#and i looked at him and told him very plainly

[wisteria-lodge]

Wait, do you think Tom Riddle made himself ugly on purpose so he didn't look like his dad? That never occurred to me. I always just assumed it was a side effect of all the weird shit he was doing and he didn't care much as long as he became more powerful. So many time travel fix-it fics I've read have him horrified in particular that he is hideous in the future.

I think Tom Riddle has a deeply ambivalent relationship with his own extraordinary beauty.

Like, okay. He has the same name as his (muggle) father, and looks exactly like his (muggle) father. Apart from being a muggle, the most important thing about Tom Riddle Sr. is that he's very, very pretty. It's why Merope targets him. So right away, the books make Tom Riddle's looks... kind of a negative.

We also know that Tom sheds his "filthy muggle father's name" at the first possible opportunity. But those looks... he needs those looks, at least for now.

I think that Orphanage!Tom is a good snapshot of what he looks like in his natural, comfortable resting state:

"He scares the other children.” “You mean he is a bully?” asked Dumbledore. (...) “There have been incidents. . . . Nasty things . . . Billy Stubbs’s rabbit . . . well, Tom said he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he could have done, but even so, it didn’t hang itself from the rafters, did it?”

Tom enjoys feeling powerful. He's going to take what he wants (ie young Tom's trinket collection) and everyone around him is just going to let him... because they're scared of him. Also he's kind of a sadist.

The problem is, Tom's NOT powerful at Hogwarts, at least not at first. He can't scare people into doing things for him anymore, and so he needs another strategy.

So, Hogwarts!Tom becomes a CHARMER. He charms Ginny and his school mates. He hits the "sir" incredibly hard when talking to his professors. We're told that "Dippet was very fond of Voldemort and convinced of his honesty." He plays Slughorn like a violin:

“But you obviously know all about [horcruxes], sir? I mean, a wizard like you — sorry, I mean, if you can’t tell me, obviously — I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could — so I just thought I’d ask —” It was very well done, thought Harry, the hesitancy, the casual tone, the careful flattery, none of it overdone.

Tom also does things like - pay attention to Slughorn's food preferences, so he can get him the perfect gift (candied pineapple.)

And well. That ability to charm people is related to his looks. They're brought up almost every time he is: Tom is the "clever, handsome boy," an "unusually talented and good-looking orphan, he naturally drew attention and sympathy from the staff." The link between his beauty and his power becomes text (rather than subtext) during the Hepzibah Smith segment:

Harry thought he saw a red gleam in [Tom's] dark eyes. His greedy expression was curiously mirrored on Hepzibah’s face, except that her tiny eyes were fixed upon Voldemort’s handsome features.

It's pretty clear what's going on. Tom wants Hepzibah's magical trinkets, and Hepzibah... wants Tom. (and she wants him because he's beautiful.) We get an unusually detailed description of him here:

He was plainly dressed in a black suit; his hair was a little longer than it had been at school and his cheeks were hollowed, but all of this suited him; he looked more handsome than ever.

Hepzibah's attraction is framed as "greed." It's negative, almost threatening, she's looking at Tom like she wants to eat him. The section goes out of it's way to frame Hepzibah as unappealing and unattractive... but her "naughty boy" Tom is still kissing "Miss Hepzibah's" hand, and bringing her flowers. Then she casually pinches his cheek.

Tom is getting nothing out of this soft-seduction. He actually seems to be working very hard not to take up space. He "murmurs," or else speaks "quietly." (He's described as speaking "quietly" four times, and it's not a long scene.) He "picks" his way through the room, "smiled mechanically," and the narrative voice makes a point to say that when he reaches for the locket after his eyes flash red, he did it "without invitation this time," - implying that he is accustomed to asking for permission, positioning himself as less powerful than the person he's talking to.

He honestly seems very happy to just drop the pretense... and just publicly be the scary bastard he always was underneath. Tom walks into Dumbledore's office to ask for a job, and is just incredibly direct. At this point, he's halfway to full snakiness, and not as pretty as he once was:

"His features were not (...) as snakelike, the eyes were not yet scarlet, the face not yet masklike, and yet he was no longer handsome Tom Riddle. It was as though his features had been burned and blurred; they were waxy and oddly distorted, and the whites of the eyes now had a permanently bloody look, though the pupils were not yet the slits that Harry knew they would become."

But he also seems much more powerful, much more confident, much more comfortable in his skin. Now when he smiles it's a "taut leer, an evil thing, more threatening than a look of rage." He "sneers," he stands above Dumbledore and gives him a hard time, and in general seems very proud of himself.

“You call it ‘greatness,’ what you have been doing, do you?” asked Dumbledore delicately. “Certainly,” said Voldemort, and his eyes seemed to burn red. “I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed —”

We also have a moment with full-snake Risen Voldemort, and his response to his own new body is completely positive:

He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant.

Tom then goes on to have a WONDERFUL time until things go south - monologuing, torturing Peter, casting spells on Harry to force him to bow...

So my take on this is that Tom likes and even prefers his Snakey body. It means he no longer has to play the subservient charmer (he CAN'T.) It is physical proof of his own brilliance, his own power, his own experimentation. He no longer looks like his muggle father, he has shed the muggle side of himself completely. It's probably also a body that needs less food, less sleep, feels less pain etc. I'm basing this off Ralph Fiennes' decision not to wear shoes as Voldemort, but it fits with his MO: he wants to be MORE than human, he wants to shed his weaknesses and achieve some kind of immortality and transhumanism.

Now the question is - was his Snakey appearance an accidental/unavoidable side effect of the "dangerous magical transformations" that left him "barely recognizable" - or was Voldemort actively seeking out something that would change how he looked? Honestly, I could see that going either way. But I'm inclined to think that he *did* at least sign off on this appearance... just because all those Snakey!Tom transformation beats are about being in control. That is what he's doing here, showing off just how much control he has over his body, and his world.

[moeblob]

explaining to a coworker I don't socialize out of work bc of The Anxiety. then later explaining why i have gray in my hair.... it's... still The Anxieties...... goin' gray since my early 20s........

[asidian]

I've seen a lot of talk about how breathtakingly devoted Charles is for walking down into hell to rescue Edwin, but one thing I don't think I've seen talked about anywhere is how astoundingly brave it was.

Put yourself in Charles' place, at this point in canon.

Literally all Charles has heard about hell is what Edwin has told him. And all Edwin's said, over and over again, for thirty years, is how terrible it was. It's the worst place with the worst people, and, well, Edwin trauma Olympics like a champ. Even if Charles doesn't know the full story, and he plainly doesn't, he knows that it's Very Bad.

He's walking into an absolute nightmare, and he knows it, and he does it with his eyes wide open.

And then take a look at how he's getting there.

The last time he saw the Night Nurse, she forced him to relive his worst trauma in real time and was threatening to split the pair of them up - to drag Edwin back to hell herself.

You can actually see Charles' expression shift when Niko suggests the Night Nurse look in his head again; he's afraid, and he's trying hard to mask it. He's afraid, but he's willing to let it happen, because he will do whatever it takes to get to Edwin.

So he stands aside and lets her poke around in his mind again, no matter how much pain she caused him the last time she was there.

And then?

Then he's got to rely on this woman who has literally only ever done him harm to uphold her end of the bargain.

Add to all of that the fact that Charles doesn't know if he can do this.

The only time he forcefully tells Crystal no, without any apology or softening of the words, is when he tells her she can't come to hell with him.

That's because he doesn't know if he can keep her safe. He doesn't know if he can make it back.

This is on the heels of the Devlin house, where he was able to do nothing to save the family trapped inside. It's on the heels of the Night Nurse showing him how powerless he is. It's on the heels of the Two Dead Dragons, where he spends the entire episode certain that he's a terrible person. It's on the heels of the debacle in the forest with Monty, where Charles is able to do nothing at all. He has to rely on Crystal to save the day.

He does not know if he can do this, and even if he can, he does not know whether he can trust the person letting him have a chance to fulfill her end of the bargain.

But he doesn't even hesitate.

He's going after Edwin because he has to go after Edwin.

He's got to. Because the alternative, leaving Edwin on his own again to suffer this fate he's suffered for too long already, is unthinkable.

And so he walks into hell, and he rewrites the whole damn narrative with bravery and devotion and desperation alone. And that is so unspeakably lovely that I'm still not over it, all these months in.

[wilwheaton]

For some odd reason, moderator Jake Tapper told Trump in the beginning that he didn't need to answer the questions and that he could use the time however he wanted. Trump ran with that, essentially giving a rally speech whenever he had the floor and was unresponsive to the vast majority of the questions. He made faces and insulted Biden to his face, at one point calling him a criminal and a Manchurian candidate. If anyone had said 10 years ago that this would happen at a presidential debate they would have been laughed out of the room. After the debate when most of the country had turned off cable news or gone to bed, CNN aired its fact check. [...] Even had Joe Biden been at the top of his game, he would not have been able to parry all those lies and he shouldn't have been put in the role of being Donald Trump's fact checker. His choice was to either ignore the lies and let them stand so he could use his time to make his own case or spend the entire debate correcting the record. It was not a fair fight. It's obvious that Biden's terrible performance has caused panic among Democrats and liberal pundits and analysts. The calls for him to withdraw are loud and meaningful and it's going to be a very rough period in this campaign whatever happens. For me, this isn't really a question. As long as Donald Trump is on the ballot, I will vote for the Democratic nominee. If it's Biden or someone else, the calculation remains the same. Nothing is worse than another Trump administration and I suspect that at the end of the day Democratic voters will agree with that. So it's still a matter of those undecided voters in swing states, just like it was on Thursday morning.

CNN's debate was no fair fight

CNN, yet again, gave Trump a national stage to vomit an endless stream of unchecked lies, and today, CNN is telling itself and anyone who will listen that the network and its moderators did a great job. That’s just plainly false, and America is paying the price for their failure.

That doesn’t let Biden off the hook. Biden had a terrible night. He was so bad, it’s allowed the political press to completely ignore not just how much Trump lied, but what he lied about: January 6, all his indictments, his Covid response, and on and on. President Biden was a disaster, and his campaign should be at DefCon 1 to try and repair all the damage. I am terrified that his awful performance will obscure his surprisingly good record and leadership in the post-insurrection era, and give the political press an excuse to run with “Biden is old” in the face of Trump’s endless lies, his felony convictions, his pending trials, and all of his criminality. Someone at Salon said that Trump didn’t win, but Biden absolutely lost. I can’t argue with that, even if the facts are all on Biden’s side.

I’ve seen President Biden on TV today, and even last night after the debate, where he didn’t come across as an ancient dude who needs a walker on his way to some Matlock reruns. He looks and sounds like the SOTU Biden we all expected would show up last night. I have no idea why he was so awful for 99% of the debate (the campaign says he has a cold), and I have no idea why the guy who is showing up to speak to supporters today, and who delivered the SOTU didn’t show up last night to save America from Trump, again.

But we have to live with this reality now, and I hope like hell that the Biden campaign, the candidate, and the entire Democratic party apparatus scrambles like fucking crazy to get all hands on deck to fix this, and remind voters that

This isn’t about BIden vs. Trump. This is about America vs. Project 2025.

There will be no second debate where Biden can try to salvage something out of the wreckage of this one. Trump has everything to lose and nothing to gain. Trump will crow about how he won, and declare he has no reason to debate again, and he’s right. Biden had one shot and he absolutely blew it. The moderators did not help, but the campaign had to have known they wouldn’t, and it sure looks like they didn’t prepare Biden for what we all knew was coming. I don’t know how those same people stop the bleeding, and if they can’t, America and the world are in real, real trouble.

But we all have to remember that we have a choice to make in just a few months. Right now, and probably on election day, the choice is between Joe Biden and Democracy, or Donald Trump and Fascism. It’s stark, it’s clear, it’s binary, and I can not believe that it is even a question. I just hope that there are enough voters out there who will understand that we do have a choice. The options suck, but we do have a choice.

Please choose Democracy. Please choose America. Please choose the future world our children will inherit from us.

[totalswag]

Long I love singer!reader as Sabrina carpenter.. what if, for the song Juno we have a pose just for drew and it’s like”drew have you ever tried this one” whole time yes we have because that’s our man😭

ever tried this one? ⎯ DREW STARKEY

authors note ah thank you! this is very short but there's more posts coming very very soon. sabrina really gave me singer!reader vibes when i was writing the first fic. as i've said before, you can picture singer!reader however you want.

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary calling out drew in the middle of your show doing his favorite position.

warning(s) mentions of intimate positions.

You are about to move to the front and surprise the audience with the legendary Juno pose. Since the first Juno position, it has been a small tradition―fans live for it.

The show has been going great so far. Everyone is having so much fun and so are you.

Slowly jogging to the front of the stage, avoiding falling on your face or injuring any body parts. You were prepared to show the position for this show because Drew, your boyfriend, was in the crowd. You arrested him before the song to make things interesting.

You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late night, I'm thinkin' bout you, ah, ah-ah

Wanna try some freaky positions

Smirking at the crowd as you begin to position yourself. You pretend to be straddling someone, waving your left hand in the air like a cowgirl, gently swaying your hips, and winking at Drew.

Cowgirl is one of his favorite positions and you thought why not.

"Drew have you ever tried this one?" Your cheeks turn red as you experience intense feelings.

You notice him from a distance in full shock. He was flustered, plainly unprepared to be called out so publicly, but a smile in his eye told her he enjoyed every minute of it.

The look on his face indicates it's going to be a very long night for you both―you aren't complaining.

Fans were waiting to see his reaction when you demonstrated the position. When you get your phone, you'll notice a number of videos from that night.

⎯⎯ my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account

@chenslucy @rosezza @rafeyslamb @mymultiveres @runningfrom2am @drewsephrry @starkeyvhs @percysley @diqldrunks @francislovergirl @kiiyomei @sukuna-wafiu @skyslowalking @kneelarmhstrung @inthelibrarybtw @liliumz @lovingsturniolo @xoxosblogsblog

[bisexualiteaa]

Omg! You should totally do one where he’s sexually frustrated. And the reader (female), teases him until he breaks! And when he does they get down to business BIG time if you know what i mean lol. But even when they do start to fuck the reader doesn’t listen to all his demands, making it more spicy once silco finally gets the reader exactly how he wants her.

On edge

AN: Thank you so much for this request!! I loved the idea so much and literally had so much fun writing this! Apologies that it took a few days, I again just wanted to make sure it was good and to what you asked! ♥️ I hope you enjoy and that I’ve done your ask justice! 🥺🫶

CW: no use of y/n, reader has hair, reader is AFAB, female anatomy, MDNI, cursing, teasing, heavy brät/brät tämer themes, Silco is t0uch deprived, r0ugh seggs, unprotected seggs, bïting, cream 🥧, slight dëgradation, p0rn w/o plot, äftercare, possible spelling/grammar errors

Also I’m not sure why, but as I was writing I was listening to this song and I just feel like it fits SO well! So listen along while you read if you’d like!

His forehead head sat in his hand as you entered his office, elbow leaned against the desk as his other hand held a glass, amber liquid and two ice cubes swirling around inside the ornate rocks glass. Whiskey, he only drank on the rougher days anymore, and judging by the cigar that sat in the ash tray on his desk, smoke emanating from it, told you he was having a day. You on the other hand, were in a different sort of mood, a bubbly, perhaps more mischievous mood. You weren’t quite sure what brought it about, whether it was your confidence just hitting a new high today, or what but you could tell from the sassy sway to your hips as you shut the door carefully behind you. Something you didn’t realize had in fact been noticed by him, he was just doing a very good job at hiding it.

“Rough day?” You asked innocently, sauntering over to his side as you stood beside him. The scent of your perfume filled his nose the moment you moved closer, leaving him to inhale its intoxicating scent. Sometimes he wondered if you mixed a sort of drug into it with the way he craved its familiarity, wishing to smell it on his sheets, his jacket. When he did, it drove him wild, the transfer of it from just a simple hug was enough to leave him clutching the large jacket and taking a whiff on occasion when no one was looking or when he was alone in his office. Each time he did, he could feel his cock twitch with excitement as his mind would then drift to you. Sinful thoughts filling his mind of how good you would look splayed against his sheets beneath him, or how you would look bent over his desk as he ravaged you. Shimmer had nowhere near the effects that you had on him, it was almost impressive as much as it was sad. How long had it been that the simple scent of your perfume could cause him to go mad? Or for your fleeting touches to leave him with such carnal need? He couldn’t remember, but you made him feel young again in that sense.

“Quite” he replied plainly, placing the glass down on the desk, trading it for his cigar that had already been halfway smoked. You watched as he took a long drag of it before leaning back and releasing the smoke in an exhale upwards, ensuring he wouldn’t breathe it into your face. You loved the scent of his cigars, something about the tobacco mixed with smoke and his own personal scent left you enjoying being around him as he smoked more than you probably should have. There was something just so alluring about it. “Every time I turn around it feels as if something has fallen apart and is in need of my attention” he finally explained, leaving you to look upon him sympathetically. The lines of stress etched into his forehead and brow spoke truth of this, the bags beginning to accumulate beneath his eyes only further evidence to his unrest. Your hand came to rest against his thigh, rubbing soothing circles along his skin. Something you’d done in the hopes it would help him calm down a little, but you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t have ulterior motives behind it.

You felt his body tense for a moment from the soft touch, looking down at your hand that rested against his mid thigh. It was so close, so close yet so far. He wondered how it would look in your small, dainty hands, how good it would feel. He turned his head and shifted a little to try and erase the thought from his mind, but even as you removed your hand, its heat lingered on the spot like a painful reminder. “Zaun looks to their leader for guidance and aid, but even a leader deserves rest” you said, smoothing your hands along his jacket, flattening any wrinkles that formed from his previously hunched over position. You were bent over as you did, the shirt you were wearing giving him direct sight to your cleavage as your perfume continued to intoxicate him. Did you have any idea the things you were doing to him? Surely you had to, you couldn’t be so oblivious to your effect on him, could you? He was ashamed of the hold you had on him, how weak you made him from just a simple touch. He tried his best to hide it, and hide it well, but as you stood here before him he knew today may very well be the day he reaches his breaking point. “I’m granted no rest when someone walks through my door just about every hour” he replied, making you hum as you stood back up, watching his eyes trail you as you walked back over to the door. He felt himself release a breath he had no idea he’d been holding in as you put a slight distance between you. “Then lock it” you said with a cute little grin, the bolt turning in the door with an audible click before you turned back around, watching him clutch the cigar between his fingers with a fierce grip. His eyes bored into you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, no one has ever looked at you like that, with such fire in their eyes, with such desire. It made your stomach twist in knots. “No one can bother you if they can’t get in” you finished before returning to his side, this time watching as you boldly sat on an empty corner of his desk.

You couldn’t quite read the look on his face as you did, but you had noticed the way his eyes would flit up and down your body when he thought you weren’t looking. He took in the way your pencil skirt seemed to raise past your mid thigh as you sat down, giving him a flash of your panties from beneath it when you would go to cross your legs, leaving him incredibly hard beneath his pants. You were toying with him, you had to be. There was no way you were doing this all unknowing of the effects you had on him. Pathetically, he was falling for it, and he hated that he was. He caught the glimpse of a grin resting on your sweet, plump lips as your downcast gaze trailed him up and down, waiting for a response. You were teasing him on purpose. “You play with fire” he stated, making you giggle. “I know, I can’t help myself. I like the possibilities of being burnt” you answered confidently, your foot dragging up and down his calf affectionately. Janna almighty you’ll be the death of him, but if that were to be the case, what a hell of a way to go.

You watched him as he stood before you, hands planting on either side of your thighs as his face hovered close to yours. “You think you’re so clever? Waltzing in here with that short little skirt, teasing me and think I wouldn’t notice?” He asked, making you hum as your grin only stretched wider. “Seemed to be working just fine, was it not?” You asked in reply, feeling as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart to allow him a place to stand between before pulling you to the edge of his desk where your hips met his. “You tell me, what do you think?” he replied, leaving you to gasp softly as you felt him pulse and twitch against your heat. “I think I have you wrapped around my little finger” you boldly claimed, your fingers walking up along his jacket before your arms looped around his neck, pulling yourself even closer to him but never fully closing the distance. “You think so?” He asked in response, making you giggle. That same smug grin rested on your lips as electricity thrummed between you, your faces mere centimeters apart, waiting to see if he would cave in. Your gaze flit to his lips with heavy lids, enjoying the mental turmoil you were putting him through as he fought caving in immediately. “You want me so bad? Come get me” you whispered, your breath ghosting across his lips as they hovered so very close to his own. He needed you in ways he couldn’t even begin to try and explain.

So he caved.

You felt his hand come to rest on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you even closer, finally closing the distance between you as his lips captured yours. The kiss was fiery, passionate and messy, a gravely groan leaving him into it. You could feel the rumble in his chest from it, paired with the way his lips danced against your own told you how long he’d been wanting this, how much he’d been needing this. Needing you. You couldn’t help the smile that stretched to your lips into it, thinking of all the ways that you could push his limits. Your hand smoothed down his chest, toying with his tie as his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, an effort to push the kiss further into something more intimate. You giggled as you denied him, earning an impatient groan in response as his free hand groped your ass roughly, making you moan. The moment you did, he took his chance, his tongue exploring you as it tangled with your own in a messy clash of teeth, tongue and lips. It had you dizzy.

When he pulled back he looked you over, not caring this time if you laid witness to it or not. He took the moment to take in how your chest heaved with each labored breath, how your cheeks were flushed, lips shining with swapped saliva. “Gonna keep staring at me? Or you gonna do something about that problem of yours?” You asked with a cocky grin, making him chuckle darkly. “Oh it will be fixed, but it won’t be me fixing it” he said, yanking on your hair to pull your head back, earning a pathetic whine from you as it made you look up at him, finding yourself unable to bite back in this position. “You caused it, you fix it” he ordered, making you moan as he rolled his hips against your own, brushing his painfully hard cock against your panty clad cunt, allotting you some much needed friction and stimulation. All you could do was look up at him, excitement and anticipation filling your gaze leaving him to chuckle. “No witty come back to that? I give you the smallest taste of how good I can make you feel and you give up just like that, hmm?” He asked smuggly, making your face grow hot with defeat before he let up on his grip in your hair. “Strip” he commanded, making you stand up and work at untucking your shirt before unbuttoning it slowly. He watched as every button came undone, more of your gorgeous body was revealed to him, his eyes raking over your curves. The fabric soon dropped to the floor haphazardly next to his desk, to be forgotten about until later when it would be needed again. Next was your bra. His eyes were trained on you as he watched you unhook the backing, allowing it to slide down your arms and join your shirt in a growing pile. Your nipples had hardened from the temperature change, the exposure to the air and from the excitement coursing through you in anticipation of what was to come next. Then came your skirt, its simple button and zipper being undone allowing it to drop to the floor and pool around your feet with ease, earning a groan from him at the sight of you nearly naked before him. You hooked your thumbs into the sides of your panties, working them down from your hips before they fell to your ankles, leaving you to kick them off to the side with rest of the pile. You watched with much intrigue and entertainment as he seemed to twitch with anticipation and need for you, making you giggle.

“How long has it been?” You asked curiously, a cocky grin on your lips and confidence in your tone as you looked at him, looping your arms around his neck. There it was again, your perfume, overwhelming his senses. “I beg your pardon?” He asked, brows furrowed and sending a rather defensive look your way. “How long has it been?” You asked again, watching as he looked you up and down. “Since?” He asked in reply, not seeming to understand what you were hinting at, or maybe he preferred you just spit it out. “Since you had sex. Can tell by the tension in your shoulders and the way you practically moan with every touch that it’s been a while” you pointed out playfully, making him a little angry that you managed to get beneath his surface and figure him out so well. “You best be careful of that mouth of yours. My kindness, even with you, has its limits” he responded, making you hum. “Then go ahead, be mean. I’m a big girl, I can take it” you challenged making him walk closer to you, inching you towards the edge of his desk. “You want me to be mean, do you?” He asked, the rasp of his voice lowering to a much deeper tone, a crooked smile resting on his lips. He couldn’t lie, the slight tinge of fear resting in your eyes when you felt your back hit his desk, telling you there was nowhere left to go, awakened something dark within him. Something carnal, animalistic. You looked like nothing more than helpless, vulnerable prey, and he was about to eat you alive. You couldn’t deny the predatory look in his eyes certainly worked wonders on you in return. “Don’t look so concerned…” he started, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek gently before leaning in close, leaving his lips just millimeters from yours.

“I’m about to make your day” he finished, his words mixed with the feel of his breath ghosting your lips so closely send a shiver through you in excitement.

It wasn’t long before his pants were around his ankles, thrusting his cock balls deep into your soaked cunt. Your shared panting and moans, paired with the creaking and screeching of the poor desk beneath you that had been slowly inching its way across the floor with each thrust, filled the room. Should anyone walk past his office, there would be no mistaking what was happening just behind the door. Though you supposed your moans could have likely alerted all of Zaun at this rate, with your first orgasm of the night already past you, it’d be a miracle if no one could hear you. Your head was tilted back as he drilled into you, gripping your hips with a bruising pressure as your arms looped around his neck for leverage. You watched as he looked down to the space where your bodies were connected, watching his length disappeared inside of you with ease. He couldn’t help but to notice the little white ring that rested at the base of his length from your previous orgasm as the sound of his hips smacking roughly against your ass filled the room. “Fuck! Oh gods, yes!” You moaned, making him grin. “How long has it been?” He asked, looking to you, waiting for a response from you but your pleasure-idled mind was so foggy you could hardly understand what he was asking you. “Since? Oh fuck! Right there!!” You replied the best you could, tilting your head back again, leaving your tits just inches from his face as your back arched upwards towards him. “Since someone fucked you right. Since someone made you feel this good” he finished, making you whine as his hand grabbed your jaw, squishing your cheeks as he forced you to look back up at him. The cute pout that rested on your face, occasionally morphing into ones of pleasure each time his tip bullied your cervix, had him rutting into you harder. “Never! Not ‘til you- oh!” You managed, making him chuckle as he relinquished you from his grip. “Pathetic. You put up all that fuss, do all that teasing and yet I still manage to get you right where I want you” he said through grunts of pleasure, his neatly slicked back hair slightly falling against his forehead that had a thin sheen of sweat. “Feels so good! Oh gods, Silco!” You moan pathetically, knowing he was exactly right but you didn’t care. You’d spend every night here like this with him if he made you feel this good every time.

You felt as that familiar sensation in your lower belly began to take root again as his lips captured your own in a messy but passionate kiss, your moans raising in pitch and growing closer together a clear sign that you were close. As if on que, his fingers traveled between your bodies, coming to rub your clit to give you that added bit of friction you so desperately needed. You gasped before moving your hips against his and his fingers, meeting his merciless thrusts and fucking yourself on his fingers. “You’re right where you belong. Beneath me like this, cumming on my cock as I please you like no one else ever will” he said, rubbing your clit faster to make up for the way his thrusts were beginning to lose rhythm. You were so close to finally falling over the precipice, your body feeling as if it were catching on fire as your every nerve ending lit up. His words were what sent you there. “You’re mine” he growled, biting into your shoulder as you came together, his bite sending you toppling over the edge into pure bliss, while your walls squeezed him tight, milking him of everything he’d been holding in for far too long. Your body twitched and spasmed with the intensity of your second orgasm of the night, a pleased hum leaving you as you felt him cum inside of you, throbbing repeatedly as he emptied everything into you.

You both sat there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms together, fighting to catch your breath. You watched him smooth his hair back with his hand, doing his best to get it out of his face and back to how it was originally styled, or at least the closest he could get it. You smiled as he kissed you softly, leaving you to cup his dance gently in your hands. “Are you alright?” He asked into it, checking to make sure he hadn’t overdone it and hurt you. You gave a hum then a giggle. “I feel wonderful” you said with a bubbly grin, making him chuckle as he continued to kiss you, not wishing to leave your arms or the taste of your sweet lips just yet. “Good, as do I” he replied, making you grin even wider. “Fuck yes you do” you said, playfully yet truthfully, making you both laugh. “Oh is that so? Have I ruined anyone else for you?” He asked, the hint of possessiveness in his tone as his lips traced down your neck. “You might have. Not that I care to find out, you said it yourself; this is exactly where I belong, and it’s exactly where I intend to stay” you said, your head tilted a little to grant him better access to your sensitive skin. You heard him groan next to your ear as his lips lingered upon all your most sensitive spots.

What caught you by absolute surprise was the sensation of him throbbing within you, twitching to life again from inside of you. You gave a gasp with both intrigue and excitement as he looked to you with a grin. Apparently your words had let the monster out, because stay there you would for nearly the rest of the night, getting lost in one another without a care for how sore you’d be tomorrow. It was well worth it when you were with him.

[gracieheartspedro]

Nobody Likes A Secret

pairing: no outbreak rich older!joel miller x fem!reader.

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 3k words

description: a rich wealthy playboy who becomes enthralled by his neighbor's daughter. it never ends well when he can not fathom having happiness for himself.

warnings: ANGSTY!!!!!, age gap (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her mid 20s), wealthy!joel, neighbor!joel, reader is pretty naive and delusional, taboo relationship troupe, mentions of parent death, VERY BRIEF SMUT, joel is borderline evil and very mean. joel calls reader "kid". joel is also a liar. talks of having children.

author’s note: I wrote this all in like... two nights. I listened to illicit affair by taylor swift and nobody likes a secret by lizzy mcalpine a lil much and it ended up here. sorry if I make you sad.

You creep into the large 4-car garage, seeing Joel pacing the oil-stained floor. He’s still in his work clothes, but he looks a bit disheveled. His eyes are wild, his face downturned into a deep-set frown. 

“Joel? Everything okay?”

He shakes his head. “He knows.”

You know only one person who would ruin this. 

‘This’ being an 9-month-long affair with your older neighbor. Months and months of meeting in dark corners, hardly ever seeing each other in the light. 

“How?”

Joel fumbles trying to pull his phone out of his pocket, showing you the 5 missed calls from your Dad. You stare at it blankly, tightening your jaw at the possibility that your Dad is too smart for his own good. Shit, he does know, doesn’t he? He throws the phone down on a nearby leather couch that is positioned near a workbench. Joel was pretty good with his hands, but lately his mind has been anywhere but tinkering with wood in his garage. 

“He came over an hour ago. Sat me down and told me that he was getting suspicious of some outings you’ve had over the last couple months. Said he realized you were not going to the places you said you were going to. So he assumed you had a new boyfriend or something. Then last night…”

You curl your hands into a fist. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck,” Joel grumbles, running his hands over his face, dragging his lower lids down in frustration, “He said that if I know anything or see anything, I am to let him know immediately. He’s worried you’re fuckin’ around with the wrong guy.”

You had snuck out of your house last night and tiptoed your way into Joel’s car, which was parked in a nearby cul de sac. He promised you a nice late dinner in the city and then he ravished you in a hotel room you two didn’t even spend the night in. He brought you home around 4 am and you snuck back into your bedroom, ensuring nothing in your home was stirred. When you woke up the next morning, your father left you a note that he wanted to do dinner with you that night. Meaning tonight. 

You know this is detrimental, and while you do not want to freak out immediately, you can not help but feel like someone is stabbing you directly in the chest. Joel’s body language is giving off negative signals, so even though you want to hug him and tell him that you can talk to your Dad, you know it’s not going to change much.

Your eyes well with tears, thinking of how this was going to ruin everything. After months and months, you thought you were being so smart.

“We can’t do this anymore,” He whispers.

And God damn, did Joel hate seeing you cry. 

But the tear-filled eyes you are giving him are warranted. You don’t turn away from him like usual. You never wanted to show him any weakness. 

This time you confront him, your nose turning upward and your eyes full of disdain. 

“You said we were being careful,” You murmur, the salty tears falling down your cheeks.

“Not careful enough.”

The bitterness tastes like blood in your mouth. You want to scream at him but keep an even tone instead, “Joel… Just let me talk to him.”

“You knew where this was gonna end up,” He states plainly, his voice not wavering. 

And maybe he was right, but you enjoyed living in a loved-up delusion. Maybe it was the sex or maybe it was the looks he gave you from across densely populated parties you were forced to go to. You would put on a show long enough to make your father happy and then you would somehow sneak away with Joel. You knew if your father caught you with the much older man, he would lose his mind, so you were always cautious. You made sure the doors were locked. The moans would stay hushed. The car was parked far from your front door. And during the time spent away from the house, you would get a girlfriend to lie for you. You were always so careful. 

“Maybe he suspects it’s someone else.” you try to reassure him, but you know it’s falling on deaf ears.

“You know he knows it’s me.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

Joel rolls his eyes. He knows that your father’s words were simply a warning. If you two continued this schtick, you know better than anyone your father would find out. You knew he already kind of had eyes on you and Joel had caught on to a couple of neighbors watching him from their bedroom windows. He gives your father credit, he was thorough. 

“We have to stop.”

You did not realize how much your heart was banking on making this work. Joel was about 25 years older, so deep down, you knew that no one would accept the relationship. But in your wildest fantasies, you imagined you two would run away together. He had tons of money, you had nothing tying you down, and it could be a perfect escape. You had brought it up one night after you snuck over to his bed and he didn’t explicitly say no. He just giggled and continued tracing circles on your bare back. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, “So you just… don’t want me anymore?”

He huffs, already annoyed you were making it seem like he had a choice.

“It was never gonna work out in the first place, kid.”

You just stare at him. The nickname hit harder than it ever has. After months of sneaking around with you, Joel only ever saw you as that. A kid. 

“Don’t call me that. Ever.”

He notices the rise in your voice and quickly realizes he made a mistake. 

“Listen-”

It’s like every terrible emotion you have ever had comes bubbling to the surface. The resentment you held towards him when he ignored your calls some nights. Or when he refused to get near you at any party. You had your grievances, but you sat there like a good girl and just accepted him the way he was.

It’s like acid in your throat, it burns. 

“No, you listen,” You snap, “You don’t get to play the kid card. You chose this just as much as I did. You told me that my age didn’t matter. You told me that you would want children with me one day. You filled my head with all this bullshit and now when shit gets real, you walk away. You’re a fuckin’ coward, Joel.”

“My reputation and livelihood is on the line for this! You think I don’t still want those things?”

“If you wanted them bad enough, you would fight for me.”

It makes his face drop. His furrowed eyebrows relax and his mouth droops down into a subtle frown. 

You do not know where to go from here. The atmosphere in his garage rises with tension, words just hanging in the air. 

The Annual Miller Christmas Party was the talk of the town. Everyone who received an invitation would proudly display the cardstock on their huge fridges and show their uninvited neighbors to brag. When Joel came over to hand deliver you and your father’s invitations, he told you to wear something sparkly. 

You searched everywhere for the perfect gown for weeks. He had only really shown you attention when forced to be in the same room as you, so you needed to be eye-catching. He was never the guy to wave to you when he was leaving for work or say a quiet hello at the grocery store. Joel was a very regimented man. He never strayed away from his routine which was usually work, hookups with random women, and sleep. He never kept a woman around for too long. You noticed the circulation of women changed every month or so. Joel never wanted to settle down. He had tried that once 15 years ago and his ex ended up with half of his company. 

But you always loved the way the man carried him. Despite his playboy behavior, you were entranced with him. You always thought he was handsome and when you came home at 25 to help your mother who had fallen sick, you knew that your crush had morphed into borderline obsession. Living next to him would be dangerous.

The dress you chose was red, which was fitting for the occasion. And of course, it was sparkly. Just what Joel ordered. 

You spent all day preparing for the evening and when you showed up on his front door on your Father’s arm, he could not peel his eyes away. You were so radiant and perfect. The twinkle in your eyes shone brighter than the glitter on your gown. 

During the night, you drank a couple of glasses of champagne and chatted up some of your Father’s colleagues. You notice Joel’s eyes following you every so often. You can vividly remember thinking, “This man wants me so bad.”

That night Joel cornered you in the hallway by the bathroom. He asked you if you were interested in literature, but really he just wanted you alone in his study. You being you, you enthusiastically said yes and followed him down the unlit corridor. Once he shut the huge wooden double doors, you knew that you would be slipping out of that gown for him in no time. 

And that’s exactly what happened. 

He drove you crazy, peppering kisses all down your body. He would groan every time he heard your shaky breath, knowing that the effect he had on you would become a dependence for him. 

When he first pressed into you, it was different than any other woman he’s ever been with. You did not throw your head back, moaning obscenities. Instead, you stared into his eyes and nodded, encouraging him to continue his movements. It was so sensual and passionate, by the time you two finished, he held you in his arms for 20 minutes. He was never one for pillow talk or aftercare, so he surprised himself.

You were different than any other woman he had ever encountered. 

You had slipped over to his front door a couple of days after the Christmas party, knocking to ask his assistant if he was home. When she brought you into his office, he told his assistant to shut the door on the way out. His eyes never left yours as you bantered to him. He loved your confidence. He bent you over his desk after 10 minutes, tugging up your skirt and swatting your ass for showing up on his doorstep looking “this beautiful”. 

Joel always made you feel so good. His dirty talk went to Harvard. He could make you cum over and over with his husky Southern accent. Every time he called you “darlin’” or “princess”, you would come undone. 

A couple of months into the entanglement, your Mother’s health deteriorated overnight. You and your Father stayed by her side when she took her last breaths. It was devastating, seeing the woman you looked up to your entire life slowly slip away. You felt like a shell of a person, unable to really harbor any feeling other than pain.

Joel called you and let you know he would not be able to attend the funeral due to work commitments. You did not care, understanding that there’s never a good time for someone to die and he had no obligation to come. You arrived at the funeral home and saw a huge arrangement of purple and blue flowers. On the card, was scribbled in his handwriting. 

“What a breath of fresh air she was. Thinking of her family, always. Joel Miller.”

When it was time for the burial, you watched a large SUV pull up right before the final words were going to be spoken. Joel hopped out the back and slowly approached, keeping his distance from you and the rest of the attendees. Once she was lowered into the ground, Joel came over to give his condolences to your inconsolable father. 

You stayed back, watching everyone except him leave. You sat in the first row of fold-out chairs, watching them throw dirt over her casket. He sat down next to you, never saying anything. His hand extended out, touching your hand that was resting on your lap. It was an unspoken thing, but you never felt more seen in your entire life. He somehow knew exactly what you needed. 

Someone next to you.

After a couple of months, you felt more like yourself. You called him one night, asking if he was available for a drive. He parked his truck in your usual meet-up spot. You crawled up into the passenger seat and asked him to drive. You did not care where. You two caught up and once he could tell you were getting back to some semblance of yourself, he made his move. He was stopped at a red light when he placed his hand on your thigh. It was the first time you had sex in his truck. That night kickstarted the affair again, which led to the secret meetings in hotel rooms. You two got more bold with your rendezvous, even taking a weekend to the mountains. You don’t even remember the lie you told your Father as to why you were gone. 

Joel always thought you were capable. He admired you for being such a dynamic woman. To be so strong and delicate at the same time was unheard of. Even though you were much younger than him, you were well-versed in everything. You were professional and smart when it came to business. All the while, you were polite and empathetic. He would frequently come to you when he needed advice about work or an opinion on something ethical. He enjoyed hearing you ramble on about things you were passionate about. And God, did he love your laugh. 

He did not expect to keep you around as long as he did. But your body was like a drug and Joel had a nasty habit. You were always eager and available, and after a while, Joel started thinking maybe it was too much all at once. When you became comfortable enough to sleep over in his bed and make him breakfast, he knew his world was tilted on its axis. 

He needed to find a way to ruin it for himself, as he had done so many times before. 

He “slipped up” one night. As he and his chatty neighbor Jeff sat outside and smoked cigars, he spoke about his desire for you. He didn’t particularly say that you two were together, but simply insinuated that he would like to have you alone. And the rumors spread quickly. Soon enough a little birdie was in your Dad’s ear, feeding him information. 

Joel kept up the act with you, even though it was not really an act. He did like you, hell, he may have even loved you. But he did not want you to need him. So when people started paying more attention to you and him, he knew his plan was set in motion. In no time, it would all come crashing down. 

“If your Dad takes this to the board, I will lose my company. Do you understand that?”

You hated that you understood stupid business jargon. You knew that Joel losing his company would be devastating. But at this point, you could not care less. Because for as long as your affair, you watched his walls fall away. He had let you in more than once and in your delusional state, you believed for a second that he would choose you over his job. 

You clench your teeth as you suck in a sharp breath, tears still streaming down your warm face. 

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then we just end it. This has already gone too far.”

You finally turn away from him, your eyes falling to the concrete floor. As soon as he says those words, chills run down your arms. 

“You know Joel…” You drift off, using your shirt sleeve as a tissue. You wipe away a couple of tears and glare back up at him, “I would have given up everything in my life for this. My job. My relationship with my father. Everything. And the fact that you won’t even give me a chance to talk to my Dad to see if he could spare you and this whole charade, really fucking hurts. I’m not worth that to you and that… That’s what hurts the most.”

“Babe-”

“No. You don’t get to call me that anymore. You don’t get to call me anything.”

The tears flow again as you watch him exhale, his hands on his hips. His hair is unkept and the tie he’s wearing has been loosened. 

“I’m sorry,” Is all he can say while your lip quivers. You are trying not to lose it completely. 

You just shake your head, “No. You’re not sorry.”

He was. He was sorry, but he could not let you ruin everything. 

Joel would soon know that you were everything. And as you left the back door that evening, leaving behind the scent of your perfume, he knew that the smell would somehow taint his sheets, even though you had not been in them for weeks. He already started to miss the feeling of your lips. When he tried to go about his evening, he swore he would see you in the shadows of his large house. He even thought he heard your laugh. You were already haunting him even though the death of your relationship happened just hours before. 

You moved on after a couple of years. Met a guy at your 9-5, settled down, and popped out a few kiddos. Some nights you would lie awake, wondering to yourself if Joel was really happy. You never learned the truth of his deceit. After all, your Father was just grateful that his warning to Joel led to his desired outcome, which was him being gone from your life entirely. 

And Joel would be haunted for the rest of his life. No woman. No drugs. No party. Nothing ever filled the void you left behind. And it was all his fault. Just like it always had been.

[moneypowerglorymiddleofmiami]

— trickentine જ⁀➴♡ pt.2

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

summary: after lord eros' silly little trick, you're now forced to deal with the consequences— more specifically, in the form of a lovestruck luke castellan.

warnings: tons of corny pick-up lines

genre: still very much a romcom

part 1

note: thank you, thank you! all your support for pt.1 means the world to me! really, i couldn't be more grateful 𖹭 i hope you think this brings justice to the first half 𖹭

─── ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ───

“What do you mean you can’t do anything?” You suppressed the urge to shriek, settling for gritted emphasis instead. You crossed your arms across your chest, your foot tapping impatiently against the wooden floorboards of the Big House.

“Exactly what it means.” Chiron responded, looking at Luke with more amusement rather than concern.

“But he's under a spell,” You reasoned in disbelief. You might have spilled over your words while you explained the rundown to Chiron, but they were coherent enough to at least get that point across.

“It’ll wear off eventually, kid.” Mr. D downed an entire can of diet soda in one go before procuring another one in his outstretched hand. He snickered at the intent puppy eyes Luke was giving you. “That type of love magic won’t last long. Best to let it run its course than tamper with it.”

“But–” You wanted to argue before Mr. D stopped you. He pushed his feet up on his desk.

“Look, at least this proves that your boyfriend actually loves you.” He gave you a pointed look. What does that even mean? “Now, leave.”

You huffed indignantly, but decided against speaking further. You begrudgingly turned around and pulled Luke up by his arm, guiding him towards the narrow hallway that led to the foyer.

“When did I become your boyfriend?” Luke huddled closer to you, whispering as you made your way to the front door.

“You didn’t.” You told him plainly. You shook your head. “You aren’t.”

“Yet.” He responded, his tone a bit mischievous but his gaze sure and determined.

─── ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ───

You leaned your elbows against the table of the crowded Arts and Crafts Center, your chin resting against the pad of your thumbs. You studied Luke with a contemplating gaze.

“I hit you with one of Eros’ arrows.” You told him. This was hardly the proper place to have this conversation, but the rest of the Aphrodite cabin practically hauled you to the building to begin Valentinkering? Valenmaking? (whatever in Tartarus they decided to call it this year).

“Well, I guess you could say I’ve been lovestruck by you.” He said, giving you a stupid little wink as he mirrored your posture.

“Gods, Luke. That was corny as hell.” You flushed almost as crimson as the container of beads in front of you. “Also, I’m serious.”

“And who said I wasn’t?” He challenged. He smirked against his fist, wiggling his eyebrows.

You snorted. “The fact that you’re under some valentine voodoo makes all your intentions questionable.”

“You wound me.” He feigned offense, pouting as he clutched at the fabric of his shirt above his chest. “To be fair, my train of thought has always been questionable when it comes to you.”

“Again: unimpressed.” You buried your face into your hands, the second hand embarrassment of his poor attempt at flirting was overwhelmingly potent. Besides, it was difficult not to react when he looked at you so intently, like he was trying to memorize every minute detail of you.

“On a more serious note, I do remember the whole arrow thing.” He told you, his lips pursed. “I don’t blame you; it was a complete accident. It just feels… odd.”

Your ears perked up, worried. “You feel odd?”

“No,” He shook his head. His expression was perplexed, maybe a bit incredulous too. “That’s the thing. I feel completely normal.”

“That is weird.” You agree. You wrap the string in between your fingers around his wrist, measuring it to his size. "Maybe it was just a prank?"

“No. If anything, it’s more like I can’t hold my tongue.” He shrugs. “I can’t help but say what I think.”

“Would that explain the flirting?” You tease. All cheeky, but with a hint of curiosity hidden beneath the humor.

He leaned in, smirking. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You stare at him, tilting your head. He returns your gaze just as intensely, brown eyes fixed onto yours. He raises an eyebrow as if to question your silence. There was something magnetic between the two of you, pulsing and pulling you closer— maybe not physically, but definitely in other ways unbeknownst to you.

“Woah!” Percy exclaimed with an accusatory edge to his tone, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief and his palms raised as if to distance himself from you. “Respect for the children, maybe? Consider shielding my young impressionable eyes from this trauma?”

“Percy!” You squeaked rather uncharacteristically. Annabeth trailed behind closely, pushing a leg over the bench to sit beside you. You smiled at her, tugging her closer by placing your arm around her shoulders.

“Annabeth,” Luke called. “Trade places with me.”

Annabeth furrowed her eyebrows in confusion before narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “No.”

“Come on.” He persisted. He leaned in, almost conspiratorial. “You know, the Stoll brothers have an extensive archive, and I think I may have heard word of them having that Rem Kolhaas book you've been raving about."

Annabeth stopped to consider the offer before ultimately conceding. She stood up from her seat. “That’s a big bribe for a small favor.”

“Know what prices to pay to win your battles.” Luke muttered as he sidled up next to you, grinning triumphantly. His fingers played with the hem of your weathered camp shirt. “Sacrifices aren’t much in the face of victory.”

“Did you just use a bad battle strategy as a flirting tactic?” Annabeth scrunched her nose in distaste. “Gross.”

"Done." You finish tying up the ends, letting the red bracelet dangle in Luke's line of vision.

"It looks so pretty, baby." He compliments you, holding out his wrist. You proudly put it on for him. "Not as pretty as you though."

You scoff. Both Annabeth and Percy imitate gagging noises.

─── ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ───

The only time you ever truly left each other’s side were the few moments of reprieve before dinner where you’d returned to your cabins. The older campers insisted on making the meal a whole affair, complete with a romantic candlelit set-up and a string quartet to serenade everyone. Chiron decided to indulge the request and sent everyone back to freshen up.

“Have fun with your boyfriend?”

“Christ!” You jumped in your spot, turning around to see Eros laying on one of the bunks. His arms were tucked underneath his head, his smile suggestive and knowing.

“Lord Eros,” You bowed.

“That is not your shade.” He tutted, pointing to the tinted gloss in your hand. “Too summery for your complexion this time of year. Go for the pink one. He’ll go berserk.”

“Thanks.” You muttered, facing your vanity once more. You dabbed the product against your lips. You sighed as you inspected your make-up. Once more, he was right.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He shifted to his side, looking at you expectantly.

“Yeah, I guess.” You grumbled. You looked down, pretending to look for something in your drawer so he wouldn’t notice the blush creeping up your cheeks. Luke refused to leave your side the entire day— his fingers hooked around the belt hoops of your skirt in one way or another. He made a whole spectacle of it too: his big brown eyes tender, his wistful sighs, his shy grins, his playful winks.

“Good.” He clapped his hands. “Gods, the boy has had a crush on you for forever, you know. It was torture watching him pine over you. I can only take so much longing.”

You froze, staring at him through the mirror. He stared back at you.

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” He sounded shocked; he was shocked. “You’re a daughter of Aphrodite, how could you not know?! That's like our thing!”

“Well, he hasn’t been obvious, has he?” You rebutted, flicking your wrist.

“Sis, I don’t know what reality you’re living in,” He sat up on the bed, “But that boy wouldn’t know subtle even if it hit him in the face.”

“But surely it’s just because of the arrows.” You rationalized.

“Nuh uh.” He wiggles a finger in the air to deny the accusation. “The arrows you used just accentuate pre-existing feelings. Not make new ones.”

A knock interrupts your conversation. You hurry to fix your hair, brushing it out of the way. Your hands begin to shake with giddy excitement. You feel your heart thrum strongly against your chest, almost wanting to burst out from the confines of your body and find its other half in Luke. Your smile eventually becomes hard to contain.

Eros beams at you, his pupils dilating into hearts again like it did this morning. He opens the door for you and pushes you out. “Have fun with lover boy. Mother sends her regards.”

Luke spins around at the sound of the squeaky hinges. He can't help but pull a hand out of his pocket, his palm lightly grazing his chest. He whistles. “Call me favored by the gods because I think I’ve just entered Elysium.”

“You’ve been with me the whole day.” You responded pointedly, breathless and in love.

“And yet you still manage to take my breath away.” He gasps when you rush into him, wrapping your arms around his nape.

“This is new.” He looks down at you, your noses touching. His hands fall naturally to your hips, his thumbs rubbing against the fabric of your dress. “But definitely welcome.”

You gaze into his eyes before pressing your lips against his. They felt pleasant and pliant against your own. You tugged Luke closer, your fingers twirling through his curls. His hands squeezed your skin. The kiss burned sweetly, almost as if it’s been waiting in anticipation to happen.

When you both separate for air, Luke gently grabs your hands from behind him. He wraps his fists around yours, placing soft kisses on your knuckles. “I’ve been waiting so long for that.”

“So I’ve been told.” You hum. “I figured I might take the first step.”

“Don’t worry.” He presses another kiss against your lips, short and sweet. “I promise to match your pace the rest of the way.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺

taglist: @ace-spades-1 @patitotodd @fandomthings-blog @bugcuti3 @liv1104 @mindflay3r

[twistyfish]

Your writing is so good whaaatt!! Could you do another comfort fic with the lad boys? Maybe like they come home and the reader is crying for whatever reason and so onnn. I love comfort fics 🤧🤧

thank you very much! here you are. i’m in a bit of a writing slump honestly 🥲, but i tried. also, some of you are requesting, which i’m very grateful for! if I don’t respond immediately it’s because i’m working on something else at the moment.

prompt~ they come home to you crying.

𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴

Zayne

You were so exhausted. You woke up with a horrible headache and did badly in training today because of that. Captain Jenna snapped at you over your simple errors, which made you feel worse.

You wordlessly picked a mug out of the cupboard and filled it with water. You brought it to your lips and drank, each gulp sounding against the metronomic headache that wouldn’t let you rest. A trickle of blood dripped down your philtrum, making a small splash in your cup. Sniffing, you wiped your nose.

Each drop of blood that ran from your nose overwhelmed you more and more until you were scrubbing your nose with your sweater sleeve, the wool fibers catching the liquid. You pulled your arm away and it looked like a surgeon’s rags.

Speaking of surgeons, your boyfriend chose that unaesthetic moment of you messily wiping your nose to walk into the kitchen. You put your arm by your side and tried to act normal as he fixed himself a cup of juice.

You kept your back turned to him as he asked, “How was training today?”

“Training was pretty standard. Tara told me she’s thinking of getting a tattoo.”

“Really? Did she tell you what kind of tattoo?”

“A pair of cherries.” You were just making stuff up, trying to find an exit from the conversation so you could clean up. “I’m going to go change into pajamas.” You quickly walked up the stairs before he could say anything.

Lip quivering, you picked out a set of pajamas and put it on the bed. You stripped out of your sweater, and the red patch on the sleeve caught your eye. Shit. Why did you wipe your nose on it? It would definitely stain. You really liked this sweater, too.

You felt your eyes burn, a fun contrast to the other sensations of your throbbing head and leaky nose. Tears slipped from your eyes, and you held back the sobs for a few beats before giving up and muffling your face in the already stained sweater.

You must have been like that for a while, because Zayne meandered upstairs without you hearing and peeked inside the bedroom door. “You’ve been up here for a while. What are you-,” he stopped, eyes widening. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”

He quickly walked over and put a hand on your back, peering down at you. “Is that blood?”

You wiped your face on the sweater before letting it plop to the floor. “Yeah,” you said tearily.

“Why are you bleeding? And why are you crying?” Came his calm response.

“I had a bloody nose, and… I don’t know.” You dissolved into sobs again. He looked at you sadly, his hazel eyes big and worried. He pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly for a few minutes until you calmed down. He rubbed your bare back, feeling the goosebumps and pulling your pajama shirt over your head.

“You don’t have to run away. From me, or your feelings,” he whispered.

𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖

Sylus

The air was too heavy. There was too much to dwell on, too many morbid and sickening atrocities that made you feel sour. You couldn’t comprehend how the world was still spinning with so many terrible people weighing it down. You certainly felt like you had been kicked off your axis.

It was more than anyone could take. One too many cases of something horrible on the news, and your stomach was churning. The reporter had described the event so plainly, with a grim resignation. The world was so advanced, and yet….

You didn’t feel the remote slip from your hand. You didn’t hear it clatter on the floor. You didn’t feel the tears swim down your face. You only registered that you were crying when your throat produced a strangled sound, and you finally clapped your hands to your eyes and just bawled.

You cried until you were dehydrated and numb and the garage door opened with a muted whirring. Your large boyfriend entered a few moments later, and you heard a quiet gasp as he took in the sight of you sobbing on the couch.

Sylus seemed less like a fiend and more like a fairy with the way he flitted around you, uncharacteristically lacking composure while trying to figure out what was wrong. By that point, the news had changed to some other story, and he looked confusedly at the TV.

“Darling, are you crying about inflation?”

That didn’t even get a smile from you, so he just picked you up from under the armpits and rocked you slowly, like a baby. You continued to cry softly as he shushed you and whispered comforting words in your ear.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asked gently.

“There are so many bad people in the world,” you managed to say through weak hiccups.

“I know. You’re dating one of them.”

“You’re different,” you mumbled. “

“Oh? How am I different?”

“You’re an evil bastard, but I love you.”

He laughed throatily at that, and you felt a little better.

𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝

Rafayel

You were in a nice hotel, lying amidst silky duvets and plush, fat pillows. The moonlight snuck through the gaps between the ivory curtains and created beautiful spectral patterns on the walls.

Your darling fiancé was sleeping with his arm wrapped around you, so why were your shoulders shaking? Why were soft, choked sobs escaping your lips? Why the hell were you crying on vacation?

You didn’t know. All you did know was that Rafayel was stirring, surely awoken by your movement.

“Are you crying?” He murmured sleepily, propping himself up.

You willed yourself to stop shaking, stop being weak and just shut up. But it wasn’t working. The misery and self pity was eating you alive.

“Oh, sweetie,” he said, gently turning you around and cupping your head, kissing your wet cheek. “Don’t cry. You’ll get dehydrated.”

More tears ran down your face, and he continued to brush them away with soft fingers. “What’s wrong, my gorgeous girl?”

“I don’t know,” you choked out. “I just feel bad.”

“Oh, my love….” Rafayel kissed you again with sweetness and compassion. He combed through your hair with his fingers and rubbed your cheek with his thumb. He didn’t know how to soothe you, so he did the only thing he could think to do. He distracted you.

He brought his lips to yours and gently showed you his love for you. Whatever you were feeling, he would overpower it with all his heart.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Xavier

The clash of metal exploded in the air as your swords collided yet again, and you dodged another attack. Your eyes were burning. There was absolutely no way you were about to cry while sparring with Xavier.

But the next time your swords collided and you met Xavier’s soft, focused gaze, you failed to hold it back. You stared intently into his eyes as both of you struggled, and while straining against his sword, tears began falling from your eyes. His own eyes widened, and he stepped back, pulling his mask down.

“Are you injured?” He asked worriedly. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, lip trembling. You let out a shaky sob, and that was enough to concern him further.

“__….” He was at a loss for words. He had never seen you cry, and now….

“What happened?” He bent down, trying to assess your expression. You were trying not to let the tears win, but they definitely were. You finally gave up trying to hold it in and let your sword drop to the floor with a soft clink, now crying openly.

Xavier reached out hesitantly and pulled you into his embrace. Both of you were hot and stinky from sparring, but that didn’t matter. Not while you were crying.

You let out muffled sobs into his neck, letting him hold you as the two of you sank to the floor. Your tears mingled with the sweat on his shoulder, and he rubbed your back soothingly as you cried. He held you like that for a while.

“I’m sorry,” you said once the sobs had died down.

“It’s okay. I just want to know where this came from,” he replied in that sweet, soft voice.

“I’m tired,” came your plain response. He didn’t question you further, and gently patted your head.

He helped you pick up your things and walked you to the locker room, and you stopped to take a drink at the water fountain. His gaze was fixed on you as you drank, eyes tracing the curvature of your lips. He was so engrossed in watching you drink that you couldn’t help but feel shy.

You finished drinking and said bye to Xavier, still thinking about the interaction. He was always soft spoken, but you didn’t know he could be this gentle. Maybe you should talk to him more outside of sparring.

[prime-adeptus]

Overnight

Sylus keeps you company in the hospital.

PAIRING.⠀Qin Che | Sylus x Reader

CONTENT.⠀Gender-neutral reader; established relationship, fluff, hospitals // ~0,5k words

A/N.⠀2/3 drabbles dedicated to @henndowski because I got impatient <3 reblogs and comments are always appreciated!!

Available on AO3

Hospitals are perhaps one of your least favourite places in the world.

It must feel even worse for you now that you’re being made to stay here for a couple of nights to recover from the surgery. They’re boring and dull, you say. Constantly getting checked in on by nurses and doctors alike makes you feel like a test subject. Sylus understands it very well. With the Aether Core in your heart among other things, hospitals are a far more familiar sight than you’d like.

It had taken a lot of convincing for you to agree to letting him cover all your medical expenses. Stubborn and considerate as ever, you frantically told him that no, you’ll manage, and that he shouldn’t feel like you’re something he has to take responsibility for. With a simple few words (“You’re not a burden. I’m doing this because I want to.”) you finally caved in, though under the condition that you’d pay him back. He won’t take it—there’s no limit to what he’d do for you—but if it reassures you just a little, he’ll let you do it.

A quiet groan leaves your lips as your eyes slowly flutter open, straining upon being met with the fluorescent light overhead. He puts down the last of the apple slices he’d been cutting and brings them over when he moves to the stool by your bedside.

You groggily smile at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, placing the plate on the table. “I cut up some fruit for you.”

“Thank you,” you say, slightly more awake. “Did you stay the night? What time is it?”

“Eleven thirty.” He reaches over to hold your hand, thumb rubbing gentle, calming circles on your skin. “How did you sleep?”

“I miss sleeping in a real bed,” you grumble, “I’m sick of this room.”

He huffs, amused. “I know, sweetie. Just another night then we can go home.”

Your bottom lip juts into a pout. The IV drip and the countless cables of the EKG monitor are undoubtedly bothering you, but you stay silent. Instead, as your head rolls to the side, you speak up again, gently, “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Sylus squeezes your hand warmly. He wants to tell you there’s no need to thank him, that he would’ve done this even without you asking, but he decides against it. “Of course.”

Sensing you about to reach for the plate, he swiftly takes it and places it on your lap, not wanting you to strain yourself. You part your lips to scold him but can’t help the smile that crawls onto your face nor the giggle that leaves you.

“I can feed myself, Sylus.”

“You need rest,” he dismisses stubbornly, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Let me do it.”

You laugh breathlessly, shaking your head in mirth. “Okay, fine. You’re really spoiling me today.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” He brings the apple slice to your mouth and you bite down on it, chewing happily. “Spoiling you rotten.”

You swallow with a quiet gulp, looking at him again. “Do you think I can ask them to discharge me early? I’m not in pain anymore. Look! I’m fine.”

“Doctor’s orders,” he says plainly. “One more night. I’ll treat you to something nice when you leave. How does that sound?”

You pretend to think carefully, tapping your finger against your chin. “Can we go to that bagel place that just opened? I wanna try them out.”

“Done.”

The smile you give him only makes him fall harder in love with you.

[always-just-red]

A/N: So I threatened a while back to write MC arresting Sylus since he literally won’t shut up about it. Thought this would be a silly fic but it ended up an angst-driven exploration of how his time with MC is probably finite and ill-fated?? Anyway Sylus is too soft for this, I’m sorryyyy (Sy I love you! I would never do this to you! ‘Didn’t it come from your imagination, though?’ Ssshhhh you don’t know what you’re saying!! 🥰)

To Remain Silent

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus has told you to arrest him one too many times...

Genre: Emotional rollercoaster honestly? Some angst, some comfort (and a lil spice for flavour)

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, vaguely established relationship, gets a little steamy at the end (mostly kissing tbh), artistic licence applied liberally since this would be WAY too risky for MC to actually attempt 😭😭

| Word count: 2.7k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus knows this isn’t real.

You watch him through the glass of his cell, and the subtle tint to it lets you know that he can’t watch you back. He’s sat on the single bench inside, leaning against the far wall, his long legs stretched out before him. His hands are cuffed— tucked away behind his back— but he still looks comfortable. More than comfortable: at ease. At home. Bored.

“You think I can’t feel those pretty little eyes of yours on me?” he mutters, head back, eyes closed. “I’m at your mercy, kitten. Are you really only going to look?”

You tap a button on the glass. “You should start taking this seriously.”

He smiles at the sound of your voice, but his eyes don’t open; there’s still nothing to see. “I’m taking it very seriously, sweetie.”

“I don’t think you are.”

The smile turns even more smug: a confession, all by itself. He sits up and leans forward, like someone who’s found a change of conversation to be interesting. His eyes open— managing to find you, somehow, and— can he see you? No. It’s an educated guess, he’s just selling it with confidence.

Leisurely, he rises from his seat and saunters over to the glass. “Let me see you,” he orders, then bargains: “Please? This is so very—” he toes the division— “one-sided.”

You can’t look him in the eyes, can you? This is hard enough without the windows to your soul baring your heart and your mind to him, like they always do. You should have worn those sunglasses he bought you for that undercover assignment. This is what they’re for, right? Hiding.

With a circular swipe of your finger, the glass before you clears and Sylus meets your gaze.

“Hi,” he teases.

You fold your arms across your chest. “Hey.”

“This is quite some effort you’ve gone to, kitten. And all for me, no less.”

“What effort?” you dismiss plainly. “You practically slapped those handcuffs on yourself.”

It’s not an exaggeration: from the cuffs to the ride here, not a single stage of his arrest has been resisted. The closest he’s gotten to a lack of cooperation was when you’d first restrained and dragged him from his study, where he’d been inclined to point out that the bedroom was the other way.

“Well, I didn’t want to cause a fuss,” he smirks. One of his hands is brought forward, and his handcuffs now hang uselessly from a finger. “Tell me,” he says, letting them swing as he holds your gaze, “what am I to expect now I’ve been so masterfully captured?”

You glance at the restraints, unmoved. “That isn’t for me to decide.”

A door behind you slides open, and— right on time— an altogether more impressive presence joins you before the cell. Sylus glances her up and down as the click of her heeled boots come to a stop; he has never met your captain, but he knows her face.

“You really cashed in all your favours, didn’t you, sweetie?” he observes. He turns to address the woman beside you: “We haven’t been introduced. I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Jenna interrupts, her tone as incorruptible as yours.

Sylus’s arm lifts, resting on the glass above you so he can tower over you, despite the partition. “Is that right?” he purrs absent-mindedly, dropping his head so he can speak into your ear. “Sweetie… I thought you could keep a secret.”

He’s goading you into your usual game, but the stakes don’t interest you. “You were wrong.”

You’re at your own table, dealing your own cards. Does he want to play? You think he might. His lips are curving at the delicious prospect of a challenge. You’ve given him a taste of it. He wants more.

Jenna is studying her clipboard, acting oblivious. She senses the impasse. Asks Sylus: “Do you know why you’re here?”

He huffs impatiently. “Enlighten me.”

“Sylus,” you scold.

Red eyes widen a fraction.

You see it.

Good.

…

Sylus thinks this might be real.

You said his name. His real name: the one with sharp, bloody strings attached. The one on all the posters. The one in your precious Association’s archives, linked to stacks of files and crime scene photos, most of which he isn’t even responsible for.

Sylus. You said: Sylus. 

It was worthy of a grand reveal— the sort of plot twist that delivered the suspense of so many thrillers— but here you are, speaking it like it’s nothing. Not a slip of the tongue; not a mistake. And it’s different here. He’s not your Sylus. He’s theirs.

Their murderer. Their monster. Their convenient little scapegoat for everything dark and unholy.

The captain is reading him a list, reeling off every crime— each alleged sin. As if he needs a reminder. As if all the time in the world could ever let him forget. “Needless to say, Mr Sylus,” she summarises, “due to the nature of these crimes, you may prove exempt from our standard procedures. A case like this is… unprecedented. Onychinus has much to answer for. You have much to answer for.”

Sylus hasn’t really been listening; it’s all senseless bureaucracy. “You have the wrong man,” he says, because whatever you’re doing— whatever stunt this is— a confession is sure to derail it. You know that, don’t you? You must be counting on it: holding that guilty breath of yours and hoping he’s smart enough to not be Sylus.

You don’t look worried in the slightest. You must have an awful lot of faith in him.

He studies you, waiting for a small, deliberate smile or a moment of weakness. Give him a sign, don’t give him a sign— it doesn’t matter; he’ll find one. His intentions must be clearer than yours, because you step up to the glass to face him.

Do it, your silence says, even though the rest of you is illegible. You want to look? Look.

His eye could light like a crimson fire— could burn the truth out of you— but it won’t. It’s a promise he made what feels like a lifetime ago, not long after you’d met: Your thoughts and desires are yours to give, not his to take.

Even here. Even now. He’s a man of his word, after all.

Impressed? You smile faintly, but there’s no warmth to it. “Captain,” you speak, your eyes not leaving his, “can you give us a minute? Please?”

“Of course,” the woman answers with a nod.

Sylus does not see her go. He hears it: the retreating rhythm of her shoes. He feels it: it’s just the two of you, alone again. Well, the two of you and that ‘hidden’ camera in the far corner of the room. “Whatever game this is,” he grins good-naturedly, his teeth gritted, “it stops. Now.”

“It’s not a game, Sylus. I told you to take this seriously.”

“What are you doing?” he snaps, and that good-natured grin didn’t last very long. 

Your hands land on your hips. “My job.” When he scoffs, you continue: “Did you really think this would end any other way? After everything you’ve done?”

He laughs and it’s deeply sardonic. He’s no saint— to try to convince you he was would be a crime worthy of punishments far worse than this. But you know him. You know the line and what stands on each side of it: everything he’s done, yes, and everything he’s been made to take the fall for.

You wouldn’t do this to him. Would you? “You want to play pretend? Fine,” he hisses. He wants to wrap his Evol around that godforsaken camera and annihilate it. “You caught the big, bad boss of Onychinus— congratulations, sweetie. Sure. Let’s say that’s who I am. A man like that has power, right? So what’s to keep him— me— from escaping? Right now?”

“You’re not going to leave, Sylus. Wanna know why?”

He’s sure you’re going to tell him, and you do:

“Because you’re all talk. All smoke and mirrors. You want to go? Go. But there’s not a single person in this building who wouldn’t give their life to bring you back. Someone will catch up to you eventually, and what then?”

“I’ll have a lot of fun, I imagine.”

“You’ll do nothing,” you correct. “Because those people out there? They’re my friends. My family. You hurt them? You hurt me. Make all the threats you want, Sylus— we both know the truth.”

He towers over you, still, but it’s hard not to shrink at your next words:

“You don’t have it in you.”

Your eyes are sharp: whetted with resentment. Sylus is your reflection— your worthy opponent, always— but he just can’t look at you like that.

There’s a quiet hiss as you slide a finger over the cell’s control panel. White, neon light carves through the glass partition: two vertical lines that bleed upwards, either side of him, before bending to meet each-other. The glass between them shimmers, then fades.

Sylus stands on the precipice of the doorway, cool air crawling past him. He stares up at the camera, then down at you. Your arms have folded again as you watch him— a narrative of apathy.

“How about it, Sylus?” you ask bitterly. “Still think you can outrun fate?”

“No.” Not since it started wearing your face. Fate is you, putting a bullet in his heart, and him, waking up so you can do it over and over again. Maybe this is real. Maybe it isn’t. “What do you want from me?” he entreats softly, because you’ll get it— either way.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you sneer, and your hand shoots out, grasping a fistful of his shirt. You use it to drag him out of the cell, closer, lower, so that his face is mere inches from yours.

“No,” he repeats. “Say it.”

Your eyes burn like pyres: so dangerous, so beautiful, so suited to being the death of him. “I want you—” you begin, as they flit briefly to his lips— “to tell me…”

“What?”

“How you cheat at kitty cards.”

Oh. Oh.

You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?

Sure enough, you drop his shirt and burst into laughter— irrepressibly you again. The fire in your eyes has simmered down into something warm, safe, and comfortable, and— gods— you’re even crying. You’re doubled over, holding your stomach as though it hurts. You lift a hand to wipe your wet cheek. “Your face,” you get out between gasps, “oh, your face!”

Yours is not the only laughter, but it’s the only laughter Sylus hears.

“We so got you, Skye!” Tara’s vaguely familiar voice resounds from an intercom.

There’s some confusing static with it— more tittering voices— and Sylus suspects he’s found himself the star of your colleagues’ after-work entertainment. He puts his hands on his hips as he looks up at the camera. “Is the whole office—”

“Yeah,” you manage, wiping away another tear. “Figured it would be good for morale. Good practice, too.”

“Practice?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm with a hum. You’ve apparently gotten a handle on the hilarity of the situation, because you approach him with something close to composure. Meditatively, you smooth down the fabric of his shirt. Straighten his collar. “For when we catch the real Sylus one day.”

He captures your wrists; that’s a lot of tenderness for someone who just tried to give him a heart attack. Maybe he’s a little too rough, because you pout at him in a way that makes him instantly soften his grip.

“You ok, Skye?” you enquire with an ironic smile and an adorable tilt of your head.

His thumbs are feathering over your pulse points, and slowly, he leans in to deliver a message, just for you: “If I say no, will you make it up to me?”

…

Sylus knows this is real.

His mouth is on yours and it’s relentless, desperate; you made him wait for it. How long has he been wanting to trap you against the nearest wall, just like this, so he can kiss you until he forgets just how cold you can be? 

He’s been very patient. He didn’t roll his eyes or utter a word of complaint when you’d dragged him to join your colleagues for dinner. It was your victory party, your ‘I made you look like an idiot’ party, but he was his usual, charming self, and your friends all adored him for it. They’d spun him the tale of his ‘arrest’— the planning, the preparation, and your lightbulb moment: 

“Hey, guys, have you ever thought about how Skye kinda looks like Sylus?”

Only he could understand how wickedly clever it was. His eyes had sought yours as he listened, lazy, content, and so obviously biding his time. You’d smiled at him. He’d smiled back. 

And he’d stayed smiling, even after the party was over and you’d had to walk a slightly-tipsy Tara home. She’d refused a taxi, insisted Sylus escort her— oh, and you could come, too! He’d lent her his arm: humoured every squeeze and chuckled at each remark about the size of it. You’d had to swat her away, in the end.

“I’m just teasing, y’know?” she’d giggled as the three of you arrived at her front door. “Skye knows I’m just teasing. You’re such a sweetheart, Skye. Imagine! You— the leader of Onychinus!”

She’d laughed, much too loud for such a quiet street, and with a less-than-subtle wink, left the two of you alone. Which is how you’d ended up here, in an alley around the back of her building, because it was Sylus’s turn to drag you somewhere. 

His attentions have moved lower; there’s a subtle clink as his fingers find the clasp of your shirt collar and he peels it back, exposing your neck. His lips leave yours, trailing down, down— past the line of your jaw and over the soft, vulnerable column of your throat. You gasp as he brushes over a sensitive spot, and you could swear you feel him smile.

He’s always been passionate, but this is a different fire, fuelled by something you can’t ignore, no matter how much you want to:

Relief. 

“Sy,” you murmur breathlessly, your hand in his hair, tugging gently. “Sy, stop.” 

“Mmm?” he acquiesces, voice sinfully low as the cold evening air takes his place kissing your neck. His eyes shine like blood spilt in the dead of night— lingering on you. He looks drunk.

You lift a hand to cup his face and run your thumb over his cheek. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, Sylus. You know that, right?”

Those dark eyes find clarity with your words, full of apprehension for just how naive you can be. The future will turn on you just as quickly as a wild animal someone boasts about having tamed, and aren’t you foolish, thinking you can control something like that? 

Besides, that’s his job.

“I know,” he says like he’s supposed to— ever the martyr, following the script. He goes to nuzzle into you again, but your hand is still tight in his hair and he groans as you use it to pull him back. 

“I mean it,” you reassert, forcing him to look at you. You don’t care that it’s ridiculous. You don’t care that fate is so hot on your heels that you have to keep running. You’re tired. He’s even more tired.

Isn’t it nice to stop and catch your breath?

Pretend you have time: His gaze is full of faith and oh, the world is going to enjoy punishing the two of you. “I know,” he insists, because this is the second time you’ve fooled him tonight. You feel his hand on your face and you let him kiss you— again, then again— so achingly slow, so arrogant. 

The world can wait; he wants to punish you first. 

“Do you really want to know—” he distracts as he finds that sensitive spot on your neck again— “how I cheat at kitty cards?”

The pad of his finger is chasing the path of his mouth; it tickles. You whine: “Tell me later, Sy.”

“Ok,” he breathes against you.

Later. There’ll be a later.

Won’t there?

[candied-heartss]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘

(𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑚! 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗳𝗲𝗹𝗶𝘅'𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝘂𝗽 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸, 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗮 𝗹𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗵𝗼𝗹 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝘂𝗻𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗼𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗸...

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮: 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 (18+), 𝑴!𝑫𝑶𝑴, 𝑭!𝑺𝑼𝑩, 𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯 𝑶𝑹𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑬𝑿 (𝑭 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑬𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮), 𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯 𝑷𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑽𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑿 (𝑾𝑹𝑨𝑷 𝑰𝑻 𝑩𝑬𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑻𝑨𝑷 𝑰𝑻, 𝒀'𝑨𝑳𝑳!), 𝑶𝑹𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑬𝑿 (𝑴 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑬𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮), 𝑫𝑬𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵, 𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑺𝑳𝑨𝑷𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑼𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵, 𝑴𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑰𝑷𝑳𝑬 𝑶𝑹𝑮𝑨𝑺𝑴𝑺, 𝑷𝑼𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑪 𝑺𝑬𝑿 (𝑻𝑬𝑪𝑯𝑵𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑳𝒀)

ᴡᴏʀᴅs: 2,248

As you drank from your glass, you saw something flutter past you, only being able to see it from the very corner of your eye.

With your attention now transfixed on this, you turned your head to find none other than your cousin Felix's plus one from his university, Oliver Quick, walking down the manor's dark hall.

"Oh, hullo," you greeted him kindly, drink being held idly in your hand. Slowly (and somewhat awkwardly), the brunette young man turned to look at you, flashing you a slightly tense smile, though you could tell something was wrong with him due to the heavy dilation of his pupils.

"Oh, erm, good evening," he answered shortly, seeming like he was rather reluctant to converse with anyone at this hour, "what are you doing up at this time of night?"

You continued to smile, hoping that if you continued showing him kindness, he would eventually warm up to your presence, "Oh, nothing much. I just... couldn't sleep, so I decided to get a drink." As you spoke, you realized that Oliver's brow was still furrowed, and it seemed like there was a lot on his mind, it quickly also made you realize that this was indeed landing you nowhere.

"I'm so sorry to ask, but... Are you alright? You seem a little... agitated. Would you like to talk about it? I'm a very good listener." you offered him, hoping that this suggestion would aid him in wanting to talk.

"I'm alright," he told you plainly, nothing more, nothing less. You frowned upon hearing his words, hoping to try again, "Really? Are you absolutely sure? I mean, you don't have to-"

"I'm. Alright."

Your bottom lip quivered ever so slightly at the sound of his voice raising an octave. You had never heard a man speak to you in such a... intense way like this, and it sent a bit of a shudder down your spine. Nodding, you quickly fell silent, grasping tighter onto the glass in your hand as you felt your face heat up.

"Sorry..." you muttered, not wanting to offend Felix's guest. But, he didn't say anything about it, not even a word. He just stood there, his eyes staring down at you with his brow slightly raised.

"Why do you look like that?" he asked you, but the tone of his voice made it sound more like a statement than a question. Your cheeks burned as the embarrassment began to settle in for you, and you decided to not say anything.

Before you could even think about what to finally say to him, you felt his hand graze your cheek before tilting your chin up so that you and Oliver made eye contact with one another.

"C'mon, look at me when I'm speaking to you. Don't be rude, now..." he told you softly, but sternly, tilting his head to the side a little bit. You chewed on your bottom lip once again, not used to the attention and the gaze that you were now on the receiving end of.

"Now, speak up," Oliver ordered you, his eyes flickering down to look at your lips before moving them back up to meet your eyes. You opened your mouth, trying to speak, only for no sound to escape past your lips, only little squeaks, 'I's', and 'um's', too nervous to speak up. He saw this and narrowed his eyes, leaning towards you and now resting his hand on your cheek.

"You have a mouth on you, don't you? So, use it, or I'll teach you how to," he suggested to you, though he managed to make it sound more like a threat than a statement. Only then you were finally able to get your words out, "I... I didn't mean to offend you if I did. I'm sorry for staring at you like that..."

Oliver still looked at you with a raised eyebrow, almost seeming like he didn't believe the words that tumbled (un)gracefully out of your mouth, "That was... Pathetic, unintelligent sounding even. Are you stupid?"

"What?"

Suddenly, you felt his lips press up against yours, one hand roughly buried into your hair before he pulled away. You were so shocked, so confused, and so dazed when it happened, it almost felt like the whole scenario was a sort of dream that you were having.

"What... What's going o-" You tried to speak, only to have him grab you and pull you closer to him, "Now listen, you're going to be a good girl, lift that nightgown of yours, and show me how wet you are."

Your eyes widened at the unexpected nature of his words and you laughed nervously, "Excuse me?"

"Oh, I believe that you heard me loud and clear, love. Show me how wet your cunt is. I bet it's dripping right now, isn't it?" he was right, you were beyond aroused at this point, and you were almost certain that he could see it practically running down your thighs.

You were then taken even more aback when he lifted you up and placed you on the dining room table, your legs now placed on the table's glossy, wood surface, slightly spread out enough for him to reach under the nightgown and gently tug the fabric of your underwear down, slipping it down past your thighs and letting it drop down to the floor. You shivered at the slightly cold air of the dining room meeting your bare skin as he looked at you.

"So," he mused, "I was right. You're thoroughly aroused. What, do you get off on being talked down to and degraded? You must be some masochistic whore."

Biting your lip, you pressed your thighs together to alleviate the dull throbbing sensation within you. Oliver saw this, and with a click of his tongue and a shake of his head, he raised his hand and gave you a quick, sharp smack on the cheek, making you yelp and open your legs once more, this time, giving him a full view of your cunt, needy and glistening while your clit throbbed again underneath his gaze.

Almost immediately, it was as if a switch had flipped in his head as he got onto his knees, pulled you to near the edge of the table, and buried his face in between your thighs, which instantly made you yelp as you felt his tongue licking every inch of your cunt and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your clit.

"Oh!"

You gasped, before letting out a moan loud enough for nearly the entire manor to hear. When he heard your sounds, Oliver pulled away from your slick folds, only to raise his hand slightly again and bring it down in a harsh slap to your cunt, making you cry out in a mixture of both pleasure and pain, your body shaking a little bit.

"Do me a favor. Be a good girl and shut the fuck up, yeah?" he asked you before diving back into eating you out like a starving man, making you reach down and grab onto his hair tightly, nearly holding on for dear life.

Soon enough, the stimulation that you were receiving from Oliver was simply too much, almost to the point where practically anything could send you over the edge. Your body trembled as you felt your release creep up, pulling on his hair more and more with each second that passed by.

"Oliver! Oliver, I-I'm gonna... I'm gonna come, please..." you whimpered, your thighs shaking as you came closer. Nearly there, almost there, just a little bit more-

"Go on, do it. Make a mess for me, darling. It's alright, I've got you..."

That was what did it in for you, those words were the straw that broke the camel's back. At a moment's notice, your orgasm which had been brewing steadily was now being hurdled to you at the speed of light, making your vision go black and making you fall back against the table as you trembled and writhed beneath his tongue, your back arching as you moaned so loud, you were certain that you nearly woke everyone else in the manor.

When you came back down to Earth, you saw him stand up before pushing you back onto the table, picking one of your legs up and positioning it so that it rested over his shoulder, tracing a finger over the dampness of your slit before pushing it in, making you gasp and choke out a moan at the sheer length of his fingers.

Oliver saw your facial expression and smirked a little, clearly mocking you as he began thrusting his fingers in and out of you, "Aw, love, does it feel good?" you nodded profusely, your back arching slightly to try and get his fingers to go deeper inside of you, "Uh huh, it feels so, so good..."

He continues fucking his fingers into you, the overstimulation sending your brain into a spiral. You could barely come up with any cohesive thoughts, let alone speak as he pressed them deeper inside of you, his thumb just barely brushing over your clit as his fingertips hit your G-spot, which made you nearly scream his name.

"What is it, darling? Use your words and tell me, alright? It's okay..." he teased you a little bit as he curled his fingers to reach the spot that he was hitting again. The delicious combination of the pad of his thumb massaging over your clit as he thrusts his fingers deeper and deeper was enough of a push to make you climax once again, this time, your orgasm hitting you much harder than the last one as the pain from the previous orgasm melted away into hot, sinful ecstasy.

He then pulled his fingers away from you, only to go down and undo his trousers, sliding them down just enough to pull his cock out and tease your entrance with it, making you shiver as the tip slid over your clit, "Do you want this?" he asked you, "Remember, use your words."

You nodded, whining just a little bit, "Please Oliver, I need this... Please, I need it so bad." he smiled and with that, he guided his cock to your entrance before finally pushing his way inside of you, making you keen as you grabbed onto him and dug your nails into his shoulders.

"Shit," he groaned, tilting his head back and sighing heavily, "your cunt, it's so, so fucking tight."

He then gave a short moment to adjust to the size of his cock before he began thrusting, making you cry out in pleasure, especially with the angle he had positioned in. You felt him go so deep, you swore that you could feel his cock fucking your brains out.

He groaned again at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him before he reached up and wrapped his hand around your throat while he fucked you, making your eyes roll back into your head. Oliver chuckled a little before leaning down and hungrily pressing his lips against yours, kissing you as if his life depended on it.

"Oh, yeah? You like it when I choke you like this, sweet girl? You're shaking underneath me, darling..." he told you, still holding your leg over his shoulder as he continued to fuck you, the hand on your throat now grasping you tighter and making you gasp for air slightly, your cunt clenching around his cock as you got closer and closer to your third orgasm of the night.

"O-Oliver... Please... 'm so close... I..." you whined, your words coming out choked as he thrust even harder, his tip hitting your G-spot. He grunted as you could tell he was nearing the edge as well.

He then reached down, rubbing small, quick circles on your clit, the sensation sending a shockwave through you as got closer to climaxing.

"That's it, be a good girl and come for me."

And just like that, hearing those words nearly made you explode. With another loud moan, you came so hard around his cock, you practically saw stars, clenching around him and making him grunt and moan from the tightness.

As you came down from your intense high, you felt Oliver pull you down from the kitchen table and guide you to your knees as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, making your mouth open as he pushed his cock into your mouth, effectively fucking your throat.

Before long, it was Oliver who was on the edge as his thrusts into your mouth became more frantic and sloppy. When you felt the thick tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged and choked, looking up at him with now watery eyes.

"Fuck... Just like that... Keep your mouth open f'me, darling..." He moaned, his voice thick as he got closer and closer to finally coming.

The sheer thought of him using your mouth for his own pleasure seemed to excite you a little as you moaned around his cock, taking it further down your throat. He grunted once last time, forcing your head down the length of his cock before groaning loudly as he finally came down in your mouth. As he pulled away from you, you swallowed his cum, before wiping away any excess with the back of your hand.

Watching you, he smiled before kissing you on the lips, whispering into your ear, "Good girl, you take my cock so well, love."

[lidiasloca]

azriel and his hands

azriel x reader

“No, no. Get down, y/n,” Azriel says, kneeling on your other side, and softly pulling your shoulders down, making you lay again since you’ve had very little sleep. 

But you don’t want to lay, so you take his hands, trying to put them away. But then he quickly jolts with your touch and hides them from where you can see. You know he’s misunderstood you. You know there is something in between him and his scarred hands that he doesn’t tell to anyone. 

Furthermore, you know very little about what happened to them, and it is still too early to ask him something like that. But what you do know is that he is insecure about them. Never had you touched them like this, direct touching.

“Azriel, no - I was just trying to sit up,” you try explaining, because you don’t want him to feel uncomfortable. 

But there is no answer, he is silent, like in a trance. He’s turned so pale, almost lifeless, you are fast to worry. “Azriel.” You start shaking him, trying to get him out of where his mind has him trapped.

“Sorry,” he finally mumbles, but he is incapable of looking into your eyes. 

But you want him to do so, you need to read him through his eyes, because you know he is no man for words.

“Azriel.” You take his face and pull it up gently with your hands. “Azriel,” you say again, but now it’s a weak whisper as you take in his teary eyes. 

“I - I don’t know… I’m sorry,” he tries.

“You don’t know what?” you ask softly, coking your head to the side with compassion. “Azriel, it’s okay,” you add reassuringly, caressing his cheek.

“I don’t know what happened. I just - many memories just came and hit me, in a way. I don’t know how to explain.”

“You don’t have to, Az. Not now. Maybe when you are calmer, alright?”

His eyes find yours again, and he nods.

“I know you probably have heard,” he starts, his voice weak. “Something about my… hands. And I’m sorry I haven’t told you anything. It is not - I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you or-”

“I know,” you smile sweetly. “I know, Azriel, and you don’t have to worry about that at all.”

He looks down momentarily in response, sighting. You are about to speak in worry, but to your relief, he moves to look up, now looking calmer.

“It’s just - I’ve always felt like I'm on my own on this, like it is my grudge to carry.”

“It is,” you say plainly, but quickly add, “only you have the strength to carry it. But that doesn’t mean you can't choose a good company to walk next to you as you do so.”

He smiles at your words, and it's genuine. 

“And you know what,” you continue. “My mother always told me there is a reason for everything. And the reason someone carries such grudges, it's no nonsense. You only carry such weight on a highway because you are meant to throw it once you are at the peak.” He is silent, so you grow red and explain yourself quickly, “its - it's just a stupid metaphor.”

“It - it is hopeful, and that's exactly what I need. I love it.” And there it is again his tender smile. It makes you blush even more, that smile and the way he watches you, as if you had all the answers to all his questions. 

“I’m glad it helped,” you blurt out as your heart races when he rises his hand to trace his fingers through your cheek to a misplaced strand of hair.

“And I’m glad you are here.”

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

azriel masterlist

and you can also request any fic idea you have through my inbox so i can write it down :)) i much appreciate requests for azriel and other acotar characters

[w2soneshots]

Back off mate -W2S

words: 0.6k+

warnings: angst, jealousy, possessive Harry, argument, alcohol consumption.

summary: while playing pub golf with the boys someone tries to flirt with you, that leads Harry to become quite jealous.

notes: hello my babies! Here’s the request🫶🏼. I know that Harry isn’t great with confrontation so there isn’t much of that in this. I hope you enjoy!!🤗💗

Liked by chrismd, faithloisak and 432,908 others

y/username: so much beer

Tagged: @wroetoshaw @chrismd

-comments-

wroetoshaw: rethinking my life decisions in that second pic

georgeclarkey: I so drunkk rn🍻

-> chrismd: we can tell mate

y/nfanpage21: uhm that outfit❤️‍🔥

user96813305: I love this post sm😭🫶🏼

Tonight me, Harry, Chris and George are playing pub golf. Some others were going to join us but they cancelled lat minute so it's just us four. I got ready and we left our apartment at seven o'clock. George and Chris were already in the taxi when we got in and it took us to the first pub.

After quite a few drinks and travelling to three different pubs we were all on pretty much the same points. I was quite drunk but Harry seemed to remain just slightly tipsy. As we entered our fourth bar I spotted a pool table. "Oh my god! We should play, yeah let's play. Come on!" I dragged Harry over to the table by his wrist and the other boys followed close behind.

Just as we began playing a group of a few guys walked up to us and watched as I completely missed the white ball. Harry chuckled. "Do you need help darlin'?" One of the men asked, coming towards me. Since I was so drunk I didn't even think about the fact he was most likely flirting so I agreed.

Harry quickly glanced at the boys and then back to the man who now stood beside me, his hands on mine, helping me to push the ball into the net. A large smile spread across my face as I cheered in excitement.

I glanced over to Harry and immediately my smile fell from my face. He looked at me with clenched teeth as his jaw ticked, eyes boring into mine.

The entire vibe changed. Harry didn't move. Chris and George walked up to the guy and told him firmly to "back off mate." I stepped towards Harry, my arm reaching out for him but he stepped back and made a b-line for the pub door. Suddenly I felt very sober as I looked back to the boys, they just sighed.

I followed after Harry and found him leaning against the brick wall. He didn't look at me. "I'm sorry." I told him quietly. He didn't move. It was painfully quiet, the only sounds being drunk people walking around and the odd car driving by. "I would never- you know I-" "I think we should talk tomorrow. I need sleep." He interrupted me, pushing himself off the wall.

We left in a taxi not long after and I text the boys informing them that we were going home. We didn't say a word to each other until we got inside our apartment. Harry took his shirt off then lay on the couch, grabbing the blanket that rested on the back of the sofa and placing it over himself.

"You're not coming to bed?" I asked. "No." He said plainly. I slowly took in a shaky breath then went to bed myself, deciding not to push him any further.

The next morning I woke with a banging headache. I shuffled into the kitchen but stopped in my tracks when I saw Harry sat on the couch scrolling through his phone. Suddenly last night's events flooded my mind.

I walked over to the couch and sat down. He glanced at me. "You know I'd never cheat on you. I love you more than anything. I was really drunk last night and wasn't thinking about the fact that guy was flirting. I'm sorry Harry." I sincerely apologised. He put his phone down and moved all of his attention to me.

"I know. It just really pissed me off. The way that- dick looked at you I-" his eyes flashed with anger then closed as he calmed himself down. I nodded. "I can't lose you." He whispered. A tear slipped from the corner of my eye. I pulled him into a tight hug and he held onto me as if I was going to disappear "You won't. I promise."

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: It's been some time since your death and yet none of the Hashira still have the heart to remind Muichiro you're gone. A/N: I'm not too sure if the title means what I think it means so let me know if it's wrong...anyways I got the idea from a fic of @oceanxmoonz, so credits! Also you can probably tell I got lazy at the end... WARNINGS: (y/n) is dead. That's it.

“Where’s (y/n)?”

Shinobu’s smile was a little faker than before as she turned around to face the expectantly waiting Mist Pillar, who seemed a little upset. She couldn’t answer that quite yet. “Are you looking for them?”

“Yes,” Muichiro said plainly. “I couldn’t find them at all this morning. Or afternoon…have you seen them?”

Was it sadder to watch Muichiro lose his closest friend - if not something more - and grieve about it for a long time after or sadder to watch him forget they were long dead? That they weren’t avoiding him like his amnesia had him think, that they actually couldn’t? He always needed to be reminded and Shinobu didn’t like to be the one to do so.

“Tokito…they died a few months ago, remember?”

“No, they didn’t. Ginko would’ve told me.” His eyes widened, then narrowed angrily. “I don’t think that’s a very funny thing to say, Kocho.”

“But, Tokito-”

“I’ll go find (y/n) myself,” he said abruptly, then walked off.

Of course he came back later with the same question; of course Shinobu’s smile faltered.

***

“…I forgot your name.”

“…”

Muichiro blinked at the stoic Pillar before him. “You’re the…something Hashira, right? I think (y/n) mentioned you. Are they back from both of your mission yet?”

Tomioka hesitated. He was honest but he wasn’t cruel. He knew exactly what Tokito was talking about, knew that he suffered from huge blanks in his memory. He envied the younger Hashira a little, to be able to forget such tragedy - however seeing him constantly wander around wondering where they’d gone was a pitiful sight.

So in the end he decided to evade the question. “Yes. (y/n) came back safely from the mission.”

The Mist Pillar’s eyes lit up. “Thank you. I’ll go find them now.”

Yes, (y/n) came back from their mission together safely. If only the same could be said of the last.

***

“HAR?”

“I said, where’s (y/n)?” Muichiro sighed after his almost shout at the disbelieving Wind Pillar. “Has your mission damaged your ears?”

“You little-” Sanemi checked himself. “I know damn well what it was you said.”

“Okay then, where’s (y/n)? I found this flower I wanted to show them.”

The older man’s mouth fell open, probably to harshly remind Tokito for the fifth time that month that who he was looking for was long dead and gone. Then it closed again.

Sanemi was not a soft man, evidenced by his scars, shouts, and treatment of his younger brother. But at the end of the day his intentions, though misguided, were what he wanted best for everyone. It was a tragic world out there and whether his next words were going to exacerbate it he would accept the consequences whole-heartedly - no one would fault him for not wanting to bring the poor kid back to shattering reality either, right?

“Probably out on another mission. You can’t keep hogging them to yourself, Tokito.”

“That’s odd…I thought they just came back…”

“Yeah, well, demons don’t wait for anyone!” Sanemi barked. Sadly, too true.

***

“Oh, Tokito…!”

“…Kan-something-san?” Muichiro’s face twisted in confusion as the pink-haired lady threw herself at him crying, pulling him into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Mitsuri straightened and wiped at her face, plastering a bright but trembling smile for the younger Hashira.

Muichiro blinked. “Okay. Have you seen (y/n)? I just got back from a mission but I can’t find them.”

“…perhaps they’re busy?” Mitsuri swept the tears on her cheeks again. “Don’t worry, I don’t think they’d ignore if they had a choice, Tokito!”

“Oh…alright then.” Muichiro drifted off, readily accepting Mitsuri’s story despite the obvious holes for lack of better explanation.

Mitsuri bit her lip, guilty at her lie. Every day Muichiro would approach with the same question and every day someone or some way it would be broken to him that (y/n) was long gone but as terrible as it made her feel Mitsuri never wanted to be the one who did it.

He’d found the love she’d always been searching for. Unfortunate one didn’t survive for long.

***

“Young Tokito! Are you looking for someone?!”

“You’re really loud…” Muichiro tilted his head. “Have you seen (y/n)?”

Tengen and Rengoku shared a look - the Sound Pillar broke the pause first. “Tokito, don’t you remember?”

“Remember what?” Muichiro’s attention span was already running out. “I think I saw them today but I can’t remember where.”

“You couldn’t have seen them,” Tengen starts again, for it’s not the first time the Mist Pillar has mistaken someone else for (y/n). “They’re-”

“Oh, right…at the Butterfly Mansion, I think. Thanks for…helping?” Muichiro left and the two Pillars glanced at each other again.

“Who’s gonna tell him? He can’t keep walking around thinking they’re still alive. That’s just cruel.”

“But if he remembers his spirit will be beyond crushed - you remember how he was when he first found out. For now, when we need to be most vigilant, perhaps we should let him be!”

Rengoku’s voice carried a tremor of uncertainty, however.

***

“I saw Kanroji and you talk a few days ago. Did you make her cry?” Obanai glowered menacingly at the deadpan Mist Pillar.

“No? She was crying?”

“Yes!” Kaburamaru hissed with his owner.

“Oh…right. Now I remember. I didn’t make her cry.” Muichiro looked up. “At least I don’t think so?”

Obanai resisted the urge to slap his hand on his forehead. He leaned in clsoer. “Why was she crying?”

“I have no idea,” Muichiro said, leaning back. He brightened. “Oh, right. I was asking about (y/n).”

“(y/n)?” Obanai stiffened but took a step back. “Oh. I see.”

“Which reminds me…I wanted to go see her after our sparring, but I don’t know where they are.”

The Serpent Pillar and his snake shifted uncomfortably. “You’ll find them.”

Not really. Obanai hoped for the sake of his comrade that he’d forget he’d already asked the question and not stumble upon (y/n)’s grave.

***

Himejima too cried.

It didn’t really make sense to Muichiro, but he let the oldest Hashira lay a hand on his shoulder and say some prayers. He didn’t really pay attention to the wording but he caught his name and (y/n)’s.

It was safe to assume the Stone Hashira didn’t know where they were so Muichiro bid him goodbye (or at least he thought he did) and set off to go find them himself. From behind the trees one Shinazugawa Genya watched him go before joining his master’s side.

“Why isn’t anyone telling him?” Genya couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose someone so close to you, someone to love and care for, and not even remember when they were no longer there.

“Some things must be found out by himself.”

“Isn’t it unfair to (y/n)’s memory if Tokito doesn’t remember?”

“I’m sure (y/n) will understand…they were very patient with him. They will understand that he needs to take his own time in coming into terms with…”

“Coming into terms?” Genya’s frown deepened. “You mean it’s not just his memory thing?”

“Grief and denial are strange things.”

***

“Where are you, (y/n)?”

Muichiro knelt down by the headstone, dropping the bouquet next to him. “I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. I’m sorry I forgot about you for so long.”

He takes a deep breath and begins to tell about his day, like he’s been doing every day ever since he regained his memories after that fateful fight at the Swordsmith Village and befriending Tanjiro. He thinks they’d like this version of him much more.

“The demons have been awfully quiet lately,” Muichiro mused. “They say Kibutsuji’s planning something. They’re probably all out to get Nezuko. A big all out war’s going to be coming, I think, and I’m sorry I won’t be able to visit when that happens. So I’ll come more often now.”

He dusted off the stone, staring sadly at the inscription. “I’ll kill the demon who got you. I promise.”

At the price of his own life, (y/n) knew, sitting invisibly next to him, crying transparent tears but he wasn’t to know that.

[selarina]

tw angst, breakup

gojo satoru who’s just so used to kindness and patience from you because from the moment you met him, you knew you were soft for him. practically invisible mush. but things have changed now, he broke up with you. and he’s seeing you without the blue and white hues of kindness for the very first time.

it’s almost noble that he broke up with you. one could see it that way, but you see it as selfish.

you always knew his family and jujutsu society wanted him to marry someone with influence and power. marriage was a matter of politics after all.

but you didn’t really care. you knew what you were getting into after all. you’re not an impulsive person, you think deeply and rationally about these things. you didn’t jump face first into love, you slowly sunk yourself down further and further until you reached the riverbed.

so when he mentioned that his family was talking about marriage with Aya Tsukino, the infamous crystalline sorcerer — you were barely phased.

it admittedly hurt a little. you did always imagine a more traditional route with love — with altars, rings, vows, cakes and champagne. i mean, who doesn’t? but you saw reality for what it was and told him it would be fine.

that you would deal with it when it comes, that you would be okay being his dirty little secret if it was okay with ms. aya

but he’s a week away from the wedding — the biggest of the millennia so to speak, and he should be out there attending a celebratory party in his name, but he’s out here standing in your dimly lit bedroom breaking up with you.

you don’t react when he breaks up with you, that wasn’t when you started withholding your kindness from him. no, that night you gave him a measured response — i understand. no, you’re right. yeah, we can try to be friends. i understand. take care. and he surprised that you remained as calm as you always do, but he supposes he shouldn’t have doubted you.

but when he shows up on the day before his wedding — his excuse being he really wanted his jacket back — he sees you laced with anger for the very first time.

he can tell he’s interrupting but he doesn’t really care, he’s not the kind to but he’s especially not the kind to care when he’s practically signing away his love life tomorrow day. so he barges in regardless, and you let him.

he sees the opened bottle of wine — half-empty, a glass of red wine — half-empty again. a romcom of some sort up on TV, throes and throes of pillows and blankets on your couch. there’s a sadness that fills his already bleating heart up, but he doesn’t break.

he maintains the facade — he wants his jacket back, and he definitely isn’t here to see you.

you come out of your room — your expression neutral still as you say, “i can’t find it.”

and he believes it, but if you can’t find it, he needs to leave now and he doesn’t want to. so he insists that he needs it, because he “can’t sleep without it.”

and you frown, “you’ve been sleeping fine for a week.”

“i haven’t,” he says, plainly. you notice the dull blue from behind his black glasses and you think maybe he isn’t lying, so you merely nod as you go back into your room to scramble through your wardrobe.

it takes you about 20 minutes but you show up, and he notices the lack of a hoodie in your hand.

“couldn’t find it?” he asks.

“nope,” you respond. “are you sure it’s not with you?”

“i’m sure,” he says. “can you look agai—”

“nope,” you say. your voice comes out stern and he notices the reclusiveness in your posture. hands folded, and eyes almost a glare. “i think you need to leave. i'll send it with takashi if i find it.” takashi, your driver.

“but i need—”

“for gods sake — gojo. you’re a grown man. take a fucking pill or something.”

there’s no mistaking the anger in your voice now. no, it’s not just slight agitation, it’s anger. it's anger, and it's making you see things in shades of orange.

"what—" he says lowly, as he looks no worse than a kicked puppy. he reaches for his glasses, taking them off as you see his eyes for the first time in 2 weeks. they looks sad, but then again, they always had a certain sadness to them.

his eyes change now, ever so slightly, there's a certain anger brimming through the blue as he stares back at you now, "all i asked for is my jacket."

"well, if gojo satoru wants his jacket. i guess i should put my life on hold, and scramble across the earth to look for it, right?" you roll your eyes with a scoff. and he's taken aback. you've never been petty. you've never been this detached. not when it comes to him.

"not like i'm interrupting much," he speaks up and he knows that he's going to regret what he's about to say before the words even leave his mouth. "you're having a sob fest, if anything — me showing up here is helping."

"are you fu—" and then you laugh, but there's no mirth in your laughter. "how dare you even talk to me like that? you'r— you fucking break up with me. with your bullshit excuses. and then you have the fucking audacity to talk to me like this?"

"bullshit excuses? i broke up with you. for you," he yells back. "you would've been miserable, baby."

"i would've managed," your response is immediate.

"you were upset when aya kept kissing my cheek."

"i never said that."

"you didn't have to," he groans. "it's my- it was job to see that. and that's why i know you would've been miserable."

"i've told you this time and time again. i don't mind being miserable as long as i got to be with you. what's so hard to understand about that?"

"what kin- why? why even—"

"because i love you."

"what kind of love makes you debase yourself in such a way. it's fucking pathetic," he replies, and there's some contempt in his voice.

you see how he views you now more clearer — like you're some sad thing. like you're the world's greatest loser and you should dig yourself into a hole until you've moved on from him.

you're only used to love from him, and that made your decision to stay with him feel revolutionary — like you could've lived the worst life socially if it meant you could stay in love but now — now you're not sure about any of this.

"you would've been miserable. so i made the decision for us. you'll thank me one day," he says.

"maybe," you say with a sigh. you're tired and frankly all you want is for him to leave so you can chug the rest of that wine and pass out. "maybe, but it was our relationship. and you made this decision all by yourself. so don't ever blame me for our end."

part 2