty growls, relishing the sight of you and his wife alike. She was fucking herself again, greedy for more.

This had to be part of the game they were playing. The build up of your peak only to be denied at the last second… what a cruel thing to do. Emotion swam in your eyes until they were glassy from unshed tears. “Please let me come!”

Again, he pulled out from you. Again, you glared with a half sob. The muscles of your legs shook and your scalp felt fuzzy. He wasn’t going easy on you and you wondered how long he could do this before he drowned beneath a crest too. Tears pricked from the outsides of your eyes to roll behind your ears. He almost lost it right then and there. “No,” he smirked coldly. Muscles flexed and tightened as he positioned you up on your knees: his front to your back, you facing Rhaenyra, one arm holding you flush to him as the other gripped your hip. “She likes it when you cry. Let’s show her more of those pretty tears, hm?” He rasped by the shell of your ear, pushing into your overly sensitive center.

A sheen of sweat covered Rhaenyra. The fingers of her free hand played with her clit now, too, edging her bliss as long as she could.

Daemon palmed your breasts and squeezed your nipples. His pace was near brutal now; sweat slicked between your bodies through the control and exertion. “Gods… it’s too much! Please, your Grace, my prince…!” You begged through broken moans. Just as your body began shuddering against Daemon’s, he stopped all he was doing and let his cock slip out of your bullied walls. You sobbed fully this time. Tears fell down your face. Desperation washed over you. They were cruel – both of them – never had they strung you along like this.

“Poor sweet little whore. Begging and crying. It should be your Queen you’re begging to. Let’s give her one more orgasm, yeah? Then maybe she’ll let you finish on your prince’s cock.” 

As if together, Rhaenyra’s self-driven thrusts matched Daemon’s as he began taking you yet again. You couldn’t think straight. Could hardly keep your blurry eyes open. You cried out whimpered moans of their names and begged through broken syllables. It was too much. All of it was too much. Daemon’s cock felt so fucking good it took everything you could muster to not give in to your body’s primal desires.

Fresh tears clumped your eyelashes. Rhaenyra found her second climax at the sight of them. Her chest heaved with the force of it; soft abdomen rolled with the release. Creamy slick coated her dildo and her actions finally slowed before stopping; core too sensitive to take anymore.

“Come now, girl,” Daemon cooed, fingertips swiping and circling over your clit. You didn’t need to be told twice. Once your orgasm took hold of you, you nearly blacked out with its intensity. Never in your life had you experienced something like this, and if you weren't already teary you would have cried real tears with the release of such a high build up. 

Your gripping and convulsing walls were too much for the Rogue Prince, too, and he barely pulled free from your depths to release his seed into the air. Ropes of it landed atop the bedding – white against the dark material – and he groaned like a beast at your back. 

You slumped forward, wholly spent, and Daemon carefully moved from behind you. Laying on your belly you looked between Daemon and Rhaenyra, laughing. "Seven Hells… maybe next time there could be a little warning?"

Sweat and sex hung in the air and it took all of you a few moments to gather yourselves from the fervor of shared passion.

"That takes some of the fun out of it though," Rhaenyra answered after a few moments as she walked to you with a clean washcloth. She had a silk robe wrapped loosely around her. She bent to kiss your forehead. "You did very well for us tonight, little dove. If you truly wanted it to stop, you know all you needed was to say something."

"I know," you replied, cleaning yourself up. "Thank you."

"My lord husband wasn't too rough with you, was he?" She asked sincerely.

You laughed again and shook your head. "No, your Grace."

He smirked at your answer, as did Rhaenyra. "Good," she said. "We can all remember that for next time."

The three of you finished cleaning up with light-hearted chatter and soft touches. Afterwards, wine and a late night snack were shared. When sleep finally overcame you, all of you were a tangle of limbs and silk in the big bed.

-

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider a follow and reblog as I have plans to create and share more writings ♥

masterlist

taglist: to be added or removed please let me know! ♥

@melsunshine  @iiamthehybrid  @arcielee  @nina2697  @sahvlren @targaryenbrainrott @bellaisasleep @watercolorskyy @ruby-dragonn @aemonds-fire @meggiemay82 @doublesparrows @silverwinged @nikstrange @castellomargott @lost-and-founds @chompchompluke

[everyandanything]

Born a Grease thoughts that absolutely no one is asking for, but I can’t fit in the story and wanted to share with the class anyway because she passed 100k this week! (They grow up so fast 🥲).

— Darry hated looking in the mirror after he got jumped. He wasn’t vain before or anything, but he’d always thought he looked decent enough. But now he couldn’t see past all the ways he was changed: the scar across his temple where Paul hit him with the gun, the scar across his brow where they cut him with a switchblade, the way his nose was now crooked from the punch Mark threw. And that didn’t even touch the scars that littered the rest of his body. They were reminders, every last one of them, of how that night changed him, how different he was now, how dumb he’d been forever believing he could be anything other than some kid from the East Side.

— Darry had nightmares every night after he was jumped and his few nights in jail only made them worse. Soda never found out, but somehow Pony did. He tried to help Darry in whatever way he could, but Darry could be stubborn at the best of times, and this was certainly not the best of times. So all Pony could do was stand to the side and watch as his brother fell apart, and pray he’d let him help before it was too late.

— For a long time, Two-Bit was the only one who knew that Darry went to his parents’ grave every week; sometimes he’d even go out and join him. He knew that Darry needed someone alive to listen to what was going on in his life, and he also knew that those moments at his parents' grave were sacred for the older boy; Darry could admit things at Rose Hill Cemetery that he couldn’t anywhere else. Darry would kill him if he ever told his brothers, so Two-Bit kept everything he said at their graveside close to his chest and hoped that somewhere along the way Darry could finally find peace.

— Darry couldn’t be around alcohol after he got jumped, he couldn’t handle the smell, and certainly not the taste. Because it wasn’t just him who’d been drinking that night, but some of the boys that jumped him had been as well. He could smell it on their breath, hear it in the slur of their words. Whenever he caught a whiff, he was transported straight back to that night in the woods as switchblades danced across his body and he was pinned down with nowhere to go. He hid it well at first, but somehow Steve found out. He paid attention like that. One of those quiet types who listened to more than you’d think. He never touched a drop again, at least not when Darry was around. And somehow managed to keep him away when the others went for a drink, or kept Two-Bit sober whenever he stopped by the Curtis household. Darry didn’t know how he did it, and he certainly never thanked him, that wasn’t how either boy worked. But he always made sure there was a fresh cake in the fridge that he knew Steve loved, and a blanket on the couch for when his old man kicked him out.

[liulyam]

Scars that are forever a part of you.

-

a very self indulgent and specific post for me - i’ve been thinking about how these three have a bunch of similarities, one of them being the markings on their bodies as a reminder of past trauma, and their collective acceptance of who they are despite their pasts.

[cynic-spirit]

The Michelangelo

Bucky lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling of their shared bedroom. The soft, golden light of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. His mind wandered back to a night that had forever changed him, a night when he and Yn had crossed the threshold from tender affection into passionate, all-consuming love.

They had been dating for a while, their connection growing deeper with each passing day. Bucky had never known such a profound and genuine bond with anyone before. Yn's intelligence, her kindness, and the way she saw through to the very core of him had captured his heart completely. Despite the rough exterior and the dark past that came with being a mobster, Yn loved him unconditionally.

That night, they had been out for a quiet dinner at a cozy little restaurant. The evening was perfect, filled with laughter and intimate conversation. Bucky could feel the tension between them, a palpable electricity that had been building for weeks. As they walked back to Yn's apartment, their fingers intertwined, he knew that something monumental was about to happen.

When they finally stepped into her apartment, the door barely closed behind them, their lips met in a kiss that was more intense and fervent than any they had shared before. Bucky's hands, one flesh and one metal, roamed over her body, and Yn responded with equal passion. The world outside ceased to exist; it was just the two of them, lost in each other.

As they moved to the bedroom, shedding clothes and inhibitions, Bucky felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness. His past experiences had left him with insecurities, particularly about his bionic arm. But Yn had always treated him with such tenderness and respect that he felt safe with her.

In the dim light of the room, Yn's eyes sparkled with love and desire. She gently pushed him onto the bed, straddling him. Her fingers traced the lines of his chest, lingering over the scars and the metal. She looked into his eyes, her expression one of unwavering adoration.

"Bucky," she whispered, her voice soft but firm, "you are like Michelangelo's David—strong, beautiful, and perfectly imperfect."

Her words washed over him, dispelling the last of his doubts. Yn leaned down, her lips capturing his in a kiss that was both tender and fierce. As they made love for the first time, it was more passionate and intense than Bucky could have ever imagined. Yn's body moved with a rhythm that seemed to match the beating of his heart, their connection deepening with every touch, every kiss.

Throughout their lovemaking, Yn whispered poetry into his ear, her words a soothing balm to his soul. She spoke of love and strength, of finding beauty in brokenness. Her voice was like a melody, wrapping around him and holding him close.

Bucky remembered one particular line she had whispered, her breath warm against his skin: "In your arms, I find my home, a sanctuary where my heart can rest." The sincerity in her voice, the way she looked at him as if he were the most precious thing in the world, made him feel whole.

Yn was unfazed by his bionic arm, treating it with the same reverence as she did the rest of him. She kissed the metal, her lips leaving a trail of warmth that he could almost feel. It was as if she were telling him that every part of him was worthy of love, that he was complete and perfect just as he was.

As their passion reached its peak, Bucky noticed the smudges of Yn's signature red lipstick on his skin and his hands. The vibrant red against the contrast of his metal arm was a striking reminder of their fiery connection. Her lipstick was slightly smeared around her lips, a testament to the intensity of their kisses. The sight of it made him feel even more connected to her, knowing that every mark was a symbol of their love.

Their movements became more urgent, driven by a need to be as close as possible. Bucky's hands roamed over Yn's body, committing every curve, every contour to memory. She was a vision of beauty, her skin flushed with desire, her eyes dark with passion.

As they reached the peak of their pleasure, Bucky felt an overwhelming surge of emotions. Love, gratitude, and awe mingled together, leaving him breathless. Yn's name escaped his lips in a reverent whisper, and she responded with equal fervor.

In the aftermath, they lay entwined, their bodies still humming with the afterglow of their shared passion. Yn rested her head on Bucky's chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. He held her close, his heart overflowing with love and contentment.

Bucky remembered that night as one of the most transformative moments of his life. Yn had shown him a depth of love and acceptance that he had never known before. She had seen the man beneath the scars and the metal, loving him for who he was, not despite it.

As he lay in their bed, thinking back to that night, Bucky felt a profound sense of gratitude. Yn had changed his life in ways he could never have imagined, and he knew that he would spend the rest of his days cherishing and loving her with everything he had.

Turning to look at Yn, who was now peacefully sleeping beside him, Bucky leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I love you, Yn," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "More than you'll ever know."

In that quiet moment, with the memory of their first night together lingering in his mind, Bucky knew that he had found his home, his sanctuary, in Yn's arms.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #54: Bad Night

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery, (past) vampire whumper, sleep deprivation, paranoia, self deprecation, body image issues about scars, past loss of bodily autonomy, begging

Whumpmas in July Day 27: Unstable

another check-in with this guy in his own recovery arc

-

Jim always got worse at night.

In the daytime, it was a little easier. Kane couldn't get to him then, so he didn't have to worry as much. But in the night, Kane could come back for him easily. He hadn't even been far from here when Kane got him the first time, only a few blocks away.

He laid in bed with the lights on and his hands wrapped around the stake, imagining Kane checking each house one-by-one until he finds him- or worse, finds Liz in the same house. Not even needing to enter them to check, knowing him by the familiar smell of his blood. The delicious blood stuck inside Jim's body forever, always marking him as Kane's.

He got out of bed and began to pace, too paranoid to sleep. He still wasn't fully used to sleeping in the night and being awake in the daytime, anyway. It didn't feel natural like it used to.

Jim opened and closed his bedroom door, just to make sure he wasn't locked inside.

It was ridiculous, wasn't it? At Kane's, he lived under a blanket of fear, but it was almost never this intense. Aside from his nightly bites, sharp fangs painfully piercing his neck that he'd gotten used to long ago, Kane had hardly bothered him at all for the last two years. The beatings had tapered off when Jim started behaving.

He was just trapped in the human quarters, and could trust reasonably well that he wouldn't be hurt again until the next night. Always at the same time, always in the same way, stable and predictable. Nothing was predictable now. Kane could come at any moment and make good on his threat, bring him back to a world of pain, and he'd never see it coming.

Jim hated himself for it, but sometimes he wished he were back, that he'd never left. Just so he wouldn't have to be so scared. Since he ran, it felt like every night was a copy of the one he'd spent huddled under a bush in the woods of vampire territory, half-dead and shivering. Like having the thought that he'd give up his freedom for a sip of water just that once had planted a seed in his mind that wouldn't stop growing.

He shook his head, like it could clear the thought from his mind. He didn't want to be back, he didn't. He liked being free. He couldn't stand anything else.

Jim left the suffocating confines of his room and headed to the bathroom to splash water on his face. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, ugly scars emblazoned on his neck, where they would remain for the rest of his life. Liz said they weren't ugly, his friends even helpfully supplied badass, but he knew the truth.

A painful reminder of who his body really belonged to.

He threw a towel over the mirror so the sullen face in it disappeared, heading downstairs with his stake still clutched in one hand.

"Can't sleep?" Liz asked. She was carving something, a hobby she'd apparently gotten into while he'd been away.

"Bad night," he muttered, checking the fridge.

"No drinking on bad nights," she reminded him, a concerned strain darkening her voice, one she only ever seemed to get with him.

Jim wanted to protest that she couldn't make rules for him. He was out, he was free. But he couldn't bring himself to say no. Even though he knew Liz would never hurt him like Kane did, he couldn't get the sinking feeling that accompanied any rule-breaking to go away.

Besides, Liz's rules were reasonable, and she never hurt him for breaking them. He knew she was right, that he probably would have slipped into a worse place without the rules.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He grabbed a distinctly non-alcoholic soda and sat next to her, the table dusted with curls of wood. "What'cha making?"

"A little duck." Liz smiled, turning it around to show a lump of wood with the vague shape of a duck beginning to take form. "Just started it, no judging. You wanna hang out?"

"Yeah." Jim balanced the stake in his elbow and popped the tab, listening to it fizz. Soda always used to be flat by the time it got to him, since they didn't make it in vampire territory and Kane had to order it special whenever he put it on the list. He'd stopped listing it when he realized that vampires must be stealing it from some poor schmucks just trying to work a register and scaring the shit out of them, or worse.

"It'll get better," Liz promised. "You're safe now, it's all uphill from here. I know it sucks."

"Mm-hm." Jim quietly sipped his soda, sweet and crisp. He wondered how his blood tasted when Kane drank it every night. He wondered if it was like this. Kane never left his mind at night anymore, like he was haunted.

Liz shaved another little piece of wood off the duck with her knife. "It'd be good for you to get some more sleep at night, though. You're better awake during the day. You could try going to the doctor for it?"

"No more doctors," he grumbled.

They sat in silence for a moment, aside from the scraping of Liz's blade against the wood.

"You're making that face you do when you're trying to figure out how to say something in the best way to get what you want," Jim noted, unable to keep away a small smile despite his bleak mood and creeping paranoia. "Just say it."

Liz put the duck down. "There's other kinds of doctors. Ones who could help you. Y'know." She tapped the handle of her knife against her head. "Therapy."

The smile vanished from his face. "I don't need therapy. I thought you were just gonna push the sleep stuff again."

"Jim, you were abused." Liz said it with such an air of importance that it almost felt like she was talking about something else entirely, like it hadn't just been his everyday life. "You need help. And I just- I don't know how to help you like that. I hate seeing you hurt like this."

Jim shrugged. "Lots of people get abused."

"It helped me. The hunters put me in therapy when the vampire took you. And then maybe you wouldn't, I don't know, be going on two nights without sleep because you're too afraid it's gonna come back for you," she insisted. "Maybe you could actually start to feel better."

"That does sound better," he admitted, even though it also sounded impossible. "I just dunno if I'm really up for it. The talking about it and shit."

She looked at him incredulously. "You talked about it on television literally three weeks ago."

"That's different! They just wanna know basically what happened." Jim imagined someone asking him how he feels about it, grimacing. "They don't wanna know the really bad parts. They just want good TV. They mostly just wanna talk about the escape." He sighed. "Plus... listen, there aren't any magic words out there some schmuck with a master's degree can say that are gonna make it better. There really aren't."

Liz picked her duck back up. "Just think about it."

"I will," he promised. He could do that at least. Fantasize about a la la land in which some psychological regimen could fix him.

"I saw you've been journaling, though. That's good. Even if you think you can't talk to someone about it, you can just write it for yourself," she added encouragingly.

Jim looked down at his hands. "Oh. Uh, that's not really-" He backed out at the last second. "Yeah. Journaling."

"Okay. You can talk about it when you're ready."

Later that night, Jim went back to his room and pulled his journal out. It wasn't journaling, what he was doing, not really. He wasn't even sure if it was helping or hurting him, but it was more important than that. It was practice.

Kane Master, please please please please please don't break my ankles. I'm sorry I ran. I won't do it again. I've learned my lesson. I won't fight, I'll come back and I'll behave for real this time. I just wanted to go home one last time I'm sorry. Just Please give me one more chance, sir. I'll be perfect this time. It'll be just like before. Whatever you want. Please

He snapped the book shut as the sun rose, some of the fear ebbing away as the light filtered through the window. Maybe now that Kane couldn't get him, just for a little bit, he could sleep.

-

i just wanted to put a disclaimer here that jim calling his scars "ugly" is his own baggage, and something he eventually grows out of. scars are never shameful, and every body is beautiful.

also kane will be in the next chapter, i promise

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event: @whumpmasinjuly