#and he's still as beautiful as the day i lost him

[bnyf]

╭﹕୨୧﹒ yandere pirate x willing mermaid reader ♡

┊ warnings : yandere content and themes, unhealthy behaviors, relationship and relationship dynamic, suggestive, stalkholm syndrome, kidnapping, size difference

╰﹕୨୧﹒ authoress note : requested ♡ still having trouble writing smut but i'll get there! thank you anon for requesting apologies for how long this took ^_^

greedy fucking man. so, so greedy. he's so manly too. such an earthly being with all his earthly cravings. him and his men, moving from island to island to plunder every village and kingdom of it's golds, treasures and riches.

god, men were such pleasure bonded creatures. men are greedy.

and yet you admired them, and yet you loved them, wanted to be like them, walk in their shoes. you had no idea just how cruel men were. but you were about to find out.

you'd always swim up to the surface to watch humans, to study and observe what they were like. sure, your father had told you all the tall tales about how horrible humans were, yet you choose not to believe him. foolish.

worst yet, you wanted to be like those beings, which scared your father and made him ban you from going on the syrface again. but when did a dumb little fish like you ever listen to the echos of the back of the hallow head of yours? better yet, those who know better like your father?

exactly. that's why your now his property.

whomst? you may ask? the very same greedy pirate, that barbaric man, that your father warned you about.

you were not supposed to be on the surface, espcially at night. but you wanted to spy on the pirates who'd crashed in for the night. pirates don't usually park there boats up on land but when they do, it's probably to plot a raid.

and then little ole you got carried away, trying to steal a few goods from the humans when you were shamelessy caught by no other than the crew's captain. a large, muscular, bulk of a man. his eyes gave everything away though, those dark orbs held nothing but humanly desire and evil in them.

"well, well, well," his barren of a voice rumbled from his chest, speaking to you in a low tone. "are you lost, little mermaid? shh, it's alright dear, i won't hurt a sweet little thing like you. i promise. but, i won't return you either, since you're in my territory, you belong to me. finders keepers, amiright?"

he snatched you up like nothing and dragged you even further away from the ocean. and you helplessly wiggled in his grasp. from then on, he ordered his men to build a little portal fish tank, just good enough for you to fit and swin from point A to point B.

you were restricted heavily, being only allowed to see him and speak to him. any crewmate who dares hold any sort of interaction with you would be slaughtered mercilessly and their body thrown overboard. to say the captain was infatuated with you would be a mere understatment. that man wanted to curl up into your mind and preoccupy it 24/7.

you were treated like a pet. fed, bathed, and completely taken care of, all your needs and wants were meet each time, all you had was to do was say it and he'd present it. he has too much gold, jewels, diamonds, lavish silks, treasures, ect. anyways. he doesn't like sharing but now with his littld mermaid darling here? he might as well rip out his heart and present it to you. he wants to share his entire life with you, and hopefully you'd want that too right?

his words like poison, his calloused hands that have killed to many to count always wrapped around you, those insane eyes drinking you down like a gold glass of water on a sunny day, and his long beautiful unkept hair, braids messt and all tickling your face.

his voice made you wonder if he were a siren in disguise.

"have you had enough for the evening darling? or is your appetite insatiable like mines?" he cracked a chuckle, his lips touching your ears. that man did not care if he was wetting his clothes everytime he had to get phsyical with you. and that meant two things actually, if you know what i mean~

you of course noded. at this point you've accepted this and have become completely compliant. you were strange to him. sure. women would fling themselves at him, he had no qualms with getting laid but you? you were confused, then curious, now complaint and it made him wonder if you wanted this all along.

it made him confident actually. he didn't hold back to be weird, touchy or crazy over you. because you liked it, right? you loved when his hands roamed your body, when he explored you, his crazy words like "if you dare look at another man on this boat i'll punish you serverly... after i've killed that motherfucker of course."

and

"you belong to me, you're sole purpose is to bear my children, entertain me, and enjoy all the amazing pleasures this world has to offer. do you understand? if you do, say 'yes husband'."

and you did. you nod in agreement to him and uttered those words like it was nothing. he loved you for that. he didn't have to do to much to break you, you were already broken to begin with.

but he wanted to see just how far gone you were... so, one lovely midnight, after a harsh day of pirate work (read: plundering, killing, raiding, conquring all that belonged to him, rightfully.) your beloved husband took you to the sea for the first time in ages, watching you seemlessly swim about as your scales on your tail shimmer like diamonds in the pale moonlight, and that beautiful iridescent color shines through it, as though it's almost transparent. he can see through your lower half a little like an angel fish.

he only marvels at your wonderfulness. but when you swam up to him, placing your hand on his beating chest and looking up at him with nothing but love and admiration. something in him just... snapped. you were so much smaller than him, most your body mass being your tail. his strong arms reach for your waist his mind was going insane with lust. a beautiful being like yourself had such feelings for him despite the fact that he kidnapped you and kept you away from society.

was it stalkholm syndrom?... well, whatever it was now he knew for sure you were just as insane as him and it wasn't just fear why you were complyubg to him.

there was no formalities whatsoever. not even a plain subtle kiss, he straight on kissed your lips and stuck his tongue inside your mouth. a wet, messy make out session before you'd feel his length poking you.

it will be an entirely long night for you both.

[cheeseceli]

Husband Felix

Pairing: Lee Felix × Gn!reader

Genre: fluff, headcanons

Request: Can you do husband Felix too? I love your fluff concepts

Warnings: mentions of food, physical touch, non sexual nudity (shower) and he's an idol

A/n: well this is very delusional lmao | daily click

Chan ver. | Felix ver.

Fiancé!Felix who spent the entire night previous the wedding on facetime with you, talking about how excited he was

Groom!Felix who 100% cried the day of your wedding (and he cried more than once)

Groom!Felix who had a whole speech ready for you

Groom!Felix who forgets said speech and just says the most beautiful and genuine vows ever, it all coming from deep of his heart

Groom!Felix who wants to dance with you the entire party

Groom!Felix who seems like he's spacing out at times, but really he's just admiring you in all your glory

Husband!Felix who couldn't be happier the morning after the wedding when he woke up and realised that it wasn't a dream, and that you actually married him

Husband!Felix who is very excited to see what future is going to look like

Husband!Felix who makes the process of moving in together the funniest and most memorable ever

Husband!Felix who is not scared of showing everyone how much he loves you

Husband!Felix whose love language is physical touch

Husband!Felix who even seems a little uncomfortable if he's not touching you, like he's a little bit lost

Husband!Felix who loves to take showers with you, with no second intention

Husband!Felix who always do tiktok trends for couples with you lmao

Husband!Felix who bakes literally all the time for you

Husband!Felix who lets post-it s on your fridge whenever he needs to leave too early or too late for work and doesn't want to wake you up

Husband!Felix who wants to travel the entire world with you

Husband!Felix who always take pictures of flowers he sees during tour, sad he can't give them to you, but wants you to seem em nevertheless

Husband!Felix who always takes you everywhere he possibly can imagine of, the company even gave up on telling him that he can't do that

Husband!Felix who forgets all his media training when it comes to you and is always talking about you to Stay

Husband!Felix who is your biggest supporter and is always there for when you need or simply want him

Husband!Felix who always asks you to paint his hair

Husband!Felix who calls you every time he feels frustrated or sad, because he knows you'll be there to comfort him

Husband!Felix who confesses his love to you randomly, just because

Husband!Felix who adopted a dog with you

Husband!Felix who still makes a lot of pick up lines almost as he's trying to win you over,even though you're literally married

Husband!Felix who still can't believe his luck

Husband!Felix who sees you as home

Husband!Felix who thank God every single day for being able to marry you

Masterlist | you'll probably like: boyfriend san

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @dandelions-143 @sleepyleeji @jinnie-ret @sheraayasherrecs @rockstarkkami @urlocalmultigroupfan @aeinzzzketchup

Dividers by @saradika-graphics | images 1, 2 and 3

[mairon-goth-minion]

so I took some liberties with the prompt whoops word count: 1542

I remember the day I first met Cain like it was yesterday. It was a coincidence, as his parents took him to a ball the instant he turned eighteen despite his being sick. The same ball I attended after I’d just finished my training. He was young, I was younger and I was foolish, but foolishness is a trait shared by most seventeen years old, I believe. Nevertheless, not knowing who he was, not knowing that his station was far above mine and that he was not the son of a knight as I was but the heir to a duchy, I approached him.

Despite his feeble demeanor, he��� shone. Was it his golden locks, falling as a river down to his waist? Was it his emerald eyes, brighter than any jewel I’d ever seen? Both? I do not know.

So I went towards him. At first, he looked surprised to see someone reaching out. Did he not know just how beautiful he was? His first words to me were “‘Who are you?’” ‘Hector of Redenbrough, but you can call me Hector. Or Hec. Whichever you prefer.’ I grinned. ‘Hector…’ he said, his voice but a whisper. ‘I am Cain.’

At first, I had believed that the lack of last name came from an embarrassment on his behalf, and had believed him to be born in a rather low station. I could not have been more wrong.

‘Well, Cain, will you offer me this dance?’ I could have asked anyone else, but I didn’t want to. It was all about Cain, and it always has been ever since. His cheeks flushed, he took my hand. It was plainly obvious that he’d never danced before, but I gently led him. I did not care about the amount of times he stepped on my foot. He was too light for it to hurt. It was a happy moment.

The second time we met, he was twenty five, and still terribly sick. A gaunt, pale thing. His father had passed and he had become the Duke of Sulinard, as well as my superior. I think that he recognized me, when he looked at the legions of knights standing in front of him, kneeling. Why else would he have chosen me to be his bodyguard? Was it a coincidence?

I remember the surprise that I’d felt that day, both because of learning his identity as one of the most powerful men in the Kingdom and because I was selected amongst so many others.

“‘Congrats, Hec!’” were words I heard many times, and I remember getting drunk in a tavern with friends, celebrating my new position.

It was a year later that things began growing sour. Cain’s health was rapidly declining, as were my hopes.

See, Cain and I had become friends. I don’t think that he ever had anyone to talk to before I came along and took him to the dance floor, and I didn’t mind spending my days talking with the most intelligent and beautiful person I’d ever met. He fascinated me. He was gentle and frail, but held within him an infinite curiosity for the world, and I could have spent my entire life merely watching Cain talk of things he’d read in his books. So when he was too weak to leave his bed, I became desperate.

I knew that his illness had no cure, and what could I, a mere knight, do when his rich family had tried everything? Well, there are certain things that desperate men will do when all hope seems lost that not even the vilest of humans would even consider. I made a pact with a vampire.

Following rumors and whispers, and after months of research, I found Hara in a small shepherd’s village, where she fed off of sheep. She was starving, and I offered her my blood in exchange for Cain’s life.

Hara didn’t want to, at first, having promised herself never to kill, but I was a desperate fool, and I would have done anything for Cain. So she drank, and drank, and drank, for the first time in her life. I think that she would have drank all of my blood had I not stopped her. When I brought her to Sulinard, Cain was on his deathbed. I was nearly too late. Everyone had lost hope, and he laid on the cold sheets alone with no one by his side.

I took his icy hand, pressing it to my lips, tears staining my cheeks as Hara sank her teeth into his neck. Was I a monster for doing this to him? After all, I had condemned him to an eternity of thirst for my selfish desire to remain by his side.

When she was done, Hara turned to me, grief in her eyes. ‘You know what you made me do, don’t you?’ ‘I do.’ ‘He will never forgive you.’ ‘I do not care if he hates me for ever, as long as I can see him smile one last time.’ I was compelled to honesty. ‘I do not care whether or not he lives an existence of misery, if it means that I know that he breathes still.’ ‘You condemn him to a life of shadows.’ ‘I know.’ ‘He will be hated.’ ‘I know.’ ‘He will be alone.’ ‘I know.’ Hara shook her head, furious. ‘You are the true monster here.’ ‘I know.’ She left, and I never saw her again. Perhaps she still feeds on sheep in faraway villages.

When Cain woke up, I cried of joy. My master had opened his eyes. ‘Hector? Wh- Why am I alive?’ When I told him what had happened, I saw horror in his eyes. ‘You did what?’ His voice was sharper than my sword, and I nearly flinched. ‘You are an undying, My Lord.’ ‘No,’ he said, crestfallen, looking truly afraid. The fear was soon replaced by a glorious fury I’d never seen before in his eyes. ‘WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?’ ‘I couldn’t lose you.’ Grief flooded in his eyes as I said those words. ‘So I will be the one to lose you?’ Clenching my teeth, I nodded. ‘No,’ he whispered once more as the room became suddenly dark. ‘You will remain by my side, Hector, and you may never leave it.’ Shadows twirled all around us, lashing at my skin, leaving red bleeding wounds, but I did not scream nor feel any pain, too lost was I in his eyes, darker than the void of a starless night. ‘Magnificent…’ I murmured as the shadows tore open my chest and entered my heart. It was more pain than I’d ever felt before, shooting through my body as poisoned needles in my veins, and I screamed and screamed and screamed, crying of pain. Yet through this I laughed. I was happy that it was Cain who was hurting me. What a sick and twisted monster I am.

When I opened my eyes, I was in his bed, blood covering the sheets, and he was standing next to me, his clothes and mouth tainted red. Whose blood was it? I would have said mine had my flesh not been completely void of scars or wounds. I soon learned that it was the other members of this household whom he had killed. His mother, his sister, his servants, all of them. I did not mourn any. All that mattered was that Cain was still standing.

The shadows apparently had left a black mark on me, on the back of my neck. As long as he lived, I would too, and I was to belong to him forever. I was the happiest man alive.

For centuries, I stood by his side, as his bodyguard, as his friend, as his companion. I killed any person daring to try and harm him, and I did whatever he asked of me.

I am different than I was. At first, I remained a proud knight despite my belonging to a vampire, only slaying in duels or war. But now? I am no better than an animal. When I fight, it is no longer as a knight. I am a dog, a vicious one, a dog that’s lived for centuries by his master’s side. When I fight, it’s with my teeth and nails, in alleyways where no one can see the bodies of those whom I mutilate.

Cain still resents me, I think. He sent me to war many times. I have seen horrors. I have seen trenches of blood. I have seen the loss of faith. I have seen what Men can do when they let go of morals. Cain resents me but still he loves me, sharing with me his bed and body.

“‘Who are you?’” His words from a distant past echo in my ears, sometimes. Today, my answer would be ‘I am yours’.

You are the knight bodyguard of a vampire, but as the centuries went by it became less and less noble. Now you're mostly just a glorified servant, and when you fight it is not an honourable duel, it's shanking someone in an alleyway.

[odileeclipse]

hii! could you do a smc x fem!reader x vp (poly bcs why not) who wears a kimono always bcs of her culture and could you possibly write their reaction to reader wearing casual clothes for just one day? ty!! a mini scenario and some hcs will do

The absence of your kimono’s weight feels almost unnatural, like stepping onto a stage without a costume. Even though you chose this, the shift is unsettling. You pause at the doorway, fingers twitching slightly at the unfamiliar fabric against your skin. Pure Vanilla Cookie is the first to notice, his eyes widening just a fraction before softening into something unreadable tender, but thoughtful. He closes the book in his lap without a word, standing up and approaching you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “You…” His voice is barely above a whisper, reverent in a way that makes your stomach twist. Then, as if remembering himself, he exhales a quiet chuckle. “You look beautiful.” He reaches out, fingertips brushing the sleeve of your clothes not judging, just feeling, as if confirming you’re real. “Does it feel alright?” His concern isn’t about the change itself, but about you. Before you can answer, laughter spills from the shadows, light and almost mocking. “Well, well, well.” Shadow Milk Cookie lounges against his staff, a smirk curling his lips. “Has the grand illusionist finally cast aside their veil? Or is this just another trick?” He paces around you, slow and deliberate, like a cat circling something just out of reach. “I have to say, I never imagined I’d see you like this. It’s… disorienting.”

He tilts his head, studying you with his ever-watchful, mismatched eyes. Then, in a hushed whisper, he leans in close. “You look like someone I could almost mistake for ordinary.” The way he says it like it’s some kind of inside joke, a riddle only he understands sends a shiver down your spine. Pure Vanilla sighs, shaking his head but smiling nonetheless. “Shadow Milk, must you always be so dramatic?” “Must you always be so predictable?” Shadow Milk Cookie retorts with an easy grin. “Come now, I was the one blindsided today. Don’t I deserve a moment of theatrical grief?” You roll your eyes, finally finding your voice. “It’s just for today.” “Ah, so the stage resets tomorrow. Good, good.”

“But, I must admit… seeing you like this? I do like surprises.” His smile is sharp but genuine, like he’s enjoying this new puzzle you’ve given him. Pure Vanilla squeezes your hand, anchoring you in the moment. “No matter what you wear,” he says softly, “you’re still you. And I’ll always love you.” Shadow Milk Cookie hums, expression unreadable. “Hmm. I’d say something similar, but that would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?” Even as he teases, there’s something else in his gaze, something thoughtful, almost possessive. He won’t admit it, but he likes knowing he’s seen you like this when no one else has.

Head canons

💛 Pure Vanilla Cookie

Doesn’t hesitate to reassure you. His first reaction isn’t shock it’s deep admiration.

Gently asks if you feel okay, not because he dislikes the change, but because he wants to know if you’re comfortable.

Loves the beauty of tradition but also loves seeing you explore new things.

If you’re uncertain, he’ll remind you, “You’re still yourself, and that’s what matters.”

His favorite thing isn’t the clothes it’s you.

🃏 Shadow Milk Cookie

Immediately makes a show of it. You’ve given him something new to latch onto, and he will not waste the opportunity.

Theatrical grief? Oh, absolutely. “My dear, I feel as though I have lost something irreplaceable!”

Won’t admit he actually thinks you look good at least, not outright.

The idea of you stepping outside of expectations? He loves it. You’ve intrigued him all over again.

A/N I finally got around to proof reading this enjoy <3

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 4

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use (WC: 4.1k) A special thanks to @sixpennydame for her help on this chapter.

( Previous chapter / Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

Your eyes lock with his. Amber light kisses half of his face, placing the shadows under his eyes in the spotlight. They seem more present the nights before expeditions.

He raises a brow, as if asking, ‘what demons are you running from?’

“I draw,” your voice fills the silence. “Nights before expeditions. It helps me clear my head.”

.

.

.

The first memory Levi has of his mother is him combing through her long, black hair.

Not many could keep long hair in the Underground. The lack of sun exposure, for one, made it hard to keep healthy hair. And if not that, the lice usually did it. When it struck a brothel, women and men either found a way to kill those nasty fuckers or they were forced to shave their hair and wear cheap wigs instead.

And yet, his mother did manage. It was one of the things that drew men to her—Olympia and her hair that shone like midnight.

Kuchel’s hair was black, and it did, at times, seem to be made of darkness itself. Only, it was none of the misery found in the shadows of the Underground. Instead, it felt more like the darkness found in the night sky. Liquid starlight. Levi remembers running his fingers through her hair, marveling at the contrast of it against the paleness of his skin. 

Yes, Kuchel Ackerman’s hair was beautiful. Elegant, even.

When she died, people often told Levi he was her spitting image. He doesn’t know about that—he often wonders whether people only said this out of pity, a handout to somehow assuage his grief, or whether they truly meant it. But Levi supposes that if he inherited something, it is his mother’s hair. He has a decent amount of it, thick and dark, and when he runs his hand through it, he feels a little part of his mother in him.

Beyond that, he is different.

Levi has known for a long time that he is nothing special to look at. He’s boyish, nothing like the people Levi’s met over the years. Men and women alike, born with just the right set of genes and under the right circumstances. Levi’s not like that, and that’s just fine by him. He’s not a self-conscious man, after all; he knows his value. 

Still, the question begs to be asked: knowing all of this, why do you choose him as your subject today?

Levi looks up from his reading, considering this very question. Early morning is in full bloom, and Levi’s sitting around the table on the porch, enjoying his first tea of the day while reading the newspaper—two activities he’s neglected these past minutes. 

He’s been too busy pretending not to see you hiding your sketchbook.

What are you even hiding it for? You’re not fooling anyone. If your seated position—a blanket draped around your knees, tools tucked behind both—wasn’t a dead giveaway, your face certainly is. It always carries an intensity to it whenever you draw. Tight, puckered lips, like you were extorting all the pressure to the center of your face. A crinkling of concentrated brows. Vivid eyes, sharp with focus.

Levi reels all his restlessness in his fists. He should not interrupt you. He will not.

This is, as far as Levi is aware, the first time you are picking up a pencil in the last three years. The first time you show an interest in getting back into drawing at all, in fact, in the time since the Rumbling.

Which explains why Levi’s frozen like a statue, scared to pop this moment.

Don’t say anything, he tells himself. Don’t fucking ruin it for her.

Levi remembers the first time he caught you drawing like this. It was an evening before an expedition, one of the first ones that followed Isabel’s and Furlan’s deaths. Everyone huddled around the campfire, but you sat alone. He’d approached you then, the loner he was, seeking your presence like a moth to a flame. He remembers that look you wore when he caught you—wide eyes and parted lips. You thought he’d come to judge, to call you a creep for drawing others.

Instead, Levi asked if he could watch.

(Later, he would even tell you the hard truth—to keep on doing what you did, because this was the only way to immortalize every face, that many men and women in your drawings would not come back.)

From there on, Levi would often catch you drawing here and there. Cadets, squad leaders, horses—no subject seemed out of reach. He remembers Hange even trying to convince you to draw titans on a particular expedition (“Unfortunately, Hange, I think drawing a real-life titan, while also on a moving horse, would end in my untimely death.” “Boo…”).

You loved to draw and Levi loved to watch.

They say an artist’s gaze is alluring, and while Levi can agree your eyes have this magnetic way of pulling him in, there’s another thing Levi loves to watch.

It’s your hands. With them, you draw lines on paper. With them, you bring tenderness and kindness. With them, you heal people.

Recently, Levi's started to wonder how your hands would feel on him. The memories of last night are still on his mind; Levi remembers just how close you got to him.

“Hey, what do you think Erwin and Hange would be doing if they were with us?” your voice cuts through the silence.

Levi’s gaze widens slightly as he meets your lifted stare. He’s unsure if he heard you correctly. 

But no… he did. 

And Levi finds himself at a loss for words. 

This is the first time you’ve brought up this subject—brought them up. It isn’t that Levi doesn’t want to talk about Erwin and Hange, but he doesn’t remember the last time he could talk about anyone from his past. He thinks the 104th sometimes walks on eggshells around him, as if bringing names up might summon a curse best left forgotten.

But he supposes, if anyone would want to talk about the Survey Corps veterans, it would be you.

He’s grateful that it’s you.

“Erwin,” Levi finds his voice again, clearing his throat, “Erwin would bury himself in knowledge. That know-it-all would probably run the local library by now.”

“Ohh, good one. See, I would have bet on him becoming a teacher, but now that you mention that, well, I change my mind.”

Levi makes a humming sound, imagining Erwin following in his father’s footsteps. Fitting, certainly.

“He could do both,” Levi suggests.  

“He could do both—no! He would do both.”

An excited smile graces your lips then, just as you focus back on your sketchbook. The low morning light catches the scar on your face, and Levi thinks he would love to trace over it with his fingertips, to bestow softness where there was once pain.

“Erwin would have books from everywhere, I’m sure of it,” you continue with a bubbly tone. “He’d have an entire collection of it.”

“Yeah, his home would be a real mess.”

You snort, raising a brow at him. “You’d help him sort it out, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck no.” Levi scrunches his nose, remembering how often he used to clean after Hange and Erwin. “Erwin would need to learn to clean once and for all—or find someone to do it for him. Until then, I’m not stepping foot into his house.”

“Tough love, huh? Well... that just means he’d have an excuse to come here then, to enjoy the porch the way we are now.”

“Mm.”

“What kind of book do you reckon he’d be reading?”

Levi shrugs with one arm. “You’d know better. You were a designated member of his precious book club.”

You roll your eyes. “It was hardly a bookclub; we were four people.”

“At one point, you met every Sunday evening. That’s a book club to me.”

You tilt your head, amusement gleaming in your eyes. “You know, some might call knowing so much about a bookclub you’re not a part of rather unsettling, ‘Vi.”

“Please.” Levi crosses his arms over his chest, shooting you a look. “You just wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“That’s because we always hoped you’d join on your own. We all considered you our non-official member, you know.” Amusement flashes across your face as you seemingly scour past memories. “Like... a grumpy mascot, or something.”

Levi clicks his tongue, shaking his head dismissively.

Silence falls. Levi takes to watching the horizon. This side of the house with the porch faces the ocean; it’s just a few minutes walk to the beach from here. Today, Levi can tell that the waves are calm, that the tide is low; he can’t make out the sound of water. 

“What about Hange, then?”

Levi’s gaze focuses back on you as you ask this question; you’ve placed your bare feet on the chair, one arm looped around your knees and propping your chin on it.

“I think Hange would’ve poured themselves into modern inventions,” you say. “They only got to see some of Marley’s technology, but Kopon’s nation is more advanced, so I’m sure they would have wanted to go there... or at least see what remains of it.” 

Levi thinks if Hange’s life hadn’t been cut short, that they would have followed in Onyonkopon’s footsteps and ended up working on those damn flying machines. They showed such an interest for trains and moving vehicles—something Levi could never understand. Flying seems like the natural next step. 

He tells you as much.

“Walls, you’re right," you say. "We’d look up at the sky and see one of their inventions. I’m sure about it.”

“Yeah,” Levi suspects there’s fondness in his tone just about now, “we would.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, where Levi can just admire the sky and the clouds and you. He thinks this exact view would make a nice subject for a drawing—if he could draw.

It might be this realization that causes him to speak up, “Hey…”

“Mm?

“What are you hiding for?”

Your eyes fleet up, at first surprised, before melting away into a sheepish expression. You lift a hand to scratch the back of your neck, like Levi catching you hiding your sketchbook was somehow shameful. 

“You noticed, huh?”

“Hard to miss,” Levi mutters, brows scrunching low, “you’re shit at hiding.”

“Hey!”

“Face the truth, Adler. I’m half-blind and even I noticed.”

“You say that like you’re not one of the most perceptive people I know... I’m pretty sure you’re still leagues above everyone else.” You take to tapping the eraser side of the pencil against the arms of the seat. When you glance back at him, your expression softens. “Fine, you caught me. I was drawing you. But... well. It’s just that you’re easy to draw, Levi. Drawing you feels… natural, I guess. Always did.”

At that, Levi doesn’t have a reply. There’s a burning sensation forming in his belly, a flutter that’s close to panic, only he knows it is not quite that.

“Sorry,” you say, “does it... does it bother you? I can stop.”

“It’s fine…” this time, Levi is the one to glance away, heat prickling at his cheeks, “though I don’t know why you do it.”

A light breeze picks up his bangs; he gets a whiff of salt and sand.

“I guess I never told you before, but… you’ve always been a good subject.” Levi’s eyes flicker onto you, finding you glancing at your sketchbook with a gentle expression. “See, everyone always thought of you as this emotionless soldier, but… I never saw you like that. Those evenings when you’d sit by the fire and read, or stare into the flames, there was always... something slipping through the cracks.”

“... Something.”

“Yeah. Something.”

“And now?” Levi’s voice sounds hoarse to his ears. What he’d give for loud waves to muffle his words, for him to fall deep below waters. “Why draw me now?”

“And now… and now it seems like the easiest thing. Muscle memory, you know? My emotions are easier on paper than they are in my head.”

A ball forms in Levi’s throat. He wants to ask you about what sort of emotions you’re trying to make sense of, but saying those words seems unwise right now. Impossible, some might even say. 

“Keep on drawing, then,” is all he manages. 

For the rest of the morning, Levi lives something he never thought he’d experience again: you peacefully drawing while he savors the quiet morning. 

.

.

.

“Stay safe,” you tell him by the stables. You’re geared up for the expedition, your horse’s reins in hand.

Levi says nothing, but he squeezes your shoulder to convey his own words: Don’t die.

.

.

.

“Marigolds, periwinkles, carnations. These flowers will go right here, here, and… here. What do you think, ‘Vi?”

Levi squints, trying to ignore the glare in his eyes cast by the sun. He follows your delicate finger, pointing to spots in the garden, filled with different colors and scents.

“Looks fine to me,” Levi mutters.

You hum, placing a marker beside each plot of turned soil.

As promised, Levi is helping you decide what to plant where today. Ever since lunch, the two of you have been treating the space like a canvas that’s yours to fill—sectioning the land, preparing the soil, uprooting and transplanting potted flowers out of their containers, assigning them to specific spots of dirt. 

“I picked these flowers because they’re supposed to be good for beginners.” You roll your shoulders back as you shrug off your stiff crouching position. “I wonder if they’ll thrive.”

Levi makes a noncommittal noise in response, not knowing the answer to that question. He shifts his weight from one leg to another, trying to ignore the way his shirts clings to his skin. 

On account of the warm weather today, Levi has rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. He’s currently trying to ignore the urge to scratch at the red spots darting across his forearms—rashes from an overexposure of sun. Levi knows he ought to go back inside, but he stays rooted to his spot. He tells himself it’s because he promised to help, though he knows you’d chastise him if you noticed the state of his skin.    

He slides his sleeves back down before you notice. 

“They look like every other flower to me,” he finally declares, eying the delicate petals between your fingers, “fragile.”

“Well, flowers are more vulnerable than other plants, I’ll give you that. But you gotta trust in the process, right?”

“It’s not a question of trust,” Levi places a hand on his hip, attempting to fan himself using the edge of his shirt, “just trying to manage your expectations in case they die.”

“Whatever for?”

“So you don’t end up all pouty and sad.” 

You snort. “I won’t. We used to grow herbs near the infirmary back on Paradis, remember? Sure it’s not much different.”

Levi isn’t so sure about that, but he doesn’t say a thing to refute your observations. What does he know about growing things, anyway? All he’s ever seen of flowers is how they’re placed on graves. 

His peripheral vision catches you glancing up at him. Something akin to fondness flashes in your eyes, and Levi inextricably looks away. There’s a smudge of dirt streaked across your cheek, he noticed earlier. He has to urge to smudge it off of you, at least to inform you about it, but he holds back. 

“Hey, did you know flowers have unique meanings here in Marley?” he hears you babble on. “That each color and species is symbolic of a specific emotion?” You lift your index to point at a particular flower bed with flaxen petals. “The girl working in the library, she explained it to me. Yellow marigolds represent passion. Purple periwinkles serenity. And pink carnations are all about gratitude.”

Levi studies each flower, learning to commit the names and meanings to memory. “So you use them to express feelings and shit?” 

“Something like that.”

“Why go through all the trouble?”

“For many reasons. Some people like the poetry behind such gifts. Others like the game. And sometimes, people are just too shy to say the words out-loud, so they find comfort in finding other ways to express themselves.” 

“Is there a flower that says you’re a pain in the ass?” 

“Not that I know of.” You quirk a brow up at him. “Is that one directed at me?”

“Who else would it be about?”

That isn’t quite true. For you, there would be a thousand feelings to express. No flower could do it justice. But Levi doesn’t quite say that, either. 

Under the heat of your gaze—of feeling every fucking element working against him—Levi speaks up, “What about these blue ones?”

Levi has gestured to the flowers by the porch’s staircase, the only ones already planted into the garden’s soil. They’re the flowers you planted on your first weekend here. 

“Oh, that’s technically a herb,” you say. “Myosotis. The forget-me-not flower. It represents... love, in many ways.”

Levi watches the blue flowers sway with the wind. In the distance, running along the half-broken wooden fence, Scout is crawling around, attempting to catch butterflies.

The sight of the kitten distracts him for a moment.

“Hey, can I ask for your help?” You lift the lot of flowers in your hand. “I’m having a hard time digging this hole. I think there're pebbles blocking the way, but I’m scared these flowers will get all tangled up if they're not held properly.”

Levi peers over the edge of the garden plot. You’re planting carnations, holding them with one hand as you attempt to shovel a hole with the other. 

He grumbles something beneath his breath but walks closer anyway, his cane digging against the turned soil. Slowly, Levi leans on his uninjured leg and cane, bending to sit on the ground. He lets his ass fall on the soft grass with a gentle thud, cane laid by his side. Levi then turns towards you and accepts the fragile set of flowers with both hands. 

With a parting smile, you move back to your task. You shift your weight by pressing onto your knees, using the small shovel to push stubborn roots and obstacles aside.

Incidentally, it also gives Levi the perfect view of your ass.

And fuck, if your gardening outfit (worn-out denim overalls with a white t-shirt) didn’t already make his mind swim, this view now certainly does.

Not for the first time since you arrived, Levi has to wonder about the questionable fashion choices from Marley, and why you’ve so readily accepted to wear them.

And why, of all things, does it make his heart stutter?

Levi knows that human attraction is perfectly natural; he’s experienced it here and there across his life. Hell, even if he hadn’t, the world never shied from showing its brutal reality. 

But human attraction never mattered much to Levi. 

He’d be lying if it didn’t matter now.

Because Levi now imagines leaning back, his hand pressed on your lower back as he helps you stay balanced crouching. He tries to envision the texture of your overalls under his fingers. Would it be rough, or would it be soft—soft, like what he pictures your skin’s texture to be? How would you even react if he touched you? His touch would probably repulse you, right?

And yet, last night, he swore—

Levi closes his eyes, groaning inwardly.

What the hell is wrong with him? 

Is this really all because of last night, when he thought he saw you leaning in? Fuck, for all he knows, everything he saw was just a figment of his imagination. A trick of the light. He’s only able to see from one eye—should he rely on his sight? 

Sweat trickles now down his back, thick like honey. 

“Oi,” he blurs out, desperately trying to change the focus before his mind wanders further. “After all this shit grows, what will you do? You planning to open up a flower shop or what?”

“I’m not sure if I’d make for a very good florist.”

“You'd learn.”

“Maybe, but I’m afraid my motivations are more... selfish, in that regard. I wanted to experience what it was like, to tend to a garden. Do things normal people do, you know?” 

Levi stays silent. In the distance, Scout lets out a little meowing sound as she fails to catch a butterfly. 

“And... I also figured you might like something pretty in your home, too,” you add.  

At that, Levi has to click his tongue, the sound sharp against the gentle rustle of the wind. He looks out at the horizon. “I’m not much for pretty things.”

(That’s not entirely true. There’s you, and he’s certainly into your prettiness, as exemplified by the way his body is reacting in your proximity.)

“Who ever needs pretty things?” you point out. Levi frowns, turning his attention to you again. The sight of you surrounded by a myriad of flowers is like something straight out of a painting. Enchanting. “That’s the point of prettiness. It’s there to bring people joy, it’s there to be admired and inspiring. It may not be needed, but it’s appreciated, right?”

Levi's suddenly reminded of his mother, of the way she used to keep the house clean, of the way she used to teach him to drink tea. 

He remembers asking her why she did it. In his memories, her voice is soft like a feather. “Because it is pretty and elegant,” his mother answered, “and you are all those things, my Levi.” 

“Are you aware that even animals like pretty things?” By now, you’re a little out of breath from all the shoveling. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. “Take pigs, for example. We think of them as dirty animals because of how they’re kept by humans, but... out in the wild, they’re pretty clean. They even like to decorate their homes with pretty things they collect.”

“Tch. Are you comparing the garden to a pig’s sty?”

You laugh. “'Course not. But what I’m trying to say... what I’m trying to say is that this garden feels like planting something… I don’t know, hopeful. Not because we need it for anything, but because it just... it just exists.”

Levi doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his hand test the soil between his fingertips. He thinks about how he used to hate the feel of dirt under his nails—how it reminded him of crawling his way out the Underground, of survival. That sentiment hasn’t changed here, only he finds himself being... willing to be in this state. 

“It’s not so bad,” he murmurs. 

Later, when Levi finally reaches out to place his handkerchief in your hand, telling you there's dirt on your face, he’ll come to another realization: That for the first time, he doesn’t have to worry that it’s blood you’re cleaning off your face. 

Just a bit of dirt. 

.

.

.

It’s like blood rains from the skies that day.

The expedition is declared a disaster.

.

.

.

A few days later, when Levi comes home from work, he finds another gift waiting for him on his dresser.

You’re not home tonight; you’ve volunteered to help with the preparations for the upcoming Equinox Festival, so he doesn’t get any opportunities to scold you for spending your money on him—again. 

Instead, Levi gets to unravel your letter. 

Levi, Mark my words, you’ll see that flowers have their use-cases, even for a tea-maniac like you. I hope this suits your tastes :) -A

Levi unwraps the gift, guessing already what its content might be. He isn’t disappointed. The bag contains loose tea leaves, filled to the brim, along with tiny white buds that remind Levi of snow. 

Elegant cursive adorns the note on the satchel, its reading clear as day.

Jasmine flower tea. 

I hope you enjoyed this update. The plot is going to start picking up from next chapter onwards, so I hope you can look forward to that ^^ If you have time, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments as they really keep me going. Take care!

( Next chapter / Join my taglist )

[vandme12]

I barely see Ronin as a mechanic! Headcanons/Oneshots!

This was in my drafts for days..

You're not exactly sure how it happened. One minute, you’re flopped on Ronin's couch, droning on about how bored you are—how you could die of it, actually, right here, right now. The next, he's dragging you out to the garage like a wolf with a chew toy, all sharp teeth and brighter eyes, muttering something about “if you’re gonna whine, might as well make yourself useful.”

Useful, apparently, means learning how to fix cars. Because that’s what he does when he’s not busy tearing people apart. A little hands-on therapy. Take something broken, make it purr again. You guess it fits—devils need hobbies, too.

“I still think you should just let me die of boredom,” you grumble, arms folded as you watch him prop the hood open. It groans like a corpse stretching in its grave, metal rasping against metal.

Ronin snorts. "Dramatic much? C'mon, darlin', ain't gonna kill ya to learn how an engine works. Might even save your pretty ass one day."

You give him a look that could peel paint. "Or you could just fix it for me. That's what boyfriends are for."

That earns you a low, wicked laugh. The kind that slides under your skin and stays there. "Oh, sweet thing, you're in for it now. Open up those pretty hands—time to get 'em dirty."

He hands you a wrench, and you hold it like it's a foreign object. Ronin leans over the engine block, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, revealing forearms streaked in grease and little healing scrapes. He’s beautiful in the most ridiculous way: all messy burgundy hair, shark-teeth grin, and a nicotine burn low on his wrist. A devil working the bones of a machine.

And, lucky you—you get to be his little apprentice.

“So, what are we doing?” you ask, mostly to fill the silence. Ronin's in his element, already half-lost to the work. Fingers curling around bolts like he could coax the car to life with touch alone.

“Changing the spark plugs,” he says. Then, when you give him your best bewildered expression, he chuckles. “They help make the magic happen, baby. No spark, no fire, no joyride. Same as people, really.”

“Poetic,” you deadpan. “So, where do I start?”

Ronin tilts his head toward the engine. "Get in here, darlin. I ain't gonna hold your hand the whole way."

That is a lie, by the way. He absolutely will.

You squeeze next to him, shoulder brushing his. The garage smells like old oil, sweat, and something sweetly metallic underneath—not quite blood, but close enough that your stomach flips. His heat soaks into your skin when he leans in, hands guiding yours over the metal innards.

He explains things in that lazy drawl of his, a little smug every time you mess up. And you mess up a lot. Your fingers slip, your grip's too weak, you curse when you almost drop a spark plug into the engine. Ronin just watches, like he's enjoying the spectacle of you struggling.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, breath warm against your neck, “you’re real cute when you’re useless.”

“Fuck you,” you snap back, except it comes out a little too breathy. Which, of course, he catches. His smile goes sharp enough to cut.

"Careful, darlin'. Keep talkin' like that, I might start thinkin' you like it when I'm mean."

Your hands falter, and you feel his gaze crawl over you. Heavy, hot. You don't answer, because what would you even say? He's not wrong.

“Alright,” he says, voice softer but no less dangerous. “Tighten that one, yeah? Let’s see if you can follow basic fuckin' instructions.”

You try. You really do. But the angle's weird, and your fingers keep slipping, and why the hell is everything in a car so awkward? Your knee bumps against the wheel well when you lean in deeper, and suddenly you're halfway sprawled over the engine like a sacrificial offering.

Perfect. Exactly what Ronin wanted.

He catches you before you can slide further, one grease-slick hand curling around your waist. His other hand plucks the wrench from your grip with infuriating ease.

“Clumsy thing,” he drawls. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“You could start by letting me go,” you say, but you don’t mean it. Not even a little. And Ronin’s the last person alive to fall for your lies.

His fingers press harder against your waist. "Nah," he says, low and rough, “I like you right where you are.”

He kisses you before you can fire back. Messy, claiming, dragging the breath from your lungs. His teeth catch your lower lip and tug, pulling a noise from your throat you weren’t planning to make. The taste of him is familiar—smoke and something darker beneath it, something that’s always felt a little like danger. Like sin in the shape of a man.

When he pulls back, you’re half-dizzy. Your hands are still braced against the edge of the car, and you can feel how tightly he’s holding you, like you might slip away if he isn’t careful.

“See?” he purrs. “Told ya fixin' cars could be fun.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, but you press closer anyway.

He grins, blood-red and wicked. "Nah. You love me. Now, quit slacking and hand me that wrench, sweetheart. We got work to do."

Head canons!

"Bored, darling?" If you so much as hint that you’ve got nothing to do, Ronin’s dragging you to the garage. He’s already got his coveralls half-unzipped, grease smeared across his jaw like a smudged halo—saint of the scrapyard, king of the underworld. He’ll plop you in front of some busted hunk of metal and call it a “bonding experience.” (Translation: watching you struggle is his favorite form of entertainment.)

Zero discounts, actually. If anything, Ronin charges you extra. Call it the “boyfriend tax.” He’ll fix your ride, sure—but only after making you bribe him with a kiss (or several). You’re not getting off easy. If you try to sweet-talk your way to a lower price? He just leans in, smirks against your ear, and murmurs, “Ya know, darling, I could break it worse if you wanted somethin’ new. Keep me busy.”

His garage is your second home. He doesn’t just let anyone hang around while he works—this is sacred ground, baby. But you? You get to sit on the workbench, legs swinging while he’s half-buried under an engine. He’ll toss you snacks from his stash (suspiciously all junk food) and occasionally drag you over just to “hold something.” (Spoiler: he just wants you close.)

Oh, sweetheart, you thought you were getting a discount? Cute. Ronin charges extra for you—calls it the “Tax.” Every time you ask, he tuts like you're breaking his poor, mechanical heart. But let your car actually break down? Suddenly, it’s "Nah, baby, I got this." He’ll fix it before you even notice, no charge—he just likes making you owe him. (And oh, you owe him plenty.) "Ain’t about the money, darlin’. It’s about makin’ sure you need me. And you do, don’tcha?"

Every. Single. Time. You visit the garage, he’s sweaty, just to make sure you suffer. Bonus points if you’re there in the summer—he’ll stretch, flex, and wink while holding a wrench like he’s posing for a calendar shoot. Loves to call you his “little assistant”—but gives you the most pointless tasks. "Hold this bolt. No, not like that. With love, babe. Jeez, where’s your passion?" If you complain? You’re getting pinned against the nearest surface with grease-smudged fingers trailing down your jaw. "Maybe if you were good, I’d give ya the easy jobs. But nah, you like it rough, don’tcha?"

He makes you “help” with repairs. Even though you suck. But he’s patient—weirdly patient for someone with blood on his hands. He’ll guide your fingers over the engine, teach you the difference between spark plugs and fuel injectors like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. And if you mess up? He just laughs, leans over you, and drawls, “Cute try, baby. Maybe leave the hard stuff to me.”

Car rides are a whole other game. After fixing your vehicle, he insists on a “test drive” with you in the passenger seat. He drives one-handed, the other resting heavy on your thigh—like he’s claiming both the road and you. “Gotta make sure it’s runnin’ smooth,” he says, voice thick with innuendo.

Grease-streaked kisses. You always leave his garage marked—fingers on your waist, motor oil smudged along your neck from when he drags you close. And if you complain? He just grins. “Looks better on ya than it does on me, darling.”

Your vehicle has an unofficial VIP pass. No matter how busy he is, if it’s your car in trouble, everything else can wait. Doesn’t matter if it’s a busted tire or the whole engine blowing out—he’ll fix it, grinning like he lives for the chaos you bring. Just don’t expect him to let you off easy: “You keep breakin’ shit, sweetheart, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you just wanna see me sweaty.”

His garage playlist is insane. Half industrial metal, half bluesy rock—loud enough to shake the walls. You pretend to hate it, but there’s something weirdly attractive about watching Ronin, sleeves rolled up, half-cursing along to the music while elbow-deep in some Frankenstein engine. (And if you’re lucky? He’ll pull you into a grease-streaked dance right there on the oil-stained floor.)

[porters-fangs]

do you think Porter has his maker's eyes?

do you think he dreads looking in the mirror, because it would mean seeing the same eyes that shone above him while he was tortured and tormented?

do you think despair and fear and self-disgust coils within him when Treasure tells him his eyes are beautiful?

do you think he dreads them wearing his eyes, if the day ever came?

do you think Porter hates his eyes?

sigh

i’ve been trying to ignore this all day but i guess i’ll finally dignify you with a response 😒

when he looks in the mirror, porter sees the eyes of his maker. and he hates those eyes.

he sees the man who tackled him in an alley on his way home from work. he worked the night shifts, you see. he had lectures during the day - studying for a philosophy and literature degree - and when he wasn’t cooped up in his dorm, consuming every book he could get his hands on and scribbling pages upon pages of careful, rigorous analysis for each and every text, he was working.

it wasn’t much, just a position as a receptionist at his local library, but god he loved it. spending his hours buried up to his eyes in weathered parchment and books with spines so crumpled they must’ve been read a thousand times. he knew where everything was. though his true dream was to become a lecturer himself - or perhaps even journalist for some obscure newspaper - he could see himself living out the rest of his days within those same four walls and never getting sick of the smell of paper and ink.

as he bled out in the alley, the sharp metallic tang of blood stinging his throat with every shuddered exhale, he wondered if he’d ever finish his thesis paper. an odd last thought, he was well aware, but as his vision went dark, he could only think of his laptop sat in his room, the screen still casting a faint glow over his bedsheets just how he left it.

one of his books had fallen from his bag, he realised with a jolt, though he couldn’t make out the title from here, his lungs rattling, eyelids fluttering as he lost the fight to remain conscious. his blood stained the open pages, and he wondered if that would be his legacy.

it almost made him laugh.

all that remained of porter, the sad boy who had more books that friends, who’d choked himself with solitude until he’d suffocated. how tragic.

a cold hand wrenched his gaze from the pavement, and he was forced to meet a startling pair of flat grey eyes, cruel lips curled up in a sadistic smile, sharp teeth dripping with his gore.

he hates those eyes.

the same way he hates the very same eyes when he catches them across the table of a clan meeting. william had always told him they were a symbol of his new life, his new station, his new strength. porter had never cared. and neither had vincent, though he certainly adapted well.

he hates when the prince looks him up and down with a silver gaze that mirrors his own, like the assassin is just dirt on the bottom of his shoe. like it’s such an inconvenience to have to humour the heartless executioner of the clan, honed to a fine point and stained so deeply with blood that it’s seeped into his skin and it might never wash out. like he’s so much better than porter. because william chose him.

he hates when the king stares him down with those steely eyes of his, no matter how much he owes him. as he bows before the throne, he’s reminded of how much time he spent on his knees in church, and how far it got him. he’s reminded of how he forsook his faith for this godless existence, where prayer is no more an act of devotion than taking his blade to the throat of whomever his monarch demands. he’s reminded that he was never good enough for this man, not until he proved useful by way of violence.

god, he hates his eyes.

[thefairiesinthegarden]

I’m tired of trying -pt3

———————————————————

Hey guysssss this is parttttt 3

Lemme know if a part 4 is needed

I just wanted to say that this part gets really dark and has themes of suicide and depression and really dark thought so please read with caution

Word count: 2500

Azriel x reader

Warnings: suicide and attempts, depression, dark thoughts

Please read this is caution

———————————————————

The Summer Court’s gentle breezes and soft warmth felt more like a prison than a paradise. Every day in this perfect realm was a reminder of the life you once had, a life that seemed impossibly far away now. The palace’s beauty—its glittering walls and lush gardens—did nothing to ease the weight in your chest. Instead, the brightness only seemed to mock the darkness inside you.

You had been here for what felt like months, though you knew it was only a few weeks. Time no longer had meaning when every day was spent in a haze of numbness and pain. Your body had grown weak from the lack of food and movement, your mind lost in an endless cycle of sorrow and hopelessness. Nothing mattered anymore.

The healers who visited you daily became more insistent, their soft voices urging you to eat, to drink, to take the potions they offered to ease your pain. But their words washed over you like the wind—present, but meaningless. You had nothing left to give. Every ounce of energy you had was spent on merely existing.

And then there was Azriel.

He had come to you again and again, his presence a constant shadow in the room. Sometimes, he spoke in that low, rough voice of his, trying to apologize, to make you see how sorry he was. Other times, he simply sat in silence, his golden eyes filled with regret and sorrow. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how sincere his words, it was never enough.

You couldn’t feel anything for him anymore. You were too tired to feel.

He had broken you in ways you didn’t even know were possible. The things he had said to you that day—those cruel, cutting words—had shattered something inside you. You had fought for him, for the love you thought you shared, and it had never been enough. It would never be enough.

And now, here you were, in a beautiful palace, surrounded by caring people, but utterly alone in your pain.

Tarquin had been patient with you, more patient than you deserved. He checked on you often, his voice soft with concern, but never pushing you beyond what you could handle. Yet even his presence—his kindness—felt like a burden. You didn’t want kindness anymore. You didn’t want anything.

Your hand absently traced the delicate veins of your wrist, where the skin was thin and pale. The thought had been circling in your mind for days now, a whisper in the back of your mind that grew louder with each passing hour.

There’s a way out.

You don’t have to feel this way anymore.

The thought was seductive, offering you a kind of peace that you hadn’t felt in so long. The pain could end. The weight of your heart could finally be lifted. All it would take was one moment—one decision—and it would all be over.

But something held you back. Some small part of you, buried deep beneath the layers of pain and hopelessness, still remembered who you used to be. That part of you still wanted to live, still clung to the idea that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back.

But it was growing weaker every day.

Azriel hadn’t left the Summer Court in days. Not since he had seen the state you were in, the way you had looked at him with so much pain and loss in your eyes. The guilt had consumed him from the moment you left the Night Court, but seeing you like that—so broken, so fragile—had nearly destroyed him.

He had tried everything he could think of to make it right. He had spoken to you, apologized over and over, poured his heart out in ways he had never done before. But no matter what he said, no matter how much he begged for your forgiveness, it never seemed to reach you.

Every day, you grew weaker. Every day, you slipped further away from him.

Azriel sat in one of the Summer Court’s grand balconies, his hands resting on his knees as he stared out over the glittering ocean. The sunlight reflected off the water in golden waves, but he felt no warmth, no peace. His mind was consumed with thoughts of you, of the life you used to share, and the devastating realization that he might never get you back.

Rhysand had told him to give you time, that you needed space to heal. But how could he give you space when you were unraveling before his eyes?

“Azriel.” The familiar voice of Tarquin pulled him from his thoughts. The Summer Court’s High Lord stood a few feet away, his expression troubled.

Azriel turned to face him, his jaw clenched. “Is she…?”

“She’s the same,” Tarquin said, his voice soft. “Physically, she’s holding on. But emotionally…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anyone this broken.”

Azriel’s heart tightened. “Is there anything I can do?”

Tarquin sighed, his brow furrowing in sympathy. “I don’t know. She’s shutting everyone out—even you. And I fear if she continues like this…”

Azriel didn’t need him to finish the sentence. He knew what Tarquin was trying to say. If you kept going down this path, there was only one possible outcome.

And it would be his fault.

That night, you stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection but not really seeing it. Your once-bright eyes were dull, dark circles etched beneath them. Your skin was pale, almost translucent, and your hair hung in limp waves around your face.

You didn’t recognize the person in the mirror anymore.

Your hand shook as you reached for the dagger that Tarquin had given you for protection when you had first arrived in his court. It was a beautiful blade, crafted from pure silver, with intricate designs carved into the hilt. You had barely touched it since you arrived, but now, it felt like the only thing in the room that made sense.

The blade gleamed in the dim light as you held it in your trembling hand, your fingers wrapping around the hilt. The weight of it was oddly comforting, as if it could finally bring you the release you had been craving.

You took a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest. This was it. This was the moment. The pain would end. You would finally be free.

But as the blade hovered over your wrist, something stopped you. A voice, soft but insistent, echoed in the back of your mind.

This isn’t the way.

You can still come back from this.

The voice sounded like Azriel’s. And for a moment, you hesitated.

But then you remembered the way he had looked at you that day—the cold, dismissive words that had cut deeper than any blade ever could. He had broken you, and there was no coming back from that.

With a sob, you pressed the blade to your skin.

Azriel had been unable to sleep that night, his mind too restless, too filled with images of you—your broken form, the pain in your eyes. Something felt wrong. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, the cold, sinking feeling that had been building all day.

He couldn’t shake the thought that you needed him. That something terrible was about to happen.

Without thinking, he rose from his seat and moved swiftly through the palace, his shadows curling around him as he made his way to your room. The guards didn’t stop him this time—they knew better by now.

As he approached the door, that cold feeling intensified, a sickening dread settling in his chest. His heart pounded in his ears as he reached for the handle, pushing the door open without knocking.

What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

You were sitting on the floor, the silver dagger in your hand, pressed against your wrist. Blood was already welling up, dark and red against your pale skin.

“No!” Azriel’s voice was hoarse, desperate, as he rushed toward you, his shadows flaring in panic.

You didn’t seem to hear him. You were lost in your own world, your body trembling as you pressed the blade harder against your skin. Tears streamed down your face, but your eyes were distant, unfocused.

Azriel reached you just in time, grabbing your wrist and pulling the blade away. You struggled weakly against him, your body too weak to put up much of a fight.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice broken, tears streaming down your face. “Please, just let me go.”

Azriel’s heart shattered at the sound of your voice, at the sight of you so lost, so hurt. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you sobbed against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

But you shook your head, your sobs turning into gasps for breath. “It’s too late, Azriel. I’m already broken. You can’t fix me.”

His arms tightened around you, his wings curling protectively around your fragile form. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You’re not broken. You’re not. I won’t let you go.”

But you didn’t respond. You just cried, your body shaking with the force of your sobs, as if you were trying to cry out all the pain that had been festering inside you for so long.

Azriel didn’t let go. He held you through it all, whispering apologies and promises, vowing to do whatever it took to make things right.

The following days were a blur of healers and potions, of Tarquin’s quiet concern and Azriel’s constant presence. He never left your side, not even for a moment. He watched over you as you slept, as you fought through the waves of despair that crashed over you. He refused to leave, even when Tarquin suggested that space might be best. Azriel didn’t care. He wasn’t going anywhere.

The wound on your wrist was healing, but the deeper wounds, the ones that had been carved into your heart and soul, were far from mended. You rarely spoke, rarely ate, barely moved. And though your body was growing weaker, it was your spirit that worried Azriel the most.

He had tried everything to bring you back—to get you to talk to him, to react, to do anything other than lay in that bed, staring blankly at the ceiling or curled in on yourself. But nothing worked.

Each passing day was another weight on his shoulders, the crushing realization that he had done this to you—that his words had driven you to this breaking point.

He had never felt so helpless. The shadows that had always been his allies now seemed like enemies, swirling around him in confusion, mirroring the chaos in his own heart. He couldn’t fix this with a sword or a plan. He couldn’t strategize his way out of this. This was something he had no control over.

And that terrified him.

One night, after hours of silence, you finally spoke. Your voice was so quiet, so broken, that Azriel almost didn’t hear it.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Azriel’s heart lurched in his chest, and he leaned forward, his hands shaking as he reached for yours. “Y/N… don’t say that.”

But you didn’t look at him. Your eyes were distant, your face pale and gaunt from days of neglect. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s too much.”

His grip tightened around your hand. “I know it feels like that now, but you’re stronger than this. You’ve always been stronger than this.”

You shook your head weakly. “Not anymore. I’m tired, Azriel. I’m so tired.”

The tears that Azriel had been holding back finally spilled over, hot and painful as they streaked down his face. He had been trying to be strong for you, trying to hold himself together, but hearing you say that—hearing you give up—was more than he could bear.

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Please. I can’t lose you. I love you.”

You flinched at the word. It was as though the very sound of it hurt you, and Azriel’s heart shattered all over again.

“I loved you too,” you whispered, and the past tense of your words cut deeper than any blade ever could. “But you didn’t want me. You said it yourself.”

“That’s not true,” Azriel said quickly, his voice thick with desperation. “I never meant what I said. I was scared, and I said terrible things, but I didn’t mean them. You’re everything to me, Y/N. You’re my everything.”

You didn’t respond. You just turned your face away, closing your eyes as if you were too exhausted to even speak anymore.

Azriel stayed by your side, holding your hand, his chest tight with fear and guilt. He didn’t know how to bring you back from this. He didn’t know if he even could.

Two more days passed in the same unbearable silence. You refused food, only drank the water Tarquin’s healers forced upon you. Your once-vibrant eyes were dull, your skin growing more fragile, your strength slipping away. The healers tried everything they could to coax you back into health, but nothing worked.

And Azriel—Azriel was drowning in his own guilt.

He couldn’t stop replaying that last argument, couldn’t stop hearing the cruel words he had thrown at you in his anger, couldn’t stop imagining how different things might have been if he had just told you how much he loved you, how much he needed you. If he had just been honest instead of pushing you away out of fear.

Azriel watched you closely, his golden eyes filled with fear as each second passed. It was unbearable—seeing you like this, wasting away because of his mistakes. His hands trembled as he reached for your face, gently brushing the stray strands of hair from your forehead. He leaned in, his voice low and rough, thick with emotion.

“Please, Y/N. Just tell me what to do. I can’t lose you like this.”

You didn’t respond right away, your gaze still fixed on the ceiling as if you were far, far away. The quiet hum of the Summer Court’s night breeze filled the room, mingling with the soft crashing of distant waves. But your heart… it felt as though it was miles beneath the surface, buried so deep you weren’t sure it could ever be reached again.

Azriel’s hands, usually so steady, so sure, shook as they held yours. His shadows curled around him in confusion, sensing the depth of his despair. You could feel his presence, his warmth, but it only reminded you of how cold and numb you had become.

He had broken you. And yet here he was, still trying to put the pieces back together.

“I don’t know if I can come back from this,” you finally whispered, your voice fragile, almost inaudible. “I feel like there’s nothing left of me.”

Azriel swallowed hard, his throat constricting with emotion. “That’s not true. You’re still here, Y/N. I know you are. You just need time, and I’ll give you all the time in the world. But don’t… don’t leave me like this. Please.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, a tear slipping down your cheek. His words sounded sincere. They sounded desperate. But how many times had you believed him before? How many times had you thought that things could change, only to have it all fall apart again?

“Why now?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Why are you fighting for me now, after everything?”

Azriel didn’t hesitate. “Because I was a coward. I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it. I didn’t realize how much I loved you—how much I needed you—until I pushed you away. And I hate myself for that. But I’m here now, Y/N, and I’ll fight for you every day, for the rest of my life if I have to.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, torn between wanting to believe him and the overwhelming doubt that had built up inside you. You had heard words like this before—had thought that love could fix everything. But love hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t been enough to stop him from saying those terrible things, from pushing you away when all you had wanted was to be close to him.

“I’m so tired,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “So tired of hurting, of trying.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. “Then let me try for you. Let me be the one to hold you up this time. You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, for the first time in days. His face was drawn with worry, his eyes rimmed with exhaustion. He looked as broken as you felt, as if your pain was his own. The guilt etched into his expression was raw, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw the man you had fallen in love with—the man who had once made you feel safe and cherished.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But… I hope you can try for me, Azriel.”

His breath hitched at your words, the smallest spark of hope lighting in his eyes. “I will,” he promised, his voice shaking with emotion. “I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. I swear it.”

You gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and though it was barely a gesture, it was enough for him. It was enough to make him believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to save what had been broken.

But as you lay there, staring up at him, the weight of the past still heavy on your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder if love alone would ever be enough. Would it be enough to heal the wounds he had caused? Could you truly let him back into your heart after everything?

As Azriel leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a tear slipped from your eye.

And somewhere, deep in the recesses of your heart, you felt the beginning of a new ache—an ache that whispered, What if it’s too late?

The thought lingered in the air between you, unspoken, but undeniable.

What if love would never be enough?

Azriel pulled away, his hand still gripping yours tightly as if he feared that if he let go, you would slip away forever.

And maybe… just maybe… he was right.

———————————————————

Attached below are places you can reach out to if you need support.

[f4llen4st4r]

I Still Make Coffee For Two — Joel Miller

wc: 2632

Warnings: mentions of death, jacking off, joel is fucking depraved

Synopsis: You kept a bitter secret from him.

He gazed up at the sight above him– you in a pearl-white silky nightgown, your beauty so pure and angelic that it took his breath away. The gown shimmered like moonlight, flowing around you as if it were a gentle breeze, caressing his skin. He watched, entranced, as the fabric seemed to dance with an otherworldly grace, wrapping him in its soft, delicate embrace. It was as if he were floating, suspended in time, lost in the allure of your presence—your heavenly beauty radiating a peace that seemed to transcend the very air he breathed.

The weight of her was familiar, warm. She straddled his waist, fingers dragging through the silvered strands of his hair, her lips quirked in that lazy, teasing smile she always wore when she had him right where she wanted.

"You're staring," she murmured, voice still thick with sleep. The moonlight spilled through the thin curtains, casting her in a soft glow, making her seem unreal, something too perfect to touch. But she was there, wasn’t she? Her fingertips traced the rough edge of his jaw, over the scar above his brow, lingering like she always did, as if memorizing him all over again.

"Can't help it," Joel rumbled, his hands running up her thighs, gripping at her hips. "You’re somethin’ worth starin’ at."

She laughed—God, that laugh—and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and lingering. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of quiet mornings and love buried deep in the bones, something only they could understand.

Then she was gone.

Joel's eyes snapped open to the dim glow of a dying fire, the bed empty beside him, cold. His chest rose and fell too fast, the ghost of her weight still heavy on his body. He pressed a hand over his face, willing himself to breathe, to shake off the cruel trick his mind had played on him.

The house was too quiet without her. The absence of her humming while she made breakfast, the soft patter of her bare feet on the wooden floor—little things that had once made this place feel like home. Now, it was just a hollow shell, every corner haunted by what used to be.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand down his tired face before pushing himself up. The floor creaked beneath his feet as he made his way to the kitchen, moving through the motions like muscle memory. Water poured into the pot. The stove clicked to life. Coffee grounds filled the air with their familiar scent.

Two cups.

He hesitated, staring at them. One for him, one for her. Just like always.

But she wasn’t here. Not anymore.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose and turned away before his chest could tighten any further. He poured the coffee anyway, leaving the second cup untouched beside his own.

Because some mornings, like today, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

Because some habits weren’t meant to be broken.

Because he still made coffee for two.

–

Later that evening, as he sat by the fire, he caught sight of the small, leather-bound book resting on the shelf. Her diary. She had given it to him before she passed, pressing it into his hands with a weak smile, whispering that it held pieces of her—pieces she wanted him to have.

Tonight, he couldn’t ignore it. The dream had been too vivid, too cruel, making him ache for something real, something more than just memories slipping through his fingers like sand. He needed to relive her, to find the parts of her he never knew, to hear her voice in the words she had left behind.

With a deep breath, he reached for the book, his fingers trembling as he cracked it open. The scent of her lingered on the pages, the ink slightly smudged in places where she must have pressed too hard. He turned the first page, his breath catching in his throat as he read the first entry—a story of them, of a day he had long forgotten but she had cherished enough to put into words.

With a deep breath, he reached for the book, his fingers trembling as he cracked it open. The scent of her lingered on the pages, the ink slightly smudged in places where she must have pressed too hard. He turned the first page, his breath catching in his throat as he read the first entry—a story of them, of a day he had long forgotten but she had cherished enough to put into words.

May 24th: We sat by the lake today, your arm around me, fingers drawing lazy circles on my back. You thought I didn’t notice, but I did. I always did. You told me about your childhood, about the summers spent fixing cars with your dad. I think that was the moment I realized I loved you—not because of what you said, but because of the way you looked at me, like I was the best damn thing that ever happened to you.

Joel let out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening around the leather binding. He turned the page.

July 17th: You kissed me until I was breathless, until I forgot my own name. I never told you, but that night, I prayed time would stop. That I could stay in that moment forever, wrapped up in you. The way you touched me, slow and reverent, like I was something precious—I never felt safer. And when you whispered my name, when you told me you loved me, I swear my heart nearly stopped.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut, his throat burning. He traced the words with his fingertips, as if touching them might bring her back. A strangled sound escaped his throat, something between a chuckle and a sob. He ran a hand over his face, overwhelmed. This was her—raw, unfiltered, still alive within these pages.

The entries continued, each one a glimpse into the way she saw him, the way she loved him. And then, deeper into the pages, there were things she had never spoken aloud—her desires, her longing for him, the quiet confessions she had been too shy to say in person.

August 22nd: I want you to take your time with me. To kiss every inch of my skin, to whisper things in my ear that only I get to hear. I want to memorize the way your hands feel when they roam over me, the way your breath hitches when I tease you. I want to be yours in every possible way. I hope you know that.

Joel’s breath hitched. His fingers curled around the page as heat crept up his neck. He could almost hear her voice saying those words, almost feel the ghost of her touch on his skin. He swallowed hard, leaning back against the chair as an ache coiled deep in his stomach. He missed her. God, he missed her. The way she felt beneath him, the way she sighed his name in the dark, the way she knew him in ways no one else ever had. 

Joel's thoughts spiraled deeper into the memories, each word on the page igniting a fire within him that he thought long extinguished. He closed his eyes, allowing the sensations to wash over him, each recollection intensifying the ache he felt. He could almost taste her skin—sweet, warm, and inviting—and he craved the intimacy they once shared.

Breath shallow, he let his fingers drift from the page to the soft fabric of his jeans. The image of her, completely at his mercy, consumed him. He could picture the way her lips parted as he brushed his thumb against her collarbone, how her eyes fluttered closed in sheer pleasure. The memory of her legs wrapped around his waist and the way her body responded to his every touch pulled him into a yearning frenzy.

Joel's eyes drifted closed for a moment, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as the memories came flooding back. The way You had looked at him, eyes dark and hazy with desire, the soft curve of your lips as you whispered his name. He could still feel the heat of your skin beneath his fingertips, the way your back arched when he touched you just right.

He turned the page, his heart pounding in his chest as he read on, each word a bittersweet reminder of what they had shared. The way you had written about him, about them, was almost too much to bear. He could feel himself growing hard, his jeans feeling tighter by the second as he lost himself in your words.

Joel's hand drifted down to his crotch, palming himself through the denim as he read on, his breath coming faster now. He could picture you so clearly, your naked body splayed out beneath him, your skin flushed and glistening with sweat. The way you had moaned when he had entered you, your nails digging into his back as he had taken you hard and fast, just the way you liked it.

He unzipped his jeans with shaking hands, his cock springing free as he wrapped his fingers around it, stroking himself slowly as he read on. He could feel the heat building in his groin, the pressure mounting with each passing second. He was so close, so fucking close, and he could feel himself losing control.

Joel's hips jerked forward as he fucked into his own hand, his grip tightening around his shaft as he chased his release. He could hear your voice in his head, could feel your body beneath him, and he knew that he was going to come soon. He let out a low groan, his head falling back against the chair as he finally found his release, his hot seed spurting forth and coating his hand and stomach.

For a long moment, Joel sat there, his chest heaving and his skin slick with sweat. He felt a profound sense of loss, a deep ache in his chest that he couldn't quite explain. He missed you, missed you with a ferocity that took his breath away, and he knew that he would never stop missing you, no matter how much time passed.

“I want you, just you,” he could hear you say, and in that moment, he couldn’t help but chase the feeling, losing himself in the daydream, every sensation heightened as he held onto the memory of your love, the taste of longing on his tongue.

In the solitude of his room, desperate and consumed by pleasure, he let himself spiral, surrendering to the echo of her presence, a haunting melody that wrapped around him like a soft, warm embrace. He wasn’t just chasing a release; he was trying to bridge the gap between their souls, to reclaim a fragment of what they had so passionately shared.

For hours, he read, devouring every word, clinging to each syllable like a lifeline. And by the time he reached the last page, tears had slipped silently down his face, tracing lines into his weathered skin.

You were gone. But here, in these pages, in these words—you were still his.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Joel swallowed hard, his heart clenching around every sentence, every emotion you had left behind for him to find. He read on, desperate to hold onto you in the only way he could now.

Because tonight, he needed you more than ever.

Joel sat in the quiet of the room, the weight of time pressing down on him. He had already read the diary countless times, the familiar words of her handwriting etched in his mind. But something had drawn him back to it today. Perhaps it was the need for one more piece of her, one more thread of her voice in his life.

As he flipped through the pages, his eyes landed on one he hadn't seen before. It was wedged between two familiar entries, almost hidden, as though it had been there all along, waiting for him to find it. He frowned, confused. How had he missed this? He reached for it, fingers brushing against the delicate paper, and began to read.

"I knew this was coming. The time was always going to run out, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. He couldn’t see it. Not like this."

His breath caught, the words hitting him like a blow to the chest. She had known. He had thought he’d caught glimpses of it, the quiet sadness in her eyes, the way she sometimes seemed to withdraw, but he had never pushed. Now, reading this, the truth of it hit him in a way he wasn’t ready for.

"I couldn't let him watch me fall apart. I couldn’t let him see the way my body was slowly betraying me. I needed him to remember me, not as I would become, but as I was in those last moments, still holding on to something, to love."

A lump formed in Joel's throat. The quiet strength she had shown, the way she had tried so hard to shield him from the inevitable—it all made sense now. He had thought she was holding it together for him, but it was more than that. She had been hiding it, hiding her fear, her sorrow, her knowledge of what was coming.

"I didn’t want my last memory for him to be one of pain. I wanted him to remember the good things, the laughter, the way we held each other. I wanted him to carry me with him in a way that wouldn’t shatter him when I was gone."

His eyes blurred with unshed tears, but he didn’t wipe them away. He just kept reading, absorbing her words, the final truth she had kept hidden. He had never known, never even suspected how much she had borne alone. And now, after all this time, it felt like she was still protecting him—even from beyond the grave.

"I hope, in the end, he will forgive me for keeping this from him. But it was the only way I could let him go. I needed him to be strong, to remember me in a way that would give him peace when the world turned without me in it."

Joel closed the diary slowly, his hands shaking. The silence in the room felt deafening. He had always known she loved him, but now, in the quiet aftermath of her words, he understood the depth of her sacrifice. She had known her fate, and she had chosen to shield him from it, to keep the burden of her death from crushing him.

Joel's chest tightened as he reread her words, the weight of her sacrifice crashing over him. His hands shook, and before he could stop himself, the tears started to fall. His breath hitched as her name escaped his lips, broken and raw.

“I miss you...”

The words shattered him. He could feel her absence like an open wound, the love they had lost now drowning him.

“I miss you so much...”

His body trembled as the grief consumed him, just as she had known it would. And in that moment, the world felt unbearable.

He cried into the cup, the warmth of the coffee now feeling like nothing more than a distant comfort. The tears kept coming, soaking into the table as he leaned his forehead against the rim, wishing with every part of him that she were still there, that he could reach out and hold her once more. The grief was a flood, relentless and deep, and all he could do was sit there, broken, his sobs filling the empty space where her voice used to be.

[dannydoesthisthing27]

Pairing redacted characters/pairs with songs I listen to regularly. I have no particular order I'm doing this in, I'm just listening to music and was bored

Love Like You - Gavin (I'll explain if someone asks but in the moment it just feels like him)

For The Dancing And The Dreaming from How To Train Your Dragon 2 - Warden/Vega (Valka and Stoiks scene specifically where Stoik says Valka is as beautiful as the day he lost her)

Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage - Quinn (when he and darlin were together still together)

Best Friend by Laufey - Sweetheart (about Angel. In my head they are the closest of the mates. Baaabe and Sam have a similar relationship to me.)

Sticky by Tyler, The Creator - Asher, Guy, Gavin, Darlin, Milo (I don't really have an explanation but they all absolutely listen to this song regularly)

St. Chroma by Tyler, The Creator - Damien (i see Damien as someone who does boxing to relieve stress and he likes following the beat when he boxes)

Telephone by Lady Gaga & Beyonce - Guy/Honey (they've choreographed the entire song and dance to it regularly when they cant sleep or need to blow off steam but aren't feeling up to your Guy typical activities)

Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce - Morgan/Seer Obscura (In my personal headcanons they're a late twenties asexual gay couple and they love dancing in their kitchen to slow music plus it fits the whole seer thing)

Vienna by Billy Joel - Caelum (early Caelum specifically makes me sad sometimes and reminds me of the song)

Somebody to Love by Queen - Darlin (they were lost for a long time before they found Sam and now that they've got him they sing/hum this and various other queen songs to Sam when they sit together and he knits)

This is all I have for now I'm sure I'll add more at some point :]

[iggyshippingcorner]

working on something to post here that’s a bit odd, but I’m just so taken with it. it essentially boils down to “low level telepathy soulmate bullshit meant to torture robotnik specifically”. robotnik starts picking up subconscious thoughts from stone when they’re in the lab together and it leads to them kissing about it. how do i get from point A to point B? no idea!

included what i have so far under the cut in case anyone’s interested :D

*~~~~~~~~~~~~*

It starts with a whisper.

Touch me. Touch me.

Robotnik’s on hour 27 of his workday, and auditory hallucinations are fairly par for the course. As much as he likes to treat his body like a machine, there are still undeniable faults and quirks in his biological programming. And they are hallucinations, must be, because Stone is within eyesight and very unconscious, and the odd whispers are most certainly his voice. ( why exactly he is hallucinating stone’s voice saying such things is not something he wishes to look at directly, so he doesn’t. )

He does nothing about it. They’re easy enough to ignore, just barely audible and slipping between his own half-hearted mumblings as he finishes the final touches on the new prototype coming to life in his hands. Stone continues to sleep at his work station, slumped down onto his desk.

He’s doing that thing again where he lies so still and silent in his little corner that Robotnik half wonders if he’s even still alive, but he’s got Stone’s vitals up on a mostly unused holoscreen for monitoring, and he’s doing just fine. He ought to send the man home, but he’d just turn right back up at the lab with a head full of ideas about Robotnik’s own sleep schedule and health and what-have-you.

Touch me. Touch me.

He finishes the prototype right as the sun begins to rise again, and he pushes himself back away from his worktable, wheeled chair squeaking loudly in the otherwise silent lab. Stone jerks upright at the noise, vitals flashing briefly as he goes from deep slumber to wide awake alarmingly quickly. A slight gesture hides the vitals from view, dispelling the data as Stone stands from his desk and rejoins the land of the living with uncanny speed.

“Nice of you to rejoin us,” Robotnik drawls. “How was your beauty sleep?”

Stone’s only signs of having just woken up are the strands of hair coming free of his usual slicked back hairstyle and falling against his forehead, and the way he actually opens his mouth to answer the entirely hypothetical question. Robotnik cuts him off with a flapping hand before he can even begin. “Ababab— not interested. I need you to ready the indoor range for testing. This bad boy is finally ready for some hands on fieldwork.”

Stone lights up at the declaration, and he takes a couple cautious steps towards the worktables gathered at the centre of the lab floor. His eyes are all shiny and wide, filled with adoration that goes fully unhindered by his sudden awakening and apparent exhaustion. Robotnik magnanimously allows him closer, and then close enough to admire the prototype properly, knowing well what would come spilling out of his agent’s mouth.

You are magnificent. Incredible. A wonder to behold. I’m in awe of you, always, always.

“It’s amazing, doctor! Your work is magnificent, as always.”

Dual tones. Robotnik has to focus to parse the whispers, lurking just beneath Stone’s spoken words. They are so much more… they’re directed at him, in a way that Stone only rarely uses— sparing in his direct compliments after the incident with the incendiary grenade prototype that nearly demolished their entire working floor.

( look, it’d been a long day and Robotnik hadn’t expected such direct and effusive praise. he dropped the damn thing on accident and nearly lost both eyebrows AND his moustache. they don’t talk about it. )

He has to clamp down on every traitorous reaction his sleep-deprived body attempts to make in response to the perceived ego stroke. It’s not even real, for crying out loud! He allows himself a victory smirk at the real, verbal praise, however. It is rather incredible, isn’t it? “Of course it is, Stone. How could it be anything less?”

[hikarielizabethbloom]

@mcpayne @valar-did-me-wrong @zaldritzosrose @elenvader

This is all your fault! You are to blame because you let a bad writer like me do the work that any decent writer here would have done better!

(tbf, I'm quite a good writer in Italian, if I may say)

Here.

Into the moonless night

(A Halbrand/Celeborn AU - Darksilver)

It was a night without a moon. The clouds covered the sky, and he could not see anything around him. He felt lost and disoriented. There was a throbbing in the back of his head. He touched it. He could feel the blood more than see it. He was hurt, which might explain the headache and his confusion. He couldn’t remember his name or where he was from. There was nothing from his past—just darkness around him and inside his mind. 

The elf, aware that he was indeed an elf, didn’t know how long he had been walking in the woods until he spotted a flickering red light. A fire! Finally, there was something good to look forward to. 

——————————————————————————————————

Sauron sat in silence. The fire was the only light in his darkness. He had reassumed his Halbrand form to travel unbothered. His last victory felt like a defeat. Celebrimbor and Galadriel’s thoughts hunted him. And Adar? He was dead but still bedevilled him. 

Those were his thoughts when he felt a presence in the dark pitch of the woods. A battled elf approached him. He was hurt, that much he could see, and confused. His blond hair shone in the darkness—a bloody silver tone. Sauron could tell he was noble by his demeanour alone. 

Finally, new prey!

“My lord! - Halbrand said while getting up to come close to the stranger - You seem troubled. Come sit by the fire with me!”.

“Thank you, kind stranger! I do require help. I do not know where I am. Nor I recall what had happened to me!”. 

An easy prey indeed. 

“Do you remember your name, my lord?”. 

He was enjoying being Halbrand once again. 

“I fear I have no memory of that either!”. 

“My name is Halbrand, my lord! And I am at your service!”. 

Halbrand knew he would have so much fun breaking this kind spirit. 

——————————————————————————————————

Things did not go as Halbrand had planned. The elf had no memories of his past. However, he was demanding and haughty, lethal and feral in battle. If the orc blood and smile on his face were any indication. The more days they spent together, the more Halbrand felt enthralled by the noble elf. His desire to break him lessened, replaced by a pounding need to please him instead. 

One day, after they had both slain more of Adar’s children -his servants- Halbrand could not take the tension anymore. 

He took the elf (whose name he still did not know) into the deep forest, slammed him against a tree trunk, and kissed him. The kiss was demanding and bruising. Halbrand could taste the blood on the Elf’s lips. It felt exhilarating. His lord tensed under his aggression. But it was a moment. A brief moment. After that, the elf took charge of the kiss. He kissed and kissed. And touched. He bit Halbrand’s lips so hard that Halbrand flinched, and for one moment, he had to interrupt the kissing. The elf smiled predatory, closed the distance between their mouths once again, and licked the blood he had caused to flow. 

“My dear friend! - he said, his voice rough - Do you want to serve me?”

“I do, my lord!”

Halbrand smiled. He was enjoying this. 

“Then kneel… - Halbrand smiled at his beautiful lord’s request - and serve!”

In one rapid move, the dark lord was on his knees, dropping his lord’s pants with him. 

He took him in his mouth greedily. 

Halbrand could not tell how much time he passed following his lord's instructions, pleasing him with only his mouth. But he loved every moment of it. And when the elf came into his servant’s mouth, the shock and pleasure were so strong, Halbrand came as well - untouched. 

And then, in the dark pit of the night, they both came again, and again, and again. 

Every demand of his lord answered. 

Yes, Sauron was made to serve. And he loved it. 

[blurry-lock]

Writer writer more shidou please :3 (i love your fanfics sm they give me hope for the shidou tag)

Tysm anon!! That’s so sweet 🥺🫶 recently i’ve been inspired by a lot of songs so i’ll try to write more!! this time I decided to write a little bit of angst >:)

ROBBERS

“But if you just take off your mask, you'd find out everything's gone wrong…”

What you need to know: based on the mv of robbers by the 1975, established relationship, shidou and reader are criminals and troublemakers, blood, gun and wound mentions, angst, cursing, gn reader, slightly suggestive

Wrd count: 2k

He had a face straight out of a magazine. That’s what you thought every time you saw Shidou, even when he was beating someone or when you ran from the cops, it was the kind of love that everyone would bet it’ll end up wrong. You loved each other madly, you found beauty in the chaos Shidou was capable of, the same chaos that would end up destroying you eventually. You and Shidou were both runaways, living in an abandoned house with 2 other runaways, Aiku and Sae that became your friends in no time. You were all living based on deals, gambling and sometimes even stealing, to this day none of you faced any repercussions making you not afraid of anything.

But living this life sometimes got you thinking at night about what if things turned out different for you? Being a troublemaker knowing you do bad things and feel no remorse until recently was getting surprisingly tiring, ever since you started thinking about a dream that kept nudging you from the back of your head.

“What if we formed a band? A real one.” You blurted out as you were lost in thought. The three of them stared at you with widened eyes as you were sitting on the living room talking about random stuff.

It wasn’t a crazy idea, you sometimes pretended you were in a band and played with some robbed instruments you had. Aiku had a bass, Sae an electric guitar and your boyfriend, Shidou had drums (stealing the drums was a crazy experience you almost got caught) and your singing skills were not that bad actually.

“Oh? That’s honestly a good idea, sweetheart~” Shidou chuckled, putting his arm over your shoulders.

“Sounds nice, a lot of girls and guys would give me attention.” Aiku chuckled and smirked at the thought.

“And how? With what money? People will eventually found out what we do…” Sae raised an eyebrow, although internally he liked the idea.

“I… I want to stop having this life, that’s why I suggested the idea of making a band.” You looked down, afraid of their reactions.

“That won’t be easy hun.” Aiku chuckled. “But… I admit I like the idea of starting a new life”

“But doing this is so easy and fun…” Shidou winced and pouted softly, but when he looked at you and seeing your slight frown at his words his heart ached slightly. He was a criminal and a very problematic one, but before any of that he was your boyfriend and he would do anything for you with no objections.

He sighed and smirked at you. “But being with you is more fun, can’t deny I like that idea so count me in~”

You three turned your heads to Sae, waiting for his response.

“Ugh… fine” Sae rolled his eyes, but a subtle smile could be seen on his lips.

Shidou stood up on the coffee table and looked at the three of you. “Let’s do a final robbery, we’ll get some money and with that we can form the band.”

“Are you sure?” You looked at him with unease, you didn’t know why but you had a weird feeling in your gut about this.

Shidou looked at you fondly, a look that always made you weak along with his signature smirk as he leaned closer to you, he held your chin and you could feels his lips brushing against yours as he spoke in a low and soft tone.“You trust me?”

Your breath hitched, you still felt uneasy but you trusted Shidou with your life so you nodded, he nodded back and pecked your lips.

“Oh my god get a room.” Sae rolled his eyes which caused you to chuckle and pull away.

“So, are you in?” Shidou turned to look at Aiku and Sae.

Everyone agreed and for the next days you proceeded to form a plan for your final robbery. The plan was simple, going to the convenience store that was in the outskirts of the city, empty the cash register and ATM. You done this multiple times, but for some reason this time felt different.

“Hey sweets, look!” Shidou entered your shared bedroom and sat on the bed while you were laying down. It was the night prior to your robbery and for the first time you were anxious.

You slightly lifted your head to look and widened your eyes when you saw what he was holding. “WHAT THE FU- Shidou Ryusei!” You slightly lowered your voice as the other two were probably asleep in the other rooms.

“The full name? Not even babe or love?” Shidou pouted, slightly teasing you.

“Why do you have that? We are just taking some money, not killing someone!” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Just in case, ya know?” He teased again, looking down at you and toying with the revolver.

“Shidou.” You sat on the bed and glared at him. Yeah, you were a troublemaker but this was beyond your limits specially now that you were trying to pursue your dream of forming the band and you also didn’t want him doing anything stupid.

Shidou slightly widened his eyes, this was the first time he saw you being so serious about something and the fact you called his last name was enough for him to understand you weren’t playing. He stared at you for a few seconds before sighing.

“It’s not even loaded see?” He showed it to you and then placed it on the nightstand. “It would make things easier, just to scare them.” He looked at you like a scolded student and buried his head on your neck, breathing in your scent.

You sighed and your gaze softened as your hand instinctively started caressing his hair. “Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” You mumbled, the weird feeling still lingering on your gut.

“Fine, fine…” he hummed and nuzzled his head in your neck, letting out a content sigh at the feeling of your hand in his hair.

“And promise me something…” You slightly tugged his hair, gaining a soft wince from him. “After the robbery, you’ll get rid of that thing, okay?”

“Promised.” He nodded and planted a soft kiss on your neck.

You nodded back and lay down on your bed again, looking at the ceiling followed by Shidou who straddled your lap and looked down at you, raising an eyebrow. “I may be stupid sometimes, but you definitely have something.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” You looked up at him, trying to mask your uneasiness.

“Okay i’m not that stupid sweets, something’s on your mind, I know ya!” He crossed his arms and stared down at you. Shidou was right, he knew you too well to not notice, to the point you sometimes thought he even knew you better than yourself.

You sighed and extended your arms, just wanting a hug from him right now and he more than gladly hugged you, all his weight on top of you as he did, not that you minded, you were used to it by now.

“Everything is gonna be fine, kay?” He spoke softly as he left soft kisses all over your neck until he got too excited and bit you.

“Ryusei!” You groaned slightly as you tried to pull him away obviously to no avail.

“Hm? You don’t complain when we are-“ He couldn’t finish the sentence when you slightly tugged his hair. “O-okay I get it! Why you always mess with my hair damn…” You chuckled softly and caressed the spot you tugged.

He lifted his head and stared at you with a half-lidded gaze, making you squirm every time he looked at you with those pretty pink eyes he looked so cool.

“You’re probably thinking i look very cool and handsome, right?” He teased you as he flashed his usual lazy smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully and smiled softly at him, you still feel slightly uneasy but Shidou always made you feel better, even with his nonstop teasing.

—

The day finally arrived, Shidou and you were leaning against your getaway car. Aiku on the wheel and Sae besides him watching out for any cops.

“Ready sweets?” Shidou looked at you with his usual laidback expression and as he lowered his gaze to your hands he noticed they were slightly trembling. He took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand gently. “Hey, look at me.”

You looked at him and nodded letting out a shaky sigh, he ruffled your hair with his free hand and kissed the hand he was holding. “I’ll protect you even it’s the last thing I do.”

Your gaze softened and you pecked his lips before covering your face with a mask. “Ready”

Shido smiled and did the same, still holding your hand as you both ran and got in the convenience store. Meanwhile the other two were waiting outside a little impatiently, Aiku drummed with his fingers the steering wheel and Sae looked out the window, both silent.

After a minute or two they heard a shot, which made them both turn their heads to the store.

“Didn’t Shidou say his weapon wasn’t loaded?” Aiku furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the store nervously.

The store door opened as the both of you got out, the sight making Aiku and Sae’s stomach drop.

There you were struggling to carry Shidou as you try to make it to the car, bloody hands as he pressed them onto his stomach. Once you made it in the car you turned your head to Aiku and Sae with fear.

“W-what the fuck just happened?!” Aiku said as he drove away as fast as he could.

“S-shidou pulled out the gun to scare the cashier but-“ You contained a sob as a crazy amount of tears rolled down your cheeks. “T-the cashier… he had a gun too…”

“You need to drive to the hospital” Sae looked at Aiku, shocked and desperate.

“N-no… we can’t-“ Shidou hissed in pain as his hand kept pressing the wound, useless as the blood didn’t stop from coming out. “Just… drive to the house and we’ll see what we can do.” He panted and rested his head on the window.

“Shit. This isn’t right…” Aiku mumbled nervously but listened to his petition.

“R-ryu…” You rested your head in his chest. This couldn’t happen, not now that you were about to pursue your dream.

You should’ve listened to your gut.

“Don’t worry sweets, am still here” He weakly smirked as his breath came out in sharp pants.

He wasn’t going to last long, you all knew it as he already lost a lot of blood and the place were he was shot was dangerous, there was nothing you could do. The rest of the ride was silent, only the sharp breathing of Shidou and your soft sobs filled the air.

Once you were at your house, with Shidou laying on his back in your bedroom with you besides him, hugging him tight as you sobbed, staining his shirt more than it already was. You were both a bloody mess, not that you cared now.

“Please don’t leave me… not like this.” You mumbled multiple times as you nuzzled your head on his chest. “We still have a lot to do…. P-please…”

Shidou’s gaze was blurry and he could feel his breath getting weaker and weaker as the seconds passed. With a shaky hand, he gently massaged your head.

“Shidou Ryusei I love you!” You sobbed, tightening the grip you had on him.

“I know… I’ll always love you too.” He struggled to talk as he felt his voice becoming weak.

“J-just stay… please stay…” You kept begging and sobbing. After all, he was the only person you had left, the only person you made a real connection with, the one that cared when nobody else did.

“Hey sweets…” An almost inaudible mumble came out of him.

You slightly lifted your head, red and swollen eyes meeting his gaze. Despite him almost feeling he was going to fall asleep, he looked at you fondly and not loosing his lazy smirk.

“You look so cool to me, even if you’re crying.” He weakly chuckled.

All you could was let out a sad chuckle before staring at him and crashing your lips against his in a kiss full of emotions and pure love until you felt he eventually fell asleep…

Hey!! This time i decided to write some angst, hopefully it wasn’t too bad or too heavy 😥 Hope you like it!!

Masterlist here

[2222bad]

MIDNIGHT, THE STARS, AND YOU

a night of loving (with a view!) | 721 words

WARNINGS: sexual themes , fem!reader , riding , sweet talk

“it’s so pretty…so beautiful…” michael sighs out at the world. perfectly framed through the open balcony doors, billowing curtains, a fairytale fantasy made real just for the two of you. it wasn’t lost on you that he’s gotten to see this all his life, all the time. you finally understood why he could never get sick of it.

staring out at the calm blue night, the city lights, the hills and the paintings it could’ve made, your heart fluttered, taken over by all of its coolness, its beauty. and him, of course; tangled bare in each other, in the lushness of the hotel bedding. it felt like a most magical reverie.

you look out at the night, pressed cheek to cheek like in the old starlet movies, your eyes glinting with the night’s stars in them. he watches with soft eyes and presses his lips flat to your cheek, kissing there.

“everything with you is like a dream.” your eyes meet, his sharp brown tinted blue in the moonlight. when he laughs, you cross his shy giddiness with a giggle of your own, emphatically repeating yourself: “i mean it! everything.”

he smiles, his youth springing from him the way it did when he was a boy. “it all means so much more to me now that i can share it with you…”

the sweetness rolls out of his mouth and through your body like a field of flowers in the wind and his earthly hands run along the softness of your back, the comfort he nurtures silently goading you to kiss him. your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling your naked chests together. lips come together like they’d been made for the other’s, a gratitude escaping both your throats as it would in prayer. it’s beautiful like this, so right. the most perfect getaway. days of remarkable sights, local music, disguises to fool the public. nights of feasting; on the gorgeous food, on each other. you’d already gone a couple of delicious rounds this evening, you were practically bathed in the residual love.

your kiss deepened, and so did his need. that familiar heartbeat below, searched for reprieve. you look at each other, lips parted and glistening. silent permission meets a new look of want.

“can you…rub it on yourself?” he asks in a voice so low one might mistake it for timidness, but you know better. his desire, so ripe, awash over him. excitement heats your body instantly as you take him, hard and thick in your sweet hand, gently between your legs. oh… you moan low at the contact against your curls, rolling the slippery head taut against the bud of you. he lets out a long, savory sigh.

“do you like it?” you whisper shakily, eyes full with something caught between shame and surprise, arousal coloring your face all the same.

michael purrs in assent, teeth sunken into his lip, hips gyrating. “i love it. i love it, baby.”

you slide easy against him, warmer and warmer as he pulses harder, a delicate pang of need getting hotter against your body.

“that’s it, that’s it, baby, get it wet,” he utters under his breath, his guiding hand squeezing the flesh from your hip, the contact between your eyes never breaking…those darling brown eyes, round and wanting, laying all he needed on you with a mere twitch of an eyelash, long, pretty, and fluttering. you buck a little faster, totally blissed.

his breath quickens and his hand moves to cradle your lower back, almost stilling you completely. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice breathless and lustful—overcome with it. “c’mere…c’mere.”

you rock up onto his thighs and he slides his fingers between the two of you, his skin and knuckles growing sticky and wet. you raise your hips, chest meeting his chin, then lips as he kisses the bone along your sternum.

he rubs himself against the soft, slippery ache, beckoning you to take it again. with a whine you sink down wantonly, his eyes still trained on you diligently. love evident in the tenderness. your face contorts divinely, soon full to the brim with him, nestling perfectly along every pulsing vein. his name leaves you in a quivering moan and he kisses your jaw lightly.

“that’s it, darlin’.” he nods, bodies becoming one in the darkness. “want to see you come again.”

[illou-sainte]

RAFAYEL BDAY SEX NOW

Happy birthday...to you!

pairings: rafayel x reader

cw: unprotected sex, foodplay, missionary, lots of cum, teasing, overstimulation

"ngh- h-hah--, baby 'lemme h-hear you sing it.." Rafayel breathed out, hands gripping your hips tightly as he pounds his gritty cock inside of your poor throbbing pussy. You can't help but be overstimulated with his pace--you're a mess. Hair disheveled, drooling, tears streaming, eyes rolling while you blabber nonsense to your lover.

Rafayel adores this sight of you--the way the party hat tilts to the side of your head, your chest and lips smeared with the icing of the cake you bought him. You're adorable.

"P-please..baby..." He pleaded, hand reaching as it cups your cheek. His thumb gently brushing your tears away--you're so beautiful, even with this state. You pursed your lips as you both locked eyes--maintaining eye contact, while he continued on pumping his gritty cock in and out of your drooling pussy.

Even with situation like this--Rafayel wasn't ashamed to yearn and beg for you. That's one thing that isn't good. Because, once he's in control--you'll never escape.

You can hear gushing of his cum and your juices mixed together inside as it oozes out of your tight hole--he's been painting your walls white many times already, you've lost count. Filling you up to the brim with ropes after ropes of his loading hot cum. And it doesn't miss a chance to make your body tremble beneath him--he knows how to push your buttons so well.

His thumb gently moved to your plumped lips as it touches the icing he smeared--wiping it to the side and brought it to his lips and licked his thumb clean. Earning a soft grunt from you as you stare at him.

"Baby..." He looks at you with his pleading eyes--filled with love and lust. Eyes that you can never say no to. You feel yourself giving up--you know damn well he isn't taking no for an answer.

Your lips quivered and you slowly blink, feeling your mind going blank as it becomes hazy. Rafayel smiled at you and grabbed your hand as he intertwined it with his--placing a soft kiss over your hand.

Your heart flutters in awe as you bit your lower lip--preparing yourself. This will be the last time, you thought--but, he'll surely brought this up in the morning.

"Ha....H-happy..." You muttered, face flustered while Rafayel's ears perked and his cheeks began to redden. His lips can't help but twitch a smile as he watches you struggle to blurt out words while he's still deep balls inside of you--makes him want to tease you even more.

"b-birth...day...."

"What was t-that, baby?" He hum, hand gripping the flesh of your plushed thigh.

"....H-happy....birt--ah!" You let out a loud moan as Rafayel cuts you off when he pulled out his gritty cock out of your drooling pussy and pushed it right back in one go. The action made your body twitch as your back arches, toes curling while you mutter curses at him. He lets out a breathy chuckle and leaned closer to you.

"You don't...h-hah-...want the..birthday boy to be sad...right.?.." He whispered to your ear, breath hitting your skin as it makes you hitch in response. You quickly shook your head and he leaned back. He continues his pace and lets you wrap your arms around his back as your nails dig deeper through the flesh of his skin earning a soft grunt from him.

"ngh- come..on, pretty girl...." He grunted, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he started leaving hot kisses and hickeys on your skin. Making your aching pussy throb as it tightens around his gritty cock inside. He fills you up so good--not leaving any space in your tight pussy.

You can't help but tighten your legs around his hips as he continued drilling his cock in your poor pussy. The heat between the both of you rising while you felt your climax building up through your drooling pussy--preparing to release.

"hah- please...too much! I cant--!.."

"ngh- let me hear you...let me h-hear that sweet voice, baby.." He cooed, moving his lips to your face as he plants kisses everywhere. You cried out while he kissed your tears away--you're definitely left with no choice.

"please...baby..."

"ngh-...! Ah-! Happy.. birth...day! To..ah!" Oh, he's definitely doing this in purpose. Cutting you off with every thrust his gritty cock gives your aching pussy? He's definitely going to sleep on the couch after this.

"hmm....hah- what was that?..." He joked, resting his forehead against your while you glare at him and he chuckled.

"I-I swear to- ah!" You moaned out, as he gives you another big thrust--his angry red tip kissing the lips of your womb as it hits. Making your eyes widen, as you can feel your building up climax bursting as it releases--cumming as you squirt. Letting your high release like a waterfall, hitting his pelvis as it drips to the length of his gritty cock.

Rafayel pants against you and leaned back. Slowly pulling his gritty cock out of your aching pussy, his hot cum leaks out of your poor hole. Ozzing out as it traced down to your plushed thighs to the covers of his bed under, leaving a nasty mess.

You both were a mess, panting heavily while trying to catch your breath. He brushed strands of his hair sticking out of his sweaty forehead as he rests his hardened cock against your clit--earning a soft whimper from you when he started rubbing his length against it.

"Let's continue this in the bathroom, want to hear that sweet voice echoed just for me..."

Maybe he'll make this an "Lemurian tradition" now.

Not proofread. masterlist

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Lose Yourself in Us (Part 9)

The hospital is a blur of bright lights, sharp voices, and the crushing weight of fear pressing down on your chest.

Marshall doesn’t let go of your hand the entire ride there. His grip is tight, almost desperate, his voice shaking as he whispers to you over and over, “Stay with me, baby. Please, just stay with me.”

But it’s getting harder.

The pain is unbearable, radiating through your body in waves so strong they steal your breath. You can feel the blood, too much of it, soaking through the hospital sheets as nurses and doctors swarm around you.

“She’s hemorrhaging.”

“BP’s dropping fast.”

“We need to get this baby out now.”

You hear it all, but it feels distant, like you’re slipping underwater. Your vision swims, black spots creeping into the edges.

And then you see Marshall’s face—pale, stricken, his blue eyes wild with terror. He’s being pushed back, forced away as they wheel you toward the OR.

“No, wait—” His voice cracks. “Let me—please—”

You try to say something, to reach for him, but the world tilts and fades before you get the chance.

Darkness takes you before you hear your son’s first cries.

—

The days after your surgery are a blur.

For Marshall, time stops and drags all at once. He’s stuck in a hellish limbo, trapped between fear and hope, between the unbearable silence of your hospital room and the distant sounds of the world moving on without you.

The doctors say you lost too much blood. That they had to work fast to stop the bleeding, to keep you alive.

But you still haven’t woken up.

And Marshall doesn’t know what to do.

The baby—your baby, his son—is here. Breathing. Healthy. A nurse told him he weighed six pounds, seven ounces. That he has your nose and a strong set of lungs. That he’s beautiful.

Marshall hasn’t seen him.

Can’t.

Every time he thinks about it, his chest tightens like a steel trap. Because what if—

What if you never wake up?

What if he has to do this alone?

He can’t. He won’t.

So he doesn’t go to the nursery, doesn’t look at the tiny bundle the nurses keep asking if he wants to hold. Doesn’t let himself feel anything except the crushing weight of your absence.

He just sits beside your bed, gripping your limp hand, pressing his forehead to it as he whispers broken prayers to a God he doesn’t believe in.

“Baby, please,” he chokes out for the hundredth time, his voice raw. “Please wake up. I can’t do this without you.”

But the machines keep beeping. The world keeps turning.

And you stay silent.