#and the list of sins he thinks he has to atone for just keeps getting longer

[wholoveseggs]

girrrllll, i got another idea! how about Elijah proposing to a reader? it could be angsty in the beginning, maybe they got into a fight because she feels like he always puts his family before her, so he proposes to her to show her she is his family too (and cause he was planning on doing that for a while anyway). and it’s all emotional, she’s not believing what’s happening and she’s thinking he doesn’t really mean it. meanwhile he’s almost desperate to show her how much she means to him. Smut cannot be absent of course. thank youuuu🫶🏻🫶🏻

Forever

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Elijah loves you with all his heart, but his commitment to his family and his loyalty to Klaus keeps him from acting on his feelings. But when he almost loses you, he is determined to prove that you are the only woman he has ever truly loved, and wants to make you his, forever.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @msveronicag! Who doesn't want to be Elijah's wife? ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, slight violence (a classic Elijah & Klaus brawl), shower sex, rimjob {f!receiving}, oral sex & the Italian coast ♡

Everyone says that Elijah Mikaelson is the best of his family. A loyal, charming, considerate man that holds himself to a standard not many can accomplish. In essence, perfect. He loves his family deeply, despite their constant misgivings and betrayals. Nothing would get in his way, if it meant he could protect the ones he loves.

Well, that's what you wanted to believe.

There was a reason Elijah held such devotion to his family. He was one of them, and no better than the worst of them, having sinned over and over to the point where atonement was simply not a viable option.

He didn't want you to see him that way, the dark side of his polished exterior. He wanted to shed his past and become a new man with you by his side.

You were unlike anyone he's ever known or had a passing connection to. Your empathy and kindness was beyond measure, it had captivated him the very moment that your eyes met.

He always wanted to be married, there were even a few times he almost found someone to spend eternity with. Something always stood between that moment and himself, usually in the shape of some great threat. But things had now settled in his life, he had a niece and a proper place to call home. He was no longer on the run from one demon or another.

He wanted this. To settle down with the woman of his dreams, build a life together, and maybe even add to it.

Perfect. Simple. Domestic bliss.

You had come for a small party celebrating Hope's third birthday. Or, as far as you were concerned, a get together amongst those you considered family.

Although, sometimes you worried they didn't see you as family in turn. Deep entrenched history often kept you away from the inner workings of their family life. You understood that you had to earn your place in their lives, and you had done so time and time again. But they never seemed to truly accept you as one of their own.

You got along with nearly all of them except Klaus, who saw you as just a passing phase Elijah was going through. A dalliance, nothing more.

He certainly knew how to poke at your insecurities about your relationship.

"So, tell me," he asked as the two of you waited in the kitchen. "When will this little thing with you and my brother end?"

"Excuse me?" you asked, trying to keep your voice light.

"Don't take it personally, sweetheart. You're not the first pretty face he's lost himself in," Klaus explained with a shrug.

"You don't think he's serious about me?" you questioned, trying not to feel hurt.

Klaus just shrugged and gave you a wicked grin. "Why would he be?"

"Because I love him, and he loves me," you replied, keeping your voice low. "It's been four years, and it's serious."

Klaus let out a bark of a laugh. "Four years is nothing in the life of an original. When will you stop living in this fantasy you've built in your mind? This will end and you will move on."

You were about to respond with a few choice words when Hayley came in carrying hope.

While your relationship with Klaus was contentious and you thought him to be cruel and cold. There was no doubt that Hope loved her daddy with all of her tiny heart. She reached out to him, and he happily took her into his arms.

"There's my little one," he cooed, holding her close. "I love you, my sweet girl."

He began to place kisses all over her, and the three year old giggled loudly.

You had baked the cake for her, and placed a number 3 candle in the middle.

"Let's light her up!" you announced.

The cake was placed on the dining room table, and Elijah stood by you. He slipped his hand in yours and squeezed.

"I want auntie y/n to light it," Hope said.

You smiled wide and kissed her on the head.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice soft.

You lit the candle, and everyone began to sing as the little Mikaelson happily ate a slice of cake, messily covering herself. You laughed, taking a cloth to wipe her little face and hands. Elijah watched you with adoring eyes, you were such a loving soul and he was so lucky to be the one to call you his own.

The cake was enjoyed by all and soon it was time for gifts. Hope was handed a large package by her father, and she eagerly tore open the paper.

You were cuddled up to Elijah, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Thank you, my love."

"For what?" you asked, glancing up at him.

"For being here. It means a lot to me," he told you.

You looked back up at Elijah, and kissed him lightly.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you told him.

Hayley helped Hope unwrap the gift from you and Elijah. It was a wooden dollhouse, and it was a miniature replica of the compound, complete with a little Klaus, Elijah, Hayley, and Hope.

Hope hugged the dollhouse to her chest. "I love it!"

"We made it ourselves," you said with a smile.

"Look, daddy!" Hope squealed. "Auntie Y/N and Uncle 'lijah got me a house."

Klaus gave you a tight smile, and you looked at Elijah. He wrapped an arm around your waist, and held you close. This only seemed to annoy Klaus more, but he turned his attention to his daughter, and the gift that she had received.

"That's amazing, little love. Now, why don't you open the rest of your presents?"

"Okay!"

The evening winded down, and eventually Klaus and Hayley took Hope upstairs to get her ready for bed and the rest of the family retired to their rooms. You had left the dining room table a mess, and wanted to help clean up.

You had picked up a few discarded wrapping papers, when Elijah's arms came around your waist.

"Don't worry about that, my love," he whispered, pressing his lips to your neck. "Leave it, we can do it tomorrow."

"You're sure?" you asked, leaning against him.

"Very," he whispered, taking your hand and leading you towards his bedroom. "I have other plans for you."

"Oh?"

"Mmm," he replied, nipping at your ear. "You know, I've been thinking of you all day. All the things I'd like to do with you."

You flushed,  biting your lips and smiling shyly. He never failed to make your heart skip a beat when he looked at you with that seductive gaze. He never had to force it either, his stare was simply alluring and attentive, it pulled you into its grasp like a siren's song.

Elijah shut the door, and the moment you turned around, he grabbed you and kissed you passionately. His hands held your hips tightly, pulling you against him. He kissed down your jawline, and down your throat.

He pushed you gently onto the bed, kissing down your neck and inhaling the smell of your skin, pulling your clothes off as he went along.

His love, his entire world, right here in his arms. If he were a more possessive man, he'd keep you in this room until his love was imprinted in your very bones.

He kissed you softly, wanting to take his time and express how deeply he cared for you with each touch. He moved down your body, worshiping your skin with his hands and mouth, and the soft sounds that escaped you only urged him on.

His bliss was quickly broken by the sounds of his brother yelling for him at the top of his lungs- an unnecessary use of volume, considering everyone had supernatural hearing.

You reached down and cupped his face, drawing his attention back to you.

"Please don't," you whispered, a pleading look in your eyes. "Stay,"

Elijah's breath left his lungs. You were not the clingy type, in fact you were rather understanding and independent; letting him go and do whatever it was the family needed, always supporting him.

He should stay, finish what he started with you, love you, the one he can't live without. But there was clearly something going on downstairs, his family needed him.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "I'll be back."

"Sure," you said flatly, pulling away. You didn't quite meet his eyes as you turned on your side, facing away from him.

You were clearly upset, but he didn't have time to be swayed by his emotions. He leaned in to give you a quick kiss, but you turned your head away.

"I'm sorry, my love," he said, stroking your hair.

You didn't respond, and he had to leave you there, curled up and angry. He felt a deep pang of regret, but the thought of his family's safety was at the forefront of his mind.

As soon as Elijah left, you let your emotions come to a boil. It hurt how he was constantly running away to deal with his family. It hurt you when he put them over you, their arguments over little things always dragged him in. It made you feel undesired, and second best.

You had no doubt he cared for you, and you did believe he loved you. But did he truly love you the way he loved his own family?

No, not really. He was always holding back, never showing all of himself. He wanted a relationship, but not a true partnership. Not with you, anyway.

Your insecurities bubbled to the surface. The way Klaus acted around you, like you didn't belong, he always treated you as if you were an outsider. Perhaps he was right, that it was a fantasy, that you should move on.

It didn't matter that you were with Elijah. It didn't matter that he called you his love.

He could love you, but not be in love with you. And maybe he wasn't. Maybe this was all a lie, a ruse. 

Just too good to be true.

Klaus was pacing around the courtyard, clearly worked up and ready to take it out on the next person who walked through the door.

"Is it necessary to yell?" Elijah asked, his voice calm and collected.

"I had to make sure to get your attention, since you've been so distracted lately," Klaus snarked, a pointed look on his face.

Elijah let out a sigh, this wasn't the first time they've had this conversation. He was growing tired of Klaus' attitude. "What is it that's so important?" he asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone.

"Y/n is a distraction," Klaus began. "You are blinded by her, and you've become weak and weakness will get us killed." He was speaking quickly and with anger. "You are no longer the man that I've known for a thousand years. You have forgotten where you came from, what you are, and who you are meant to protect."

"Are you suggesting I cast her aside?" Elijah questioned, his voice cold.

"Yes, exactly," Klaus answered, his expression unchanging.

"No," Elijah stated simply.

"She acts far too familiar, and is clearly not one of us," Klaus continued.

"She has proven herself time and time again," Elijah countered. "What more does she need to do?"

"I don't want Hope getting attached to someone that isn't family," Klaus said.

"You can't control who Hope gets close to," Elijah snapped, his anger finally rising.

"I can certainly try," Klaus replied, his tone icy. "And I will. Because you've allowed this woman into our home, our family, and now she's acting as if she belongs."

"She does," Elijah said, his voice steady. "You just have a hard time accepting that."

"If you really care about her, then you will do what is best," Klaus replied, his expression changing. "We both know what happens to your dalliances, they come to tragic ends. I'm trying to spare her from that, brother."

"This isn't some fling, Klaus," Elijah growled, his eyes flashing with rage.

"No, she's just a girl you enjoy fucking! And now Hope is calling her auntie, and she's acting like she's Hope's mother-"

Elijah laughed coldly, his brother was so painfully transparent, his paranoia endless and ever growing. "Is that what this is about? You're afraid of her taking Hayley's place? That I would take yours? Have you officially gone insane?" he mocked, his anger at a breaking point. "Have my actions in the last few years not been clear?"

"She will not be welcomed here once you've tired of her. Once she's gone, Hope will ask for her, and I will not allow that," Klaus stated, his voice rising. "You will have broken a little girls heart because of some stupid infatuation."

Elijah's patience with his brother had worn thin. He had to remind himself that Klaus had suffered so many losses in his long life, that his paranoia had grown into something monstrous. But in times like this, his brother could be utterly cruel, and it was impossible to see him as anything but.

"It's not some stupid infatuation," Elijah seethed, his hands clenched into fists. "I love her, and that's something you will never understand. She has been good for me, and has done nothing but support us. She's not a threat, and you know it. This is the problem with you, you want everyone to suffer as you have."

"That is not what I'm doing-" Klaus began, his voice rising. "She's not one of us, and will never be. You just keep her around as a trophy, to remind yourself that you are capable of caring for another. She doesn't belong here, and it will be her undoing."

Elijah lost his control and snapped. He grabbed his brother and threw him against the wall. Klaus' head hit the stone and cracked loudly. His face contorted into an expression of rage, his eyes flashing gold. He moved forward and punched Elijah in the face, sending him stumbling back. He rushed at his brother and grabbed him by the throat, squeezing tightly. Klaus' anger grew, and his grip tightened.

"Enough!" Hayley screamed, grabbing Klaus' arm and pulling him back. She looked between the two brothers, her eyes wide. "Why are you two fist fighting when my daughter is trying to sleep?!"

Klaus' eyes were wild, and his face was covered in blood, Elijah looked the same, and neither was ready to back down. The only thing stopping them was Hayley's presence. She stood between them, and looked at Klaus. "What did you do? What could you have possibly said to him?" she demanded.

"Y/n isn't family, and never will be," Klaus spat, glaring at Elijah. "I have to protect our daughter."

"Our daughter? You're unbelievable, Klaus," Hayley said, shaking her head. "Go. To. Bed. Both of you," she commanded.

She grabbed Klaus's hand, and dragged him away. Elijah sighed, rubbing his forehead. He looked up and saw you on one of the upper balconies with an unreadable expression on your face.

Had you seen that entire argument? Did you hear the awful things his brother had said about you?

He rushed up the stairs and met you at your bedroom door. You had your bag in your hand, and he knew immediately what was happening.

"You can't," he told you, shaking his head.

"I'm not welcome here," you whispered. "I have to go, Elijah."

"You are always welcome here," he said, reaching for you. "Please, let's talk."

"We have talked," you told him, pushing his hand away. "I've heard everything I needed to hear, Elijah. You keep choosing them over me. It's always your family first, and I understand that, but you have to see how it hurts me. I can't just keep coming second in your life."

"You aren't," he whispered, trying to draw you close, but you gently pushed him away. He felt his heart shatter at the action, and he knew he had lost you. "I want you, I choose you. Don't do this, my love."

You pushed past him, unable to hear anything else he had to say at the moment, you needed space to think, to figure out what you wanted. If this was a fight you could win. "Goodbye, Elijah," you said, giving him one last glance.

He stood there, and he was frozen. How could this have happened? He thought that he had made you understand that this was permanent. That you were forever.

But he had failed to show his love properly and he had to fix what he broke. You were his greatest love, his everything, and he couldn't live without you. He was nothing without you. So he would do whatever it took to bring you back.

Because if you were gone, so was he.

You were staying with Marcel, the only person who understood what it was like to be in the Mikaelson shadow. He wasn't thrilled that Elijah had hurt you, but he did understand that relationships weren't always easy, especially with the Mikaelsons.

He poured you a stiff drink, and let you wallow.

"I shouldn't have gone," you muttered.

"It's Hope's birthday," he pointed out.

"But I should have known better than to get involved like that, it only makes Klaus jealous," you sighed.

"Klaus is a notorious asshole, and Elijah is...well, he's not good with his emotions."

"That's putting it lightly."

You drank the whole glass in one gulp, and poured yourself another.

"I don't know why I thought that he was serious," you grumbled.

"He's serious, but he's also scared," Marcel replied. "It's a lot easier for him to push people away, then have the chance to hurt them."

"It's a terrible feeling, wanting to be a part of a family that doesn't want you," you admitted.

"I know the feeling," Marcel replied, sitting down next to you.

"He told me he loved me. He told me that we were going to spend forever together. And yet, his family still doesn't accept me." You looked up at Marcel, your eyes filled with tears.

"It's just Klaus, the rest of them adore you," he told you.

"How do I get Klaus to trust me? I'm not trying to take his daughter," you insisted.

"Just be patient, give him some time," Marcel advised.

"I've given him four years," you said. "And he's not willing to accept me even a little."

Marcel nodded, and handed you another drink. "Don't worry about Klaus, he'll get over himself."

"And Elijah?" you asked.

Marcel frowned. "That's not my area."

"Yeah," you said, nodding slowly. "Me either."

You and Marcel had a few drinks and talked the night away. By the end, you had almost completely forgotten your heartache, and were simply enjoying the company.

Marcel had fallen asleep, and you were dozing off when your phone buzzed. You opened it and saw a message from Elijah.

We need to talk.

You sighed, and sent him a simple reply.

Tomorrow.

You were far too exhausted to deal with his bullshit right now. You tossed your phone on the coffee table and fell asleep.

The next morning you woke up on Marcel's couch, a blanket thrown over you. You stretched, and grabbed your phone, heading into the kitchen.

Elijah had texted you back.

Meet me outside, I have a car waiting for you.

You frowned. He was sending a car for you? You quickly responded.

Why are you sending a car?

A response came instantly.

It's a surprise.

You shook your head, but smiled a little and texted him back.

Fine, give me 10 minutes.

Hurry, we're on a tight schedule.

You showered, and got dressed, grabbing your bag, and heading out. You gave Marcel a quick goodbye, and hopped into the town car.

Elijah was sitting there, and smiled softly.

"Good morning," he said.

"Morning," you replied.

He looked you over, and you were surprised by the intense gaze. You blushed under his scrutiny.

"What?" you asked.

"You're beautiful," he said softly. "And I'm sorry, for all of this. I never meant to hurt you, or make you feel unwanted."

You shook your head. "I know you didn't," you said. "And it's okay."

"It's not," he told you, reaching for your hand. You let him take it, and he pressed a kiss to your palm.

You flushed, and looked away. "Where are we going?"

"The airport," he replied.

"What? Why?" You were completely confused.

"You are right, I'm not putting you first, and I will not allow that anymore," Elijah replied. "And to prove it, we're going somewhere, just the two of us."

"Where are we going?"

"Italy, we're going to spend a month on the Amalfi Coast." he said, a soft smile on his face.

"A month?" You asked, a hint of excitement in your voice.

"Yes," he nodded, and pressed his lips to the back of your hand. "I've been neglectful, and I need to remind you of how I feel about you.

"Eli, you don't have to do all of this."

"Yes, I do," he replied. "You deserve the world."

He had rented a private plane, and had arranged everything. You were incredibly impressed that he managed to pull it all off in the span of a night.

You sat beside him on the plane, his hand intertwined with yours, and a soft smile on his face. You couldn't help but relax, the last couple of days had been so tense, but you couldn't stay mad at him, and a romantic getaway was exactly what you needed.

As the plane took off, Elijah reached over and brushed your hair out of your face. You lifted the arm rest and cuddled up against him, resting your head on his chest. He held you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You missed this, the way he was so attentive, the way he was gentle with you.

"I am sorry, for making you feel second best," he said, his voice low and full of regret.

"I know," you said, reaching up and stroking his cheek. "It's okay, your dedication to your family is part of what I love about you."

You looked up at him and kissed him softly.

"Let's not dwell on the past," you said. "We have a whole month to make new memories."

"I am going to spoil you so much, my love," he said, kissing your nose.

The flight was nearly twelve hours and you immediately fell asleep when the plane leveled out. When you woke up, the sun was starting to set.

Elijah was reading a book, and had his free hand resting on your hip. You smiled, and snuggled closer. He put the book down and looked at you, his eyes soft and full of affection.

"Good morning, or rather evening," he chuckled. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," you yawned.

You looked out the window, and saw the city below. It was like something out of a dream, colorful houses all stacked up, the sea sparkling as the sun set.

"Welcome to Positano," he said.

"Elijah," you whispered, awe in your voice.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's magical," you gushed.

"Yes, it is."

The plane landed, and a car was waiting. Elijah had rented an entire villa for the two of you. It was stunning, with a view of the ocean, and a private beach.

You walked through the villa, looking at all the art and antiques. It was very much Elijah's taste, and you could see yourself spending a month here.

The moon was out and it cast a soft glow over the sea. Elijah took your hand and the two of you walked down the stairs to the beach.

The sounds of the waves gently lapping on the sand soothed you. You walked down the shoreline, your hands intertwined.

"You didn't have to do all this, you know," you said, leaning against him.

"I know, but I wanted to. I needed to. It was a selfish thing, really," he replied, wrapping his arms around you.

Up ahead you saw something on the beach, it was too dark to make out, but it looked like a bunch of neatly shaped debris.

You walked a little closer, and you could make out the shapes. It was a heart, surrounded by lit candles, and flowers. The words "I love you" written with rose petals on the sand. Suddenly a bunch of twinkle lights were turned on, and the whole scene was lit up.

You turned around to ask Elijah if he had done this, but the words died in your throat. He was kneeling on the ground, a ring box in his hand.

"Y/n," he began, his voice soft and loving.

"What are you doing?" you asked, a bit breathless.

"I should have done this a long time ago," he said. "I should have married you years ago, but I was afraid. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to give you everything you deserve."

"Eli-"

"No, let me finish," he insisted, and continued. "I've spent centuries on this earth, never truly belonging anywhere. Always searching, never finding. Until I found you. My home, my heart, my family."

You were crying, tears streaming down your face. You couldn't really process what was happening, here was the man of your dreams, pouring his heart out, telling you how much he loved you, how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

"You are my world, my everything. And I want to spend eternity by your side," he said, opening the box and showing you the ring.

The ring was absolutely stunning, a large ruby surrounded by diamonds. It looked antique and must have been worth a fortune.

"I found this ring almost five hundred years ago, right here in Italy. I knew that when I finally found the right person, I would give it to them," he said, smiling up at you.

"You can't be serious," you said, not intending for it to sound as harsh as it did. You were in complete shock.

"I have never been more serious in my entire life," he replied, his voice firm.

"What will your family say?" You asked, worried about Klaus’ reaction.

"Niklaus can go fuck himself," Elijah grinned. "As for the rest of them, they will be thrilled."

You nodded slowly, letting the words sink in.

"This is insane," you whispered, unable to stop staring at the ring.

"Is that a yes?" He asked, looking nervous. "Will you be my wife?"

"Yes," you breathed, and he took your hand and slipped the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly, as though it was made for you.

He stood up, and kissed you. You threw your arms around him, your fingers tangling in his hair, kissing him back with every ounce of love you had for him.

"You're my family, you're my home," he whispered, spinning you around. "And I vow, from this day on, you will always come first. I love you."

"I love you too," you murmured, cupping his cheek. "With all my heart."

He pulled you close, kissing you deeply. You lost yourself in his embrace, in the way his hands felt on your body, his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth.

You both stumbled to the villa, tearing each other's clothes off. Your back hit the wall, and Elijah pushed your skirt up. His hands found your thighs and he squeezed the soft flesh, lifting you up, your legs wrapped around his waist. He kissed along your neck, leaving little marks in his wake.

"My fiance," he muttered against the flesh. "My darling love."

"I like the sound of that," you moaned.

"Then you're going to absolutely adore being called my wife," he grinned, moving his lips down to your breasts.

His kisses turned bruising, biting at the flesh of your tits. He was rough with you and you relished it. It was like he was finally unleashing his feelings, letting out all the love he had for you.

You tugged on his hair, bringing his lips back to yours, hungry for his kisses, drunk off of his affection.

"Bed, Eli," you murmured, but instead, he picked you up and carried you into the shower.

He set you on your feet and turned the water on.

"We are covered in sand," he grinned.

The steam was rising as the water heated up, and the moment it was hot enough Elijah pulled you in with him. You squealed as the warm water washed over you, cleaning you off.

The water was the perfect temperature, a delicious warmth, but not as delicious as the feeling of him pressing into you, pinning your front against the tile.

He reached up, taking your hands and pinning them to the tile wall.

"Keep your hands here," he commanded, pressing a kiss to the back of one.

You nodded, a small moan escaping your lips, he kissed his way down your back. He ran his tongue down the length of your spine. Soft and gentle, teasing over the top of your ass. His hands ran over your legs, and he bent you slightly, opening your cheeks to reveal the most intimate part of you.

"Beautiful," he murmured, before lapping at you.

Your knees nearly buckled as he pressed his face into your flesh. His hands spread your cheeks wide as his tongue dipped into your core. The way his mouth touched every part of you left you dizzy with need. Your thighs clenched, your clit pulsing, ready to be touched.

But you did what he told you, and kept your hands above your head. The porcelain felt cool on your heated skin and he tugged you closer, your hands moving further down as your body was pulled back. His tongue darted into your center, teasing around your hole, his saliva coating you, trailing up, finding your puckered hole, and slowly circling the muscle.

"Elijah," you whimpered, gasping as his tongue worked you open.

He slipped a finger into your dripping cunt, working it inside, pulling it out and sliding it up, moving to replace his tongue on your tight entrance. He swirled around your asshole before pushing the pad of his finger into your tight heat, his mouth sucking on your ass, soft moans escaping him, vibrating against your flesh.

You struggled to keep yourself upright, your hands against the wall, bracing yourself, wiggling against him. The warm water of the shower cascading over you, the sensations were too much and not enough. You were panting, your head tilted back, eyes closed, as you were overwhelmed by his touch.

He pulled back and stood up, kissing along the back of your neck, he placed his hands on your hips and pulled you close.

"Do you want more, sweetheart?" He murmured in your ear, his voice low and seductive.

"Yes," you breathed, arching against him.

His cock was hard, trapped between the two of you. You ground against him, rubbing yourself on his length, desperate for the friction.

"How much more?" He asked, a smirk in his voice.

"All of it," you said.

"Right here, up against the shower wall?"

"Yes, Elijah, please," you begged.

He hummed and reached between the two of you, taking his length and teasing your core with it. He loved making you beg for him, and he loved hearing the desperation in your voice. But you were now to be his wife, and he was going to take care of you.

He eased himself into your center, groaning at the tightness of you, how good it felt to be surrounded by your warmth. You moaned as he pressed inside of you, the thickness of his cock filling you.

He placed his hands on top of yours against the wall, intertwining your fingers.

"I love you," he murmured, his hips moving against you.

"I love you," you moaned, rocking your hips with him.

He took his time with you, savoring the feeling of your body. He had almost lost you, and he needed to remind you how much you meant to him, how he cherished you.

His slow, languid movements were torture, the heat building inside of you, his thick cock rubbing every inch of your pussy. You moved together, the two of you in sync.

Your orgasm started to build, a slow burn deep within. You had never been so turned on, or so loved, the way he held you, the way he whispered your name like a prayer.

"That's it, baby, come for me," he encouraged, his hips picking up the pace.

He could feel the change, and he knew exactly how to push you over the edge. His thrusts became harder, more purposeful. His lips found the sensitive spot on your neck, and he sucked the tender flesh.

Your walls clenched and you fell apart, coming undone for him, moaning his name, over and over. He smiled against your skin, he could stay buried inside of you forever, and never tire of the way you made him feel.

He turned off the shower and pulled you to the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. He laid you down on the bed, his body on top of yours.

"I can't wait to make love to you every day, for the rest of our lives," he smiled.

"That's a long time, Eli," you teased.

"Not long enough," he smirked.

He took your legs and spread them, kneeling between them. He guided his length into you, and pushed all the way in.

He groaned, loving the way your body opened up to him, the way you felt like home.

"Elijah," you gasped, your hands reaching for him, needing to touch him.

"I love the way you say my name," he smiled, leaning down and kissing you, his tongue licking into your mouth.

He rocked into you, slowly, the feeling of you was addictive. You were his drug and he would never be able to get enough of you. He pictured all the ways he would make love to you, the ways he would please you, worship you.

"My beautiful girl," he groaned, his body on fire, his desire burning, and it only fueled his need.

His hips snapped against yours, and you gripped the sheets, the pleasure coursing through you. Another orgasm was building, the feeling of him deep inside of you, the way he looked at you with such love.

"Come with me, my love," he pleaded, his hand moving between the two of you, finding your clit, his fingers gently rubbing the bundle of nerves.

He was so close, and he was determined to have you come with him, to fall apart for him, together.

You whimpered and moaned, your hips lifting to meet his, chasing the feeling, knowing it was so close. He pressed his lips to yours, and the dam broke, crashing over the both of you.

You came together, moaning, his cock twitching as he emptied inside of you, your walls clenching and milking him, taking everything he had to offer.

You collapsed, boneless, spent, completely and utterly satisfied. He smiled at the sight of you, blissed out and glowing, your hair wet and splayed out over the pillows. . He had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

He laid down next to you, making sure to keep you close. You curled into his chest, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight.

"So, tell me more about this wedding of ours," you grinned, holding your hand up to look at your ring.

"I'll arrange everything, don't you worry about a thing," he said softly, nuzzling your neck.

"Is that so? I don't get any input?" you teased, turning to look at him, your lips brushing against his.

"I mean, you can make suggestions, if you'd like," he smirked, his hand running along the curve of your hip.

"Hmm, well, I do think we should get married in Positano," you smiled, and his eyes lit up.

"It’s perfect here, isn't it?" he mused, a soft smile on his lips.

"I want it to be a small wedding," you said, tracing patterns on his chest. "Family and close friends only."

"Of course," he replied. "I want it to be something just for us."

The two of you talked until the early morning, dreaming up your future together, and making plans for your wedding. It would be a simple affair, a celebration of your love, in a beautiful location, with the people who cared about the two of you the most.

The month spent in Italy was something out of a dream, the days filled with long walks on the beach, picnics in the gardens, and nights filled with dancing and drinking. You made love in the most luxurious beds, and in the most unorthodox places, including the rooftop patio one night. You even made it a bit of a game, seeing who could find the best spots to fuck in. Elijah always won, and was very proud of himself, you loved seeing him so carefree, so happy.

There was no talk of his family or what was going on at home. It was like you were in your own little world, just the two of you. But it was time to return home, the news of your engagement was something you both wanted to share in person.

When you entered the compound, Hope came running up to her favorite uncle, Elijah scooped her up in his arms and spun her around.

"Uncle ‘lijah! Auntie y/n you're home!" she grinned, and you smiled at her, ruffling her hair.

"Have you been behaving for your mother?" Elijah asked, carrying her towards the courtyard, letting her tell you both all about what she had been up to while you were away.

"I see the trip did you both some good," Klaus said, walking towards the three of you. His eyes darted to the ring on your finger, the red ruby catching the light. "Is that what I think it is?"

"What is?" Hope asked, looking confused.

"I asked aunt y/n to marry me," Elijah told Hope, smiling sweetly at her.

"You did?" She exclaimed, her eyes wide.

"Yes," you nodded, laughing at the excitement.

Hope hugged Elijah tightly, and Klaus looked at his brother, a hint of a smile on his lips. The sight of his daughter so happy warmed his heart.

"Well, I wish you both every bit of happiness," he said, giving you a tight smile.

"Thank you," you replied, knowing his words were sincere and it was probably the most enthusiastic response you would ever get from him. It was progress and that was enough for you.

Elijah put Hope down, and she took off running, the news of your engagement clearly something she was very excited about. You could hear her yelling the news as she ran through the compound. Rebekah was the first to appear, pulling you into a tight hug.

"Congratulations!" She beamed, and you hugged her back, her enthusiasm contagious. "I better be a bridesmaid."

The rest of the Mikaelson's slowly came and offered their congratulations. Hayley and Freya both hugged you, Marcel shook Elijah's hand and Kol gave you a warm smile. Hope was thrilled, talking a mile a minute about all the ways she was going to help with the wedding.

"Can I be a bridesmaid?" she asked, her cute little face pleading.

You knelt down so you were at her level, taking her hand. "How about something even more special? No one else at the wedding is going to have such an important job."

"What is it?" She asked, her face completely in awe.

"Will you be my flower girl?"

She squealed and jumped into your arms, squeezing you tight. "Really? Yes! I'd love to!"

You laughed and hugged her back.

Elijah watched the scene, a warmth in his chest. You were his family, his home, the missing piece that had made him whole. He had finally found the love he had been searching for.

You caught him staring, and walked over to him, his arm wrapping around your waist. He kissed the side of your head and let out a contented sigh. You were everything he ever wanted and so much more.

"I can't wait to call you my wife," he smiled.

"Neither can I," you said, your lips meeting his, sealing the promise, always and forever.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

♡ @gorgeouslydangerous ♡ @starkleila ♡ @lydia1369sworld ♡ @notleylaaa ♡ @vampiresluv ♡ @vamprium ♡ @myanmy ♡ @xflowerbombxo ♡ @maryvibess ♡ @always-and-forever-daydreaming ♡ @criminallminds ♡ @theesexystallion ♡ @rosemarypotion ♡ @spnaquakindgdom ♡ @amournoir ♡ @loving-and-dreaming ♡

♡ @meeom ♡ @damienmorton ♡ @wickedmuse ♡ @sunkissedebony97 ♡ @idk00sblog ♡ @savannaounana ♡ @cs-please ♡ complicatedandconfusing-25 @hamiltimes ♡ @akala6670229 ♡ @yeaiamme2 ♡ @itsjulzandmydiamonds ♡ @spideysbabe ♡ @witch-of-letters ♡ @elijahmikaelsonsboy ♡ @rosecentury ♡

[lulu2992]

Hi again! Your answer to my ask about Joey got me thinking more about the "sermon" where John can be heard torturing her. I talked to my friend about it and I wanted to know your thoughts too, if you had the time. So John's four step plan to induct members into the cult are Marking, Cleansing, Confession, and Atonement (listed in this order from a note in Dutch's bunker). And from what we've seen/heard about Joey she's considered tough. John spends extra time with her because she just won't break, and npcs on both sides make comments about this. The timing of both her TV spot with John and the sermon where she can be heard are spotty at best. We don't know exactly when they were shot (though the TV spot is easier to guess) or how far apart they are from one another. But what we do know is John is torturing her (though the method by which isn't clear) and the sermon ends with her saying Yes in order to get him to stop whatever he's doing. I could be wrong, seeing as how John sometimes deviates from the steps listed and sometimes does them out of order (like making Nick atone without cleansing or confession) but this should mean Joey is a member now. That to reach the stage where John is trying to get a confession she's already been marked and cleansed, so all that would be left is John taking her sin. But... Joey never got a sin. Sure, it could be somewhere else on her body and covered by clothes, but nothing actually suggests that she ever got one. There's nothing to suggest that she was ever Cleansed like the Deputy or some other npcs either. Of course, whether or not she fully became a member (like Staci for passing the trials or Burke for walking the path) is irrelevant because she would have been rescued by the deputy regardless. So it seems like she says Yes and... that's it. She's not actually a peggie. We don't hear anything to suggest that she "broke" outside of this moment. And any amount of torture is too much, of course. No one would fault her for wanting the pain to stop. But it all feels like an inconsistency when we're left to imagine the worst, get told by Joey herself what a nightmare it all was, and then see her in her final bunker scene and she only looks slightly bruised, clearly changed but not broken. Despite her saying Yes she isn't considered a member by John or anyone else in his flock. Staci and Burke, to use them as an example again, are considered members. Staci gets to walk around and is tasked with different chores and can be heard conversing with peggies in some voicelines. Jacob calls him a Judas when he "betrays them" to help the deputy escape. Faith is mad that the player rescues Burke because "you made someone leave who didn't want to go." Obviously neither are willing members, but other peggies and their respective heralds seem to consider them such. And it seems unlikely that John would just keep her as his personal punching bag with how closely he adhere's to Eden's Gate doctrine (or tries to). That's the only other explanation I can think of for why her Yes didn't lead to her membership. I do think he has something personal against Joey, probably for resisting him and coming to arrest his brother, but his end goal is still to get her to join like everyone else. So... inconsistency? More than anything it's probably just that the game wants you to go after John first (despite being able to go in any order) so they made him as exaggerated as possible and made Joey seem like someone you'd want to save. Just kinda seems to fall apart under the magnifying glass, yk? Again I would love to hear your thoughts. Hope I got all my lore straight <3

Hi :) Considering it took several years to develop Far Cry 5, that there were more than 20 people on the writing team, and that the story and characters went through several changes, I suppose inconsistencies were inevitable, and that probably explains why John seems to sometimes deviate from the well-established Marking/Cleansing/Confession/Atonement ritual.

I don’t think Joey talks about ever being Cleansed, which is indeed strange. What she says even suggests she was taken directly to John’s Gate:

When they pulled me out of the chopper I thought I was dead. I could barely move. I saw flames, saw the peggies go wild, and thought y'all were toast… I tried to fight, but there were just too many of them… I was helpless. When they grabbed me... this person holding my right hand had a tattoo on her wrist that was exactly the same as the one my mother had on her shoulder. Funny what details burn in your brain when shit goes sideways. I screamed, they knocked me out... and I woke up in the bunker.

That said, they use bliss during Cleansings, so I guess it’s possible she simply doesn’t remember getting baptized. It’s probably just an inconsistency, to be honest, but that’s how I would rationalize it.

From what I understand, John usually tattoos people after hearing their Confession. It’s confusing because they sometimes use the word “mark” to talk about tattoos, but getting Marked simply means being designated. People receive a video and are “invited” to join the Project. And although saying “yes” is required and an important step, you only properly Atone when your tattoo is cut off.

But as you pointed out, Hudson never mentions a tattoo and doesn’t seem to have one. Maybe John never actually heard her Confession because what he primarily wanted from her was to sound in danger so he could use the recording to attract the Deputy, and maybe he stopped torturing her the moment she said “yes”. It’s also possible he couldn’t figure out what her main sin was and needed more time to think about it (and as “special” as she was, he had other converts to take care of), or maybe he was planning on tattooing her and making her Atone later but was killed before he could do it, I don’t know...

I’ve always thought her face was bruised because of the helicopter crash and not because of what happened in John’s Gate, but we can’t be sure. What’s certain is that she was in better shape than Pratt and Burke, so either she was stronger and more resilient than them, or what she experienced, albeit traumatizing, wasn’t as bad as what John wanted the Deputy to believe. He threatened to hurt her a lot but, in the end, yeah, he needed her alive and their goal is still to save people. She was “a challenge” but I don’t think he particularly hated her.

So she probably never Atoned, but if she had, from what I understand, she would technically have become part of the Family, yes (at least from the cult’s point of view; she didn’t want that). And because John made Nick Atone, I suppose that makes him a member of the Project too! By the way, since he, Mary May, and Jerome were supposed to Atone in the church in Fall’s End, that theoretically means the three of them were Cleansed and had to Confess at some point. The “Note to Joseph” (Seed Ranch) implies they were tattooed when Fall’s End fell under Eden’s Gate’s control, but you’re right, as far as I remember, Nick doesn’t talk about getting baptized or Confessing, which is strange. Jerome says he was captured and that John managed to make him “say things” before the Deputy arrived, so maybe that counts as a Confession. As for Mary May, a note in the clinic confirms she got a tattoo, and in the game (or at least in the files), she says:

Heard Pastor Jerome had you saving people from being kidnapped. John Seed did that to me. The fucker made me think he was going to torture me, too. Had me wait in a room for half a day thinking he was going to do it. All that fucker did was give me one of those ink jobs. It was messed up. You spared all those people a lot of anguish.

That’s pretty much what happens to her in Far Cry: Absolution. It’s weird John didn’t hurt her since Eden’s Gate believes “Confession without pain isn’t Confession”, though, but in the book, he explains she can be saved and join the Family if her sin is removed. Even though I don’t consider Absolution canon because of the discrepancies between the novel and the game, I suppose it’s still true that people only become part of the Project when they Atone, so when their tattoo is cut out. For whatever reason, it doesn’t look like Joey reached that step, so I guess she never really became a cultist.

[inafieldofdaisies]

5 Songs Tag | Tagged by @cassietrn | Tagging @aceghosts @direwombat @socially-awkward-skeleton @poisonedtruth @nightbloodbix @shegetsburned @jacobsneed @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @jinfromyarikawa @detectivelokis @strangefable @strafethesesinners @madparadoxum @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @jacobsneed and anyone else that would like to do the tag <3

The rules: list 5 songs you've been listening to and tag 5 (or more) people. I'm also adding the lyrics <3

I'll keep you up until the sunset Speaking in tongues, yeah, we ain't done yet, yeah Don't take my verses out of context I know it's weighing on your conscience And I'll keep leading you on If you keep leading me into your room The drinks are all gone But that's fine, baby, so am I I'm about to take you back to church Well, tell me your confessions, baby, what's the worst? Baptise in your thighs 'til it hurts 'Cause I'm about to take you back to church

funny the type of songs spotify chooses to play for me while I'm editing chapters from Sabrina's story, like that song has been in my main playlist that's miles long for years and haven't listened to it in a while. now they're like: time for some john themed songs, biatch. such a banger tho. <3

Cause the pale blue light of the mornin's comin' Coming to take you away from me, me So I can't spend my whole life runnin' Runnin' back into my dreams, dreams When I lie awake, I'm fighting off the day I'm searching out a way that you can stay But it never fails, the rising sun prevails So I will lie in wait for another chance

All can be cured with a payment Yea, trust in the blind Faith in the hands of the faithless And beautiful lies You are one step away from annihilation! Ooh, do ya feel the heat? From below Send a sign to me, the next one’ll pay me in gold I don’t know how to lose I know that you think that I’m some kind of savior But I’m the broker of sin Just a coin for your wrongs, and I’ll cleanse ya Oh, what did you do? Yes your riches can purchase atonement Oh, what did you do? There’s a price to be paid and you owe it

can't recommend this one enough, it's so damn catchy <3

and fun fact: I so imagine Sabrina singing this one as a joke to John :D Just picture the whole Spread Eagle laughing along while he's like: wtf, *one triggered boi*. like there's an YES in there too. how perfect is that..

Can you feel it now, all the power Oh I'm rising now, like a tower Hear that sound oh it's getting louder Run, run I've come to devour

I've got two problems, but you're just one The other's tapping on the trigger of a loaded gun But staring down Don't let me down You've got a steady hand that's cold to the touch You've only got one shot, but do you got the guts To make it count? Don't let me down You've got the guts, kid, but Is that enough to turn this around?

[lizallanosborn]

I don't how a writer would even pull off a redemption arc for Norman when he canonically sold his son's soul to Mesphiesto (aka the devil and the literal ebodoment of evil) to get his business booming at the price of his son's life becoming unlucky and for also teaming up with the carnage symbote to create chaos and caused Flash to die during that whole red goblin arc. Just. Like. How??

Well. Short answer: No, you can't. Lol

Longer answer: It's literally impossible to redeem Norman of all people, the fact that the method for his 'redemption' was getting shot by a magic gun that removed his sins (which has yet to be properly explained. Like what does that mean/entail in this context. Like so far he's been shown to have surface level guilt and feels hallow/empty like. Okay me too cry about it) says everything it needs to.

Norman has done far too much heinous shit to even entertain him getting a redemption arc, especially because writers themselves have RECENTLY brought up baby Mayday and the fact that he killed her. I don't like that plot point, it makes me extremely uncomfortable and I think it was very unnecessary but they've brought it up themselves in this arc so like... What.

I think in this case especially, that, obviously comics play in a very different ball park morality wise compared to real life, after all people don't have superpowers and in fiction it's fine to explore someone like a murderer changing for the better but given his. Everything and how Norman is, it's like. Why would you want to give him a redemption arc. I'm not going to list every awful thing he's ever done, it would turn into a novella but Norman is canonically 1) an abusive father 2) baby murderer as they've recently reminded us 3) has committed every form of murder possible and very much unapologetic about all of it and that's a very short list for my own sanity. Then you can include anything from 'every fucked up thing that he's done to Flash alone' 'selling his son's soul to the devil', I don't like that plot point either but unfortunately it is canon so it DOES count.

I literally cannot fathom why they're doing this because I've not seen one person who likes it. Especially because this arc has come at the cost of other characters. Peter of all people would never comfort Norman, especially about Harry of all things when Peter has told Norman that he cannot have Harry multiple times and told him to stay away from him, killed Peter's girlfriend, killed Peter's daughter, killed Flash, buried May alive, killed Peter's brother etc the list goes on forever. It's just... Not in character for Peter to even believe that Norman would be magically better and a changed man, Peter's paranoid on a good day let alone about Norman of all people. Like it's insane to me we don't need this

Also from a story telling perspective, it's not interesting! It's unnecessary and boring! Like okay Norman feels guilt and wants to atone but he doesn't seem to understand why his actions are bad and it all feels very surface level. Especially because they want to redeem him but have barely mentioned Harry, his own son who he abused and who is, for better or worse, a massive part of Norman's own character and vice versa AND who IF, you were going to have Norman become a better person, a lot of that would begin in realising what he did to his son, but that in general is very ooc for him just off the bat. Like he doesn't deserve one and it offers nothing of interest. And like! If he really meant that he wanted to change maybe he'd fuck off forever from the people he's irreplaceably hurt and wallow in his guilt on his fucking own lol. You can't have a character say they want to atone for their actions but do nothing of any real substance and arguably keep traumatising others just with their presence. Norman saying he's sorry and that he feels bad means nothing compared to literally everything he's ever done.

And again! Not interesting, I think when he's used right and written a certain way (the 60s and 70s goblin stories are my absolute favourites for example) Norman can work very well as the villain of the story but making him a better person spits in the face of any character who's even shared a room with him, ooc for a million reasons, has resulted in some of the worst Peter characterization in literal decades, is unnecessary and fucking horrible lol! Like it drives me insane that we're doing this but not even addressing EVERYTHING with Harry and that it's costing other characters of their actual selves.

[sevenhundred721]

Things I want in terms of One Piece character songs:

Each of the Vegapunk satellites NEED their own character songs, as well as a song that they all sing together.

Sabo needs a character song that isn't ass.

Koby needs a character song that isn't ass.

Smoker needs a character song that isn't ass.

Zoro needs a character song that plays to his voice's strengths. Something rhythmic that doesn't require a lot of singing. Like Enel's character song (not Tokyopiea, the other one.) Zoro's songs aren't exactly bad, but he has the second weakest singing voice of the crew behind Franky.

The lack of an adult ASL song is so sad to me.

Boa Hancock needs a character song where she actually sings. No, the one with Marigold and Sandersonia doesn't count.

Carrot still not having a character song is crazy. She deserves one.

Yamato and Ace should get a duet. I wouldn't care if Yamato never got his own song if he just got a duet with Ace.

Hiyori and Momo duet. This one is a no-brainer. Yeah the Kin'emon Momo duet sucked, but this one might not.

Kuzan should get another character song. He just has a really nice voice and I'd like to hear more of it.

I JUST REALIZED PUDDING DOESN'T HAVE A CHARACTER SONG??? I'd love a song where she sings all sweet and cute, but sometimes gets a bit evil. Or vice versa, a villain song where she has moments that are all lovesick and cute.

I want a Zoro and Sanji duet that is just them shouting insults at eachother over music for five minutes that ends with Nami screaming at them and a bunch of bonk sound effects. It wouldn't necessarily make good music, but I'd listen to that shit on loop.

Hiyori and Toko duet.

Robin and Chopper duet. Off the top of my head I can't think of them having one, which is kind of crazy considering how cute their dynamic is and the fact that both of their VAs have fantastic singing voices.

Perona needs a creepy Halloween-y song. Her only character song is pretty boring and generically cutesy anime girl. She wants to sing songs of curses, so let her!

Tashigi has a beautiful voice. Zoro doesn't. Neither does Smoker. An unfortunate dilemma considering those are the two people it'd make the most sense for her to have a duet with. (She already has a duet with Smoker and it's not great.) My solution? Give her a song with Hina, Doll, and Bellmere.

Enel needs a bad character song. Seriously. Both of his character songs are really fucking solid. I don't want ENEL to be a character whose songs are all winners.

Doffy needs a good character song. The one on the 47 album is so close to being good, but the audio balancing is weird and his voice gets drowned out by the instrumentals. His other character song is fine, but it's boring and doesn't really evoke his character.

Bonney has a really fun voice, now that she's actually had more screentime it'd be nice if she got another song.

If I keep going I'll basically just be listing all of the characters and character dynamics I enjoy, so I'll stop here. But the people who produce OP character songs do have some sins to atone for. And they'd better do it soon.

[panharmonium]

lines that i absolutely cannot stop thinking about now that i understand the real reason why they placed the izanami/izanagi arc where it occurs in the timeline:

“you think that claiming a name is meaningless?  it’s not.  it does hold meaning for me.”  (you can call me by that name if you want, but it means nothing to me)

“[the izanagi] is a perfect uchiha visual jutsu designed to change destiny.  if something doesn’t go the way you want, you can just erase that outcome and start over.  ultimately, you can pick and choose the most desirable end result.” (he means erasing the world’s bad stuff and escaping inside a dream that’s entirely full of good things.  since it’s a dream, everything is just how you want it!)

“however, a jutsu that allows the caster to choose their own ending carries with it a bigger risk than only the loss of one’s vision.  most who used that overly powerful jutsu couldn’t handle it, and abused the power that they held.”

“originally, [the izanami] was a jutsu to save uchiha comrades from arrogance and negligence.  it’s to stop you from taking the easy way out from inconvenient outcomes.”

“my hands are already deeply stained with blood.  you think i would stop now?  what would be the point?”  

“you don’t know yourself anymore.”  

“there’s still time to turn back.  if you have the will, then take my hand.”

“how?  there’s no destiny that the izanagi cannot change!” “accept the things you’ve done, and take hold of the future that awaits you!” “there’s no way i can be forgiven for the blood on my hands.” “still.  take hold of it.”

“once one accepts the original outcome and stops trying to run from it, the loop will stop.  this jutsu guides you toward accepting your fate instead of relying on jutsu to change it.”  (i won’t accept it.  i will not accept ANY OF THIS!)

and then they whip out obito’s death music for the last scene of this sequence, when sasuke is questioning itachi about why he even feels obligated to help kabuto in the first place.........the first time i was watching, the musical selection didn’t register, because there was no reason for me to understand WHY they would do that, but now, after seeing what happens in the next arc, it all makes sense:

“why would you ever feel you needed to help him do that?!  he is not like you.  no, you were perfect!” 

“it may be that a perfect being does not exist at all in the whole world.  sometimes, two people who appear to be complete opposites are actually two sides of the same coin, and can only succeed when they work together.”  

we’re like oil and water.

bruh.

in addition to that, there’s also a really interesting sidenote that the izanami arc starts exploring about not putting too much stock in people you admire, where itachi gives kabuto a lecture about how it’s fine to emulate someone you respect, but you shouldn’t attach your self-worth to that: 

if you attach your self-value to something external to you, even something admirable and praiseworthy, then you gain nothing.

it’s fine to imitate someone you respect, but don’t remake yourself into him to that extent.

such behavior is just a process to help one mature.

and that is a VERY interesting thing for them to touch on, given the system shock that both we as the audience and kakashi as a character are about to experience.  

this show has spent hundreds upon hundreds of episodes holding up obito as the paragon of virtue (see again: “you were perfect”), and we’ve never once questioned it - he’s always been the story’s voice of moral authority; we looked up to him and respected his courage and conviction just like kakashi, who remodeled his entire life after obito’s “admirable and praiseworthy” example.  and it’s not that this was a bad thing to do; kakashi is undeniably a better person for having adopted obito’s ideals and remade himself in obito’s image - but what now?  what about when that image comes crashing down?  ie, what if “it may be that a perfect being does not exist at all in the whole world”?  for you to be suddenly confronted with the knowledge that the person you’ve always revered and respected above all others isn’t actually who you thought he was, that the foundation upon which you’ve built your entire sense of selfhood has been rotted for years and you never even knew, that you’ve been striving to live up to an ideal that doesn’t even exist?  

something like that could destroy you, if you don’t also know who YOU are, absent that person’s influence.

“if you attach your self-value to something external to you, even something admirable and praiseworthy, then you gain nothing....he who forgives himself and acknowledges his true self is the most powerful of all.”  

i do think kakashi has a very clear idea of who he is, at this point in his life.  but i don’t think he’s ever forgiven himself for anything, and i do also think he attaches a lot of his self-value to how well he’s been able to live up to obito’s example.  “am i living the kind of life he would be proud of?  am i making choices he would respect?  am i protecting the legacy he gave to me?  am i passing on his wisdom?  am i honoring his sacrifice?”  the things itachi says about self-value and not attaching it to something external to you, even something admirable - i keep thinking about that in the context of the rude awakening we just received, because so much of kakashi’s life has been built on the foundation of “What Would Obito Do” - but now...well, what now?  what does it mean for that example to be obliterated in such a devastating way, for you to suddenly lose the only barometer you ever had for your own value?  

the thing about kakashi is this: for all that i think he has made incredible strides since his childhood days, and for all that i think he has obviously made a certain peace with the troubles that have plagued him, i still don’t think he fully considers himself to be a “good” or “worthy” person in and of himself.  i think he considers himself to be “good” and “worthy” only insofar as he is able to be a vessel for dead souls who he believes have always been intrinsically better than he ever was or ever will be.  

and i think that for someone who has always assessed his own worth according to how faithfully he is able to live up to someone else’s example - for someone whose mission has always been to live someone else’s life for them because they died saving his own - it’s going to be a complicated and difficult process to actually acknowledge that he himself is worthy and virtuous all on his own, that the wellspring of his goodness does not have solely external origins; that he, in this case, in this moment, has surpassed his former source of moral inspiration.  i think he can do it - i think he HAS to do it, given obito’s current state, or else he’ll collapse in on himself - but i don’t think it’s going to be easy.  

and, to quote naruto, i think “it’s probably gonna hurt like hell.”

[spoiler disclaimer: please remember i am watching this for the first time!  i’m currently on episode 356, in the middle of the anbu arc - don’t send me spoilers or tag your reblogs with even vaguely spoilery stuff beyond that, because i have to see tags automatically.  thanks!]

[thefanbasewhore]

A Piece of His Heart.

summary: Bucky has been struggling with himself for a few months now but never reaches out for help. In order to confront him, you lock him in the lab but only to find out it was on lockdown for a reason and you're now stuck to quarantine with him

Content: angst, Bucky has demons, sex! pollen, 18+ minors DNI, dubcon, rough!sex, Bucky is somehow soft but rough, breeding k!nk (due to the nature of the pollen)

Paring: TFAWS!Bucky x partner!female reader

Add yourself to my tag list - main masterlist

a/n: I'm back baby!!! It's been so long since I have written for Bucky, It feels great to get back to my roots 😭

Bucky nervously chews at his bottom lip, eyes glancing over the entrance of the lab over and over again. Tethering the line of pure terror and adrenaline but for his undoubted loyalty, still contemplating going in.

Claiming that you desperately need his help and to meet you Stark tower for some kind of lab project. Which was fine, except he still couldn't find the courage to face Pepper, even after all this time. Therapy was working, helping find himself in this world of endless possibilities but with a one hundred year history of murder, guilt still poisons his heart.

Even though he hasn't directly wronged Tony Stark's widow, he might as well have. What he did was something he didn't expect forgiveness for. Just the sight of her or little Morgan is enough to send him into a long pit of despair. Often plagued with old flashbacks and visions that make him sick to his stomach, it takes weeks to come back from.

"Bucky?" He catches the attention of a familiar agent. A pretty woman, but Bucky never really took notice. Without realizing it, the brunette smiles at him, "She is waiting for you in there, she told me to keep an eye out."

The brunette is small but carries herself with a certain fire. It makes the white wolf smile, an almost identical attitude of an old friend; Agent Carter. "I know."

"Don't you wish to see her? She is your partner after all."

"Well yes but she has been asking for things I don't want to talk about. She's a pain in my ass." Bucky cracks a smile, chuckling under his breath at the joke. "You go ahead, I'll be in."

"Oh, she gave orders that no one but you are to enter."

The words cause Bucky to tense, he knows he's been ignoring you but didn't expect this to be the counterpart. He nods unsurely as the agent gives a sorry, closed lip smile before continuing her decent down the hall.

Now Bucky finds himself doubtful, even more uncertain at the fear of facing you. No doubt from the fact he's been ignoring you for weeks now.

It's not because he doesn't like you - quite the opposite in fact. While he cannot pin point the exact moment but somewhere in his very convoluted, cloudy memory, you had managed to invade it. Whenever he would think of the past, close his eyes and see the faces that make him wonder why he is living, you resurface in a way that makes him want to strive for more. Be better, try and find a way to make amends, atone for his sins. There is no other way to describe it except you have a certain quality that makes him want to be better, pour his heart and soul away but if he does that, there is no doubt you would hate him forever.

"C'mon Buck," He talks under his breath, staring at the finger pad to open the door, "Be a man."

He knows you're behind that door, alone and no doubt face etched with that look of disappointment. Not at the fact that he hadn't been answering you - but why. Sometimes he believes you know him better than himself. Knows all his sins, everything that makes him the winter soldier but the thought of speaking of it, letting you into his heart and mind, will guarantee you'll leave. See him as the monster he is.

That's why the relationship never wandered past partners, even though the feelings were there. Bucky was too sucked into a pool of wickedness, practically drowning and he wasn't going to bring you with him.

Bucky looks at the red, restricted sign hung up on the door and scoffed at the lengths you will go. Finally he presses the button with a sigh. As he enters the lab, he looks around the corner and not surprisingly sees that exact look he was trying to avoid - anger and hurt swirling in your eyes but with annoyed arms crossing over your chest.

"Don't say it, you don't have to say it." Bucky starts as the door closes shut behind him.

"Yes I do! It's been three weeks, I haven't heard from you in three weeks!" Bucky sighs leaning against the lab table. Fingers gripping the edge of the steel as fingers white knuckle in frustration.

"Well I am here, I am fine." The way your eyes narrow and the scoff makes his throat dry but he tries to lighten the tension, "Just needed some time."

"Time for what?"

The question makes Bucky tense and fall silent. No matter how much you care, how much you love Bucky, he will never let you in. Something that is hard to overcome, the fact that Bucky would never trust you enough to confide in you.

The problem being that, point and simple, you love him. You want to share his pain, want to understand what is going on inside his mind, help him with the demons that haunt him so often. But all Bucky does is push you away and it feels as if the distance is too far to fix.

There's only so much of your heart to lay before Buck, so many times he can ignore it.

"Are you ever going to trust me?"

"I do trust you. There is not another person I trust more than you and Sam, you're my partner." Bucky stands and towers over you, his hand reaches out to cup your own. No man is more confusing than Bucky Barnes, he so perfectly gives you just enough to hold you there. His gentle touches are loving and kind while the way he guards his heart, feels anything but.

"But not enough to let me help you?"

"I don't need help, I don't want your help. I just needed time to think. I'm better now, everything is fine. You don't need to worry about me."

"Tell me," It's one last plea, "I want to help you."

Bucky falls silent once again, nervously chewing on his bottom lip as those steel eyes beg you to stop. Without another word, you walk past Bucky, and press the button of the door over and over again but it stays locked shut.

"Shit," You mumble under your breath as the screen above the door lights instantly. As Pepper appears on the screen, Bucky's eyes drop to the floor as his heart stops in his chest. "Pepper, the door is stuck."

"It's not stuck, it's locked. I can't let you out, honey." She looks at the screen apologetically as your eyebrows press closer in confusion.

"What are you talking about -."

"There was a sign on the door, that lab was restricted for a reason." Bucky looks up at the screen in a panic as Pepper continues to speak, "Thor found the plant on his last mission, we haven't found any characteristics yet. You have to stay there to be quarantined. The whole floor is blocked off, I'm sorry, we can't take chances if -."

She doesn't continue, only looks down at her fingers, "Someone will slide meals in through the door at the end of the hall but they will be in full PPE. There is a break room with a bed and you'll have to use the bathroom there, there is a shower in there. I'm sorry."

"You're telling me, me and Bucky are stuck in here with some kind of alien plant?"

***

The first hour is spent in silence, the lab door did open as promised but all other doors leading off the floor were locked tight. Neither Bucky or you had tried to speak, both too stubborn to try.

After pacing the lab for what seemed like hours, Bucky finally broke the silence. "Can you sit down for two seconds? you're giving me anxiety.".

It's something of a nervous tic he's developed, chewing on his nails as his words are muffled. "Sit down."

"Shut up, Buck." You huff, jumping up onto the table across the room from him, "As far as I'm concerned, I'm here because of you!"

Bucky's eyes warn you, mouth falling agape as his eyebrows furrow in anger, "Me?! You made me come here! You cannot pin this on me."

"Well I am!"

"Real mature." Bucky rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest. Silence falls between both of you as neither dare to look away from each other.

Bucky's eyes quickly soften at the frustrated look bewildered across your features, lips pulled into a slight pout, hair frizzy and messy from stressfully tugging at the ends.

He squeezes his eyes shut before speaking, "Listen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. Everything is happening so fast and we're both under a lot of stress. We should -."

But just like that, he falls silent. Clearing his throat and rubbing the soreness away. Instantly, you perk up, leaning forward to ask, "What is it?"

"I-um, don't know, my throat and my skin feels hot." Bucky murmured as the air filled with a thick layer of heat. Almost as he says it, you feel the same symptoms.

But what both of you don't expect is the raging, uncomfortable arousal that pools inside your bellies. And just like that, the need for each other is the only thing that matters.

"Bucky." You speak lowly, the tone is enough to send a shiver down his spine. Eyes following your every move like a wolf stalking its prey. Silent and meaningful as he extends his arm to press the pads of his metal appendages against your cheek.

The touch sends a cooling sensation but also creates an endless flame that burns deep inside your gut. Bucky also feels the effects of the touch and feels desire pool in the pit of his stomach. At close proximity, feeling your breath fan against his chin as his nose nudges your own.

The heat of his skin makes your legs feel weak, his flesh hand cups the underside of your jaw. Both so intoxicated with one another, put under a spell of the hormones that plant releases from its pores but it can't be all blamed on the forgein object - as both know in their hearts they wanted to be this way.

Then again, under normal circumstances he wouldn't agree to this. Too sharp and disciplined to let his heart overrule his thought process but the increase of serotonin clouds his judgement, makes it feel incredibly good to touch your skin. He's pressing closer and closer but before he can close the distance - you stop him, "Don't do this, you don't want to, it must be the -."

He doesn't allow you to finish the sentence but instead kisses you so gently, it takes every ounce of air from your lungs. Heart beating faster and faster as his tongue slips past your own, surprisingly skillful as he uses his fingers to tilt your head and all you could think about is how his lips move, soft and tender like rose petals.

The intimacy of the moment makes your head spin as if he was spilling away all the words he meant to say earlier into this one kiss. Chest to chest as bodies press together and heavy breathing seemed to fall into a mismatched pattern. The soft blow of his breath against your cheek but what really made electricity run up the surface of your back was the thick line of his erection against the underside of your hip.

A wave of heat warms your skin as a gush of wetness makes you squeeze your thighs together - no doubt another side effect of the plant. Just like that, he had managed to invade all of your senses - goosebumps rippling through your skin as your heart pounds against your skin, "Bucky."

You really try to stop but he shushes you with another kiss, guiding you across the room as cool fingers press against the hem of your suit, slowly opening the zipper and only pausing as the center of your back presses against the lip of the lab table.

Bucky pulls away, just a moment to catch his breath but notices the soft, blush pink that fills the whiteness of your eyes. The sclera stripped completely of its normal color, which otherwise would be concerning, but the noticeable smell of your arousal quickly overrides the thought. Bucky feels his heart jump at the look of you, the love and admiration behind them as you're the one to press your lips against his own.

Bucky pulls away for a second, eye fluttering closed as his nose bumps your own. He takes a deep breath and once realizes what he was doing your fingers reach out to feel the taunt muscles above his shirt. He speaks lowly, "You smell so good, sweetheart."

But then again, the plant had also modified his scent to some degree. It's the same earthy tones of mint and a rainy morning but there's something hidden, a hint of cinnamon. Something along the lines of sweet and sugary.

Just the thought alone, sends another wave of fatigue and hotness but also so wet, you swear it's leaking down your pants. "It hurts, I -,"

He presses his lips against your forehead, his other hand continuing it's task of taking off your clothing, "I know, baby."

If the nickname wasn't enough to cause your heart to soar, Bucky finally manages to get the zipper down to your belly button. A flesh hand that slips past the collar and cup one of your breast, fingering a touch to your nipple. Just the fact, he's touching you there, makes your eyes close with pleasure, mewing quietly.

Without warning he lifts you onto the table until your back hits the cool surface. Using his torso to part your thighs, feeling the heat from between your legs, laying a flat hand against the apex of your quads.

Beads of sweat form against his hairline, throat drying as he pushes the thick material of the suit down and past your shoulders to reveal the soft, plump breasts. He looks at you unsurely but pads at your breasts, supple and as soft as velvet. Bucky pinches the pert nipple experimentally and watches as you arch your back in response.

"Bucky I can't - it hurts."

He presses a soft kiss against the corner of your lips as his hips tut into your inner thigh, the sounds coming from you are enough to have him throbbing. "I know, I know." Bucky coos softly, "Gonna make it all better, sweetheart, I have to open you up first.".

He uses the table of his advantage, no longer holding you but allowing the table to bare the weight. He uses both hands to shimmy the suit off, throwing it somewhere across the room before peeling the last piece of fabric that separates him from your slick hearth.

It's nearly primal, the way his tongue slips past his lips to taste the thick column of skin on your neck. Feels the racing pulse underneath the flesh as he nips on the skin, eyes lashes fluttering against your cheek as your body begins to shake. Moans vibrate against his tongue, feeling exactly what he's doing to you at the moment. Open mouth kisses pressing along the surface of your chest, nipping and sucking, hell bent on leaving the marks of his love.

Once following a trail down the valley of your breasts, he takes the pert nipple into his mouth and is unknowingly harsh. Teeth grazing over the aching bud but not enough to hurt; but just enough pressure to know, he could hurt you if he wanted to.

The metal appendages of his hand ghosting over your lips, tracing out the plump bottom lip before cupping your throat, feeling the pulse race underneath the vibranium.

Shuddering as the pads of his fingers press against the hood of your clit, the small bump causing it to throb instantly. Crying out as you beg for him to relieve this pain.

The way you peer up at him, face blotched with darker marks from where his hands lie, wild eyes and messy hair spread across the table that supports both of you makes his cock twitch. The metal thumb runs along the underside of your jaw, feeling the strong structure as he pinches your chin between his fingers to meet those steel blue eyes.

If you weren't so filled with want, maybe you would also see the lack of white in Bucky's eyes, the baby pink color taking its place but his words deny you that, "Open your mouth for me, honey."

As if you could fight the instinct to obey, you do exactly that, parting lips until the wetness smears your lower lip. Bucky looks nervous, shifting against you but his hooded eyes don't let him see past anything but you. You don't miss the gulp as the words leave his mouth, "Good girl."

The pad of his false thumb presses against the fat of your tongue and lips close around it and suck. The appendage is cold, but under these circumstances you welcome it with hopes of relieving the heat, eyes watering as you press your hips up against bulge in his pants.

Bucky can't help but hum in appreciation at how pretty you look like this and finally his fingers smear across the surface of your sex to collect the slick there. It's not like he even has to feel to know how wet you are, the heavy scent of your arousal fills the air.

The sight of the bare skin makes his stomach flip in anticipation, arousal smearing the inside of your thighs and the fabric of his pants. The room has grown unbearably hot, matching the hunger you feel for one another.

As long, smooth fingers spread across the button of your clit, you cry out. They continue to your hole and gather the juices of your arousal. While the teasing is unintentional, your body is buzzing - aching with the want of release but without wasting any other time he breaks the barrier and fingers fill you until they can't move any further. Inch by inch until your back arches from the table with a loud whine, thighs snapping together around his arm at the sudden intrusion.

Two fingers move, scissoring against the velvet walls as your eyes roll back into your heat, dizzy for it. The evidence of your wetness lubricating his fingers, coating them and making the next thrust of his wrist more impactful. He's hitting the spongy deep spot with every movement, parts you never thought a person could reach and you squeal.

Bucky groans, relishing how you sound just like imagined you would. Pulling hips down harder to meet the brutal pace of his fingers that leave you, just to come back stronger. Shockwaves rippling through your skin as those cloudy blue eyes never leave your own.

There's no other way to describe it other then earth-shattering as the heat builds inside your stomach. Bucky is so caught up in your pretty sounds, the way you call his name with a cry that he doesn't realize the way his hips press against your inner thigh. Dry fucking himself to the fact he's milking you for everything you got.

The planet clearly infected him as well, the proof being the different spots of pre cum that pattern his dark pants. The long finger never stop - filling you over and over again as soon as they leave. Flesh fingers curling deep inside and massage the deepest part of you, so deep that your fingers wrap around his wrist to stop the brutal pace but metal fingers find your forearm and press a warning squeeze against it. While you're fully expecting him to push the hand that keeps him from what he needs most, he brings the hand to feel the racing heart beat underneath the layers of his jacket and shirt.

Just like that - time slows, feeling every inch of his fingers as your pussy clamps down on his fingers and vision fades to black as you cum around his fingers. Heavy breaths to try to make up for the lack of breathing as you feel the line of his nose move across your jaw and a soft kiss against your chin but he's twitching against your thigh.

No doubt, painfully hard. The hormones affect him in the same way but he doesn't show it, instead takes care of your own needs instead of his own. Your fingers the jacket and shirt up and over his head as your lips reconnect with his own. Hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt and pull it off. Shaky fingers meet your own, helping to push the rest of his clothing off.

He doesn't offer a warning as the bulbas head of his cock catches your folds, running through the wetness, once, then twice before the feeling of his heavy cock begins to stretch you open. The burn of trying to adjust to its size is something of a delicious pain and you can't help the shriek that rips through your swollen lips.

The velvety-like walls practically suck his prick whole, he feels every inch of your pussy taking him as much as you could. He tries to push the rest of his length, greedy for more but the whimper that falls from your lips pauses his hips. Two fingers tease the bundle of nerve in slow, circular motions as he nudges just a little further until he's nestled so deep in your sopping cunt, you feel him in your stomach.

The feeling of being so full, you're lightheaded. So full of Bucky that the heat inside the pit of your stomach feels like it will combust at any moment - heart pounding so hard, you swear you hear it in your ears.

Blown pupils never leave the sight of where you connect and give an experimental trust. The sounds that fall from you are enough to keep him going as your cunt clenches around him.

"So good," it's gasped under his breath, Bucky's eyes squeezing close at the feeling.

Hips move rhythmically, faster and faster as the sound of your juices cause his head to spin. Never did Bucky think he would be here, buried inside while you beg for more and more. He can't look away from the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing into your silky opening. The sounds of the room are ones of Bucky's moans and your squeals, followed by skin against skin and the squelches of your arousal. It's everywhere, dripping between both of you, smearing his navel and dripping to the table.

Skin grows warmer and warmer every time he hits that spot that makes your vision blur, words seem to get further and further.

"Take it so good -," Bucky can't even form coherent sentences anymore. Pupils full blown as he chases his own high - thighs starting to shake under the pressure of your hot, tight hole.

Suddenly your body erupts with pleasure - tingling from your fingers to your toes as the familiar feeling of an orgasm makes eyes water in relief. Every push of his hips are deep and rough, as his member twitches inside of you.

Only moments later, your back arches from the table, somehow pushing him deeper inside of you as a sob falls from between your lips. A hand lays across your navel to push down on where he bulges in your stomach. Lazily rubbing two fingers against your clit as he continues to fuck you senseless.

Half crescents form under the fury of his nails digging into the flesh of your hip as he keeps himself up right.

His eyes meet your own, watching as you fall apart in front of him. Fire pooling low in both of your abdomens as Bucky feels his own release coming soon. Lips darkened and wet with saliva as incoherent profanities and words fall from them.

You don't have to say a word the way your nails dig into his bicep is enough to spill blood - but tells him all he needs to know as he groans against your lips, balls tightening to prepare to feed your hungry pussy.

The orgasm is mind shattering - throat drying as you're unable to form any other words. Clenching around him so hard that his hips stutter but he continues to drive his cock so deep inside that your legs shake and give out.

Bucky's body shakes as he hits a spot so deep and explodes. His climax comes quickly, white ropes of cum filling you to the brink, but there's so much he's forced to pull out, the ribbons of cum make a mess of your stomach and his own.

With heavy breathing, chest expanding with a slight burn Bucky falls next to you with a huff. With sudden relief from the orgasm only moments ago, your mind begins to clear. The reality of the situation setting in as you look at Bucky in complete terror.

"Buck?" He only groans, eyes squeezing shut and you know exactly why as his erection presses against you; still hard.

But once again a wave of heat makes it impossible to move, squeezing your thighs together as another wave of wetness takes its toll. Bucky's fingers press against the soft skin of your ass, cupping the ample flesh as he grinds his hips against you.

Despite your body betraying you by pushing back into his twitching cock, something screams to get out of the lab but Bucky's presence invades all your senses, all you can think about as the head of his cock finds your folds again, "Wait, Buck -."

He's half way inside of you, hands pushing down on the surface of your hip bones with a growl to keep you underneath him. His cum spears across both of your stomachs as he fills you once again, "Be a good girl."

He's so lost in his mind - drunk on the chemicals that fill the lab, seeping from the stem of the planet tucked away in the corner. With the brutal intrusion, your head rolls back to hit the surface of the table with a groan.

It's affecting you, but not as much as Bucky as the bewilderment makes his body shake as his hot breath fans your face.

Drowning in pleasure as you press your lips against his own. A bruising kiss he can't deny as he moans at the feeling of your nails in his short hair, rolling his hips against your own with a huff. You use this time to deepen the kiss, using all the strength you could maneuver to push on his chest and separate him from you.

You know in order to escape from the room, you must out smart the former assassin. As soon as he slips from your hole, a brutal elbow to his jaw temporarily stuns as he wipes the blood the corner of his lips.

Without a second to spare you take this time to dodge the brunette's hand that reaches out and pushe past him. The door is only inches away, arm extending to press the button but it's cut short as he pushes you against the cold metal.

"Buck -." Trying to bring the man back to sound mind but he only presses his face into your neck, blood from his nose smearing against the skin of your neck.

"Want you again, honey."

It's like nothing else matters other than the sweet nectar of your pussy, then the insatiable feeling of cumming deep inside of you. "Gonna bred this little -,"

"Bucky, it's the plant. Listen to me, we need to get out. You can do whatever you want to me once we are out of this lab."

It's like he can't hear a thing, only pushing his raging hard-on between your cheeks as his hand presses your head further into the door. As Bucky presses gentle lips against your bare shoulder, you extend your arm barely reaching the button to open the door and both of you tumble forward into the hall.

You're thankful that the door closes, taking a deep breath but the rough hand wraps around your arms, temporarily startles you but Bucky is prepared this time, using his body weight to pin you to the ground.

Despite the burn of grasp, his lips are soft and gentle against your own. Running his tongue across your lips, but this time, you purposely brush your lips against his own, tasting the fresh blood from his still bleeding nose. Even though the plant no longer has an effect from out here, it's still in both of your systems making your skin buzz.

Bucky groans as you suck his bottom lip into your mouth as his hand rubs gentle circles against the skin of your lower back but just like that, it's gone.

Using his raw strength to lift and lay you on your stomach - clearly not trusting your intentions again as he brings both arms behind your back. The other hand cups the back of your neck, feeling the natural curvature of your spine under those strong hands.

"Stay down, sweetheart." He warns.

He lets go but not for long as fingers curl into the junction between where your hips and torso meet to pull and bring your ass in the air. He twitches at the sight of your bare pussy, still dripping for him. A pleased sound falling from his chest as you shake your hips against him, "Please, please, please."

No words are said, soaking and committing every moment to his memory as he pushes into you again. This time he isn't gentle as he stretches your pussy open, nudging deeper and deeper to the point you jump forward but two hands keep you grounded on his cock.

He nestled so deep it’s hard to breathe, the burn follows but mixes with a pleasurable sting of his metal digits digging to your hips. The flesh hand rests against the swells of your ass, he can’t help but look down - the filthy site of your messy cunt swallowing him whole. The sounds coming from those lips, the begging - it is all too much - sensory overload as a chill runs over his being and hands clench around the fullness of your hips.

With every roll of his hips, an orgasm builds inside his stomach. He is losing his balance as thighs shaking with immense pleasure as you angles your hips back to meet him.

You need more.

The sounds that fill the room are filled with moans and cries, tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks. Chasing the best high you have ever felt as you beg for more, beg for him to fuck you harder.

At this point the white wolf is completely lost, finding his most primal side inside of your tight pussy. The way it swallows and squeezes him whole, silky and smooth as it milks his cock for everything it's worth. But just as fast, your legs start to shake under the pressure, cheek burning against the fabric on the rug but you only angle your hips to meet his trust to feel him deeper.

"Fuck, fuck." The words fall from your lips as his fingers squeeze your hips even harder.

"Gonna bred this sweet cunt, make it mine". he huffs, feeling a wave of heat that makes his head spin as you cum with a twitch, orgasm leaking pushing him out but he stays buried inside your pussy, letting the juices squirt out and drench his abdomen.

He whispers curses under his breath, words of filling you round, giving you his seed as his breath trembles. Thrust growing haphazardly forming a new messily pattern that makes his forehead drop between your shoulder blades. His body shakes, fatigued and fucked as black orbs fill his vision.

With one final hard trust he twitches, pumping his thick ropes of cum inside your walls for the second time in the matter of an hour. Cheek still pressed against the carpet as a way to catch your breath, legs shaking at the recent assault.

You feel the shift in the air as the breathing of the man behind you changes. Bucky eyes are still wild but this time in realization of what just happened, shameful of his actions as the last of the plant's poison oozed from his pores.

The sight in front of him, still very much on your hands and knees against the carpet, filled to the brim as his cum drips from your abused cunt.

"W-What?" He's at a loss for words as his soft fingers find your back, gently helping you up and allowing you to use him to sit up right. "What just happened?"

But you don't answer, too overwhelmed with the little bit of the planet that runs through your veins. While his eyes have returned to the natural white, yours still have a blush pink color that can only be described as inhuman.

"Hey, hey," he coos softly, panic and worry filling him as he cups the underside of your jaw to your hooded eyes. "Look at me, sweetheart, I'm sorry, I don't know -."

"'s okay," Your hand lays over his own on your cheek, "It was the plant, we got away."

Bucky feels his heart shatter at the look of you. Barely able to sit due to the aching between your legs, the bruises that formed underneath his finger tips shattered across the soft skin. Out of pure frustration and confusion, tears gather in the corner of his eyes.

Purely guilt ridden and thankful that you have given him a piece he never deserved, he speaks, "I don't want you to know the real me. It's ugly and scary inside of here."

"Nothing is ugly about you."

The piece of his heart, you never thought you would see.

Tags: @leyannrae @Fajitasandfics @stolenxkissess @xxlovingfandomsxx @crvecem @peterpstuff @scarletglowss @kpopgirlbtssvt @aquahogcodes @thesneakylittleminx @angelsandsorcery @Je55 @bellar-01 @sergeantjamesbbarnes

@akaaaaashiiii @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme

@chimooky @oceaniamaddness @nahthanks @watermelonsponge @positionsfyou @mardema @sugarpunch-princess @23victoria @devilswaldorf @abitchforbarnes @mooniefoot @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals @bucks-bunny @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals @slytherdorxmd @Lovelyxlu @likealadygodiva

@Emmy @Mamacitapascal @daniellepajarillo @jallen0126 @sebsbrokentoe @yliumy @SodDy030 @kaitieskidmore1 @Klorpski @burnerbitchh @rrlyendofthelinemyass @recklessworry @grubler @peakascum @fuckandfluff @agent-catfish-kenobi @moony-is-bae @jewishdelis @harrysthiccthighss @amelia-song-pond @old-enough-to-know-better73 @jeremyrennerfanxxxx12 @lady-kyles @hallecarey1 @comfort-reads @devilslilbabysblog @jbuchanan-barnes @shadowhuntyi @greinch @engie115 @andreadea003 @reader-without-a-story @msjb2002 @asgardwinter @rafecameronswhore @itshamleth @sableseb @dorothea-hwldr @lady-kyles

If you are unable to be tagged, please unsure you are following me and your privacy settings allow you to be tagged. Message me if you have questions.

[prettyboykatsuki]

♡ GENSHIN IMPACT + HOW LOVE FINDS THEM ♡

➳ ft. kaeya, diluc, zhongli, tartaglia

➳ tags ;; tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, alcohol as a coping mechanism, a little angst but happy endings always, extreme kaeya bias ngl, spoilers for kaeyas story, nonsexual nudity, gn!reader 

➳ a/n ;; first time writing for genshin so if the characterization is funky.. my fault 

➳ summary ;; genshin impact characters and how i think love finds them when they find you 

ZHONG-LI

Sometimes, he admits to himself, it feels forbidden to love you. 

When love finds him, it is on the stairway of a small cottage, tucked into a corner of Liyue. It is quiet and unassuming, more importantly shared. A place you’ve decided to spend hefty mora on to live in. 

There’s a backyard and a space for a garden and there are sweet flowers that always seem to regrow after you pick them. On the walls are weapons and hunting gear but in the drawers are spare clothes and change. It’s got two stories but it’s not big. It’s a home, still. 

You’ve invited him inside, an adopted street-cat at your feet as you make dinner. Zhong-li is a working man, but he spends his days off here. You are an adventurer, strong with a big heart and bigger dreams. Your silhouette makes up all the shadows that dance on the wall and you sway to the beat of a soundless song. A smile makes the corners of your lips twitch up and you stir the pot of whatever you're making with boundless enthusiasm. 

Zhong-li would not wish godliness on anyone. He thinks about it often. Where Rex Lapis ends and where the human, the mortal Zhong-li starts is a blurred line. Humanity is a grieving thing. People live and are happy and then they pass and it is the only thing someone can guarantee. You will be born into the world tearful but you will pass silently - like a wind. 

Godliness means little is forbidden to you. Reality is something you fumble with in your clumsy hands and hope you can get right and humanity is a grieving thing. Always in that order. He knows there is no such thing as love that is truly forbidden - feelings like love and sadness and joy are things that cannot be settled by contracts or understood. They simply exist as if they are their own religion. 

Zhong-li watches you pick up a white furred cat and let it’s nose rest against yours for a brief moment. You hug it and sing to it like it is a child and when you’re done, you let it fondly nudge against your legs.

“Stop being bad and let me cook dinner,” you’ll say, like it knows. And maybe it does - Zhong-li thinks to himself that it might. It prances off and sleeps in the basket you’ve bought, covered in blankets and linens. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes dancing down your silhouette.

There is something remarkably human about love. Perhaps love is the one thing gods cannot truly get their hands on. This greed, this loneliness, this tender feeling - so soft it might fall apart in his hands. In all of his years of living, he likes to believe he has known love. For his companions and for his people. 

But this affection that soaks his bones, greedy and aching to be cared for, must be something only a human could get their hands on. He thinks he could only love you like this with his mortal body, his beating heart and dry mouth. With golden eyes that blink at you, curious to know what you’ll do or say next. If humanity is grieving, perhaps love is acceptance. Reconciliation. Maybe the reason no human complains about a short life is because they, at least once, have loved. 

He thinks he understands it briefly. If redoing everything meant he couldn’t be with you, even once, he would keep it all the same. What a sentiment. He smiles at you as you dance and the sunlight hits the bare skin of your thighs, buried in the expanse of your skin. He longs to be so close to you too. 

Remembering he can choose to be so close to you. That he can act upon this insatiable desire to be loved. It feels forbidden and unreachable. 

But it isn’t. 

He holds out his hand to you and you pause, tilting your head before taking it. He stands and wraps his arms around your waist and stares down at you with so much affection you falter. His lips press against the crown of your head. You’re warm and real.

When love finds him, it is just like this. Under the setting sun of Teyvat, harbored in his mortal body. 

TARTAGLIA 

You never wrap his wounds with care. 

The process is rough and not very quick. It must be comfortable for you to put your hands on him because you never seem to show him any mercy. He’ll enter your quarters with something like a wince. A wound - red and bleeding in his shoulder. He’s got his blazer dragged down his biceps, an uneasiness on his face as he drops into the room. You’re clearly busy doing something, but that’s never stopped him before. 

Wordlessly, he drops himself into the chair to the left of the little table in your room. He sits in it before dropping his head back, looking at you upside down. A frown etched into your features, eyes low and exasperated. You give him a look of discontent that he returns with a shit-eating grin. His heart stutters when you stand but he says it’s blood loss. You shut your book and place it on your bedside table. 

Underneath your bed is the first aid kit, which you grab - swift like ocean waves. He scoots back until he’s facing you. You stare down at him for a long while, brow furrowing. He gives you a dizzying smile. 

“You’re staring,” ― he proclaims, brunette hairs sticking to sweaty skin ― “Do you like the view?” 

You ignore him. Instead, you place your first aid kit with a slam onto the table and rummage through it. Nimble fingers quickly take out clear vials of alcohol, bandages, a pair of small scissors and some creams of your own making. He thinks you’re brilliant and he wants to tell you as much but the words feel too unruly, too soft spoken from his mouth. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes so forlorn by your lack of attention that you speak.

It’s a sigh first like the wave of a white flag. 

“Take your shirt off,” 

“Take me for dinner first at least,” 

You give him an unimpressed look. 

He replies by sliding his shirt off his shoulders with a little grunt. Worry plasters itself all over your face and you don’t make any attempt to hide it. He watches as you walk towards the opposite end of the room - grabbing a towel and a bowl of water. You clean the wound by pressing on it, even though it seems like the blood has dried. It’s rough - you’re rough with him. A sharp inhale of air makes its way through his teeth. 

You don’t apologize, nor do you want to. He watches as you clean the blood off and then inspect the wound for a long while. Afterwards, you mumble underneath your breath, speaking mostly to yourself than to him. 

“No stitches needed.. that’s good,” 

You sound so relieved his heart aches. There’s a brief moment of silence where neither of you know what to say and Tartaglia stares at you with soft eyes. There is always this longing feeling. A constancy to his need for your touch that brings him to his knees, weakens his resolve until he’s stumbling to your bedroom instead of going to see a doctor or a god. He needs you before he needs forgiveness or life. For him, loving you is an act one can only describe as selfish 

He knows this because he still comes to you like this, body bruised and battered. When your worry filled eyes look over his skin, he feels like a second rain has come. Your concern is it’s own addiction, intoxicated by it. It is selfish to want you to worry, even more so to make sure of it. 

But how else can he hold your love if not to make you look at it? How else can he know love if it’s not in the furrow of your brow or the way you push him so hard. When you get angry for him and at him. What is love if not a violence? If not teeth in the nape of his neck or your fingers on his bruises?

You rub alcohol in his wounds to clean them before taking your fingers and dipping them into a cream. It smells like mint, making his eyes water. You do this step with care, running your hands over fierce marks and scars with heartbreak written all over your eyes. 

Love must be a violence. It must be - this stinging feeling in the way you look at him like he is a dead man walking. Love must be a hurricane that rips through him. A storm, an uncentered and reckless devotion. He thinks, even if it was your hands who gave him this wound, he would ask you again to heal it. 

Tears spill at your lashes. He softens, smiles. 

“C’mere” 

You relent, give in. Exhaustion settling in your bones you let yourself be wrapped into his arms. He holds you to him, lets you be frustrated with him. He is too, would you know?

Love finds him like this, in your room. Begging you to look at him, getting drunk off the taste of your devotion. You squeeze his heart in your palms and he lets you. He would let you a hundred times over. 

KAEYA 

Sobriety is a fragile thing. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like being sober, but he spends most of his time around liquor. It’s comforting - the smell, the rush of heat - not scorching but warm, the dizziness. Kaeya doesn’t drink enough to have a drinking problem but more times than not, he wonders if there are answers at the bottom of a bottle. If maybe he chases the end of the pint, he can find answers on his own misery. 

Sobriety is.. fragile in that way. So easily he could drink himself to sleep but he has duty and responsibility. A life to live and sins to atone for but the laundry list of them just keeps growing larger. Bigger than his dexterous hands can cover for. It’s not that he’s miserable or lonely, but there is this lingering hollowness in his chest. 

On his fathers birthday, he sits on the rooftop and drinks. He takes about 3 days off, every year, just for this. He’ll sit on the rooftop of the tavern day of, legs swinging off the edge as the world becomes an array of color beneath him. His thumb is over the mouth of the wine bottle, and he moves it just to drink. 

The sound of your voice doesn’t startle him, but it makes goosebumps appear on his skin. He’s clad in a thin white dress shirt and it prickles as the breezes brushes by him. His chest is warm as you drop yourself down next to him. 

At first, all you do is sit silently. Leaning back on your palms, you watch the stars and constellations shimmer like they always do in Teyvat. He smells strongly of alcohol but it’s nothing to scrunch your nose at. He takes another drink. Unsure of how to handle his misery, his grief gracefully at all - he gives you a strained smile. 

“Has someone come to join me in my demise,” ― his voice is raspy when he speaks but he doesn’t miss a bit ― “How apt,” 

Wordlessly, you take the bottle from his hands. He’s about to argue with you to give it back but instead, he watches you take three long gulps before pouring the rest out. Shocked, he watches it drip down the tile and onto the concrete below. 

“Why’re you...” 

You don’t reply with words but instead, lay back and drag him down with you. He can’t help but wonder what you’re doing. He lays down anyway, back hitting the tile as he blinks. 

“How long do you plan on living like this?”

There’s no hidden meaning to your words. They are straightforward and laced with nothing but honesty. It makes him choke back a sob, the way you ask. Without much left to give, he cracks a barren smile. 

“What could you possibly mean?” 

Normally, you’d laugh at his despair. At his attempt at nonchalance. But you don’t, turning to your side to look at him. You reach your hand out to rest on his chest and he grabs your hand, shutting his eyes. Tears pool at his lashes but he laughs anyways. 

“Kaeya,” ― you say, rubbing his chest and scooting in close to him. He turns to face you, for real, for the first time ― “How long, Kaeya?” 

He doesn’t sob. Doesn’t cry or let himself be hurt. He gives you a misty smile and laughs as tears falls horizontal on his cheeks. You can hear his heart rate, erratic but slow. 

“When it feels like enough.. when I’m forgiven,” he tells you. 

“Whose forgiveness will it take? Dilucs?” 

He shakes his head, unsure. You press your hand onto his skin, golden even in the cold blue of night. His cheeks are in your palms, he shakes his head. 

“I don’t know,” he confesses. You sigh as you wrap an arm around his waist, loose. You bring his body to yours, letting your fingers rest in his scalp. In the nape of your neck, warm tears rolls down your shoulder. Your body is a safety like a brick house - like no wind or storm and disaster could ever take him from you. When he lets his cries turn into sobs, he mourns. 

A life he doesn’t remember but atones for. The only family he ever had. For Kaeya, love finds him like this - grieving. A loneliness tearing him apart at the seams, frayed and long forgotten. Love comes to him while he is in tatters, offering itself to him. 

“I forgive you, Kaeya,”― you repeat to him, over and over like an incantation ― “I forgive,” 

This is how love finds him, in your arms. Forgiven

DILUC 

He rests his head against your knee, body stiff after a long day. It’s a wordless evening - sky painted with a layer of pink and orange. It pours into the room in heavy waves, paints his pale skin with a warn shade of pink. His skin is warm from the heat as his shoulders slump in exhaustion. 

You drag your fingers down his scalp before letting them slip beneath the hairtie that keeps his red hairs up. You drag it slowly, carefully down his back until it’s free. Red and unkempt - tangled from days out in the wilds. You give it a quick brush through, a quiet sigh leaving your lips. 

There’s not a proper bathroom here - far out and away from the city. It’s an old house with an outhouse and dusty floors. After a particular difficult encounter with an Abyss Mage, you’d found refuge into the abandoned location. Without a bathroom, it would be hard to freshen up but you gave Diluc a playful half-grin. 

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine,” 

He thought you were kidding but now the two of you are out by the lake. And this is too intimate for two people who are really only supposed to be working together. It’s too gentle, the way your fingers comb through his red hairs and the little bottled shampoo you keep in your bag. 

There’s something about the way you touch his scalp so careful that is too intimate. His shirt is somewhere inside, over the back of a chair. Pale skin that’s hot to the touch as your fingers work through each individual hair. A long, tired sigh leaves his mouth. 

“So much hair,” ― your murmur under your breath. A blush turns him hot. His father was a good man.. affectionate and caring and proper. But this is different. Too much, even ― “But it looks good on you,” 

You say it so easily. Just like how you touch him - unconcerned for what it means. For Diluc, the idea of romantic love is something awkward. It is clumsy and confusing. Love, has always been something that hurts, more than it has healed. 

But his head is resting on your thigh and you’re touching him like he’s precious. As if he’d break if you’re too rough with him. There is an intimacy in it. A well-meaning and innocent love in the shape of your fingers and how they drag against his skull. 

“...You’re so forward,” he tsks. You give him a gentle laugh, running your hands down his jaw and tilting his head back so he’s facing up at you. Your hands cradle his face with delicacy, thumb dragging across his jaw bone and admiring him. You’re being sincere, but he can’t meet your eyes. 

“You don’t like it?” you ask him. He grabs your hands and puts them away, huffing under his breath. He is childish like this, with you  and only you. No longer the Dark Knight or Master Diluc. Easy to jealousy and even easier to agitation, the kind of man who the world stops for seems to crumble at your feet. 

“No,” he replies, unusually dishonest. 

You lean forward until your arms are wrapped around his barren shoulders. He can feel your skin against his, the way your heartbeat sounds, the fanning of breath of his throat. It’s too much but he can’t move as your arms wrap around his shoulders. You know too much, see too much. There is something so all-knowing about the way you love him. How you tease him. 

Love is a worship when it finds him. You are the closest thing to heaven he has ever believed in - sheer bliss in the way your eyes linger on his silhouette. Diluc is a devout lover for you, a follower in your all-knowing religion of love. Of affection. He leans his head back again to look at you as you look down at him, smiling. 

“You’re troublesome to love, you know that?” he admits to you. You bend down to meet his lips in a kiss. Chaste. Holy 

A smile parts your lips that Dliuc finds himself mirroring. 

“Of course I do,” 

Love finds him like this, in your arms - skin to skin underneath the summer sun. Alone in the fields of tall-grass and wheat. Love finds him like a religion, so much devotion and prayer for you to keep him in your heart always. He knows he would do anything for you. 

[radiosandrecordings]

I do not have the time nor the willingness to relive 14 years of Catholic school to write this but I can’t stop thinking about this one extract from the deluxe transcripts, the one for Desecrated Host. I know they’re not strictly canon, but we get some of Jon’s Thoughts On Religion here which keep rattling around in my brain. They’re mostly funny, calling crucifixes judgemental or saying he isn’t a fan of incense, but there’s one that sticks out. It’s when Father Burroughs is talking about how Father Singh listed all of his sins from childhood, and Jon comments that “Hm. Young sins can cut the deepest.”

Which! First of all! Wild thing to write down in your little blue biro on what is supposed to be a work document! But that feels like it has layers, intention or meaning behind it because no one just says that off the cuff. From both canon and the transcript notes he seems more jaded with religion now, or at least Christianity, but I can’t help but think of a young Jon, 8 years old and feeling like he has blood on his hands that somehow no one else can see. Like he’s gotten away with murder and it weighs so heavily on him he wishes he’d be caught, just to let up on the pressure of knowing at every moment that that should’ve been him. Sure, he hated that bully, but he didn’t want him dead and is this his fault? Did he wish somewhere deep down for this, a sick and twisted thing coming true that he’d desperately take back? In the books he read when the villain was vanquished the hero celebrated, but he just feels this terrifying ache in his chest, and wonders if this is just what happens to people who surround him. 

So he sits at the back of the church when his grandmother takes him on Sundays, and silently begs forgiveness. It’s not even that he’s thinking about some higher power fear of justice from above. He’d take that if it absolved him of something, repentance and atonement. He just wants to stop feeling like he did something wrong. 

[startanewdream]

Hyacinth

Summary: Sirius takes some time to fill his godfather duties — teaching Harry how to ride a motorbike.

Part of Eyes Glistening (Jily Lives AU). It ties with Hope, but you don't need to read it first to enjoy this moment between Harry and Sirius.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

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

The street is quiet, a summer afternoon in which everyone must have decided it’s too hot to stay outside, but Sirius doesn’t breathe easily until he opens the small gate and then he is finally inside the Potter’s estate, safe under their love protection, though its days are almost over. He tries not to let this thought dismay him.

He walks towards the house, but he pauses, his attention diverted. Despite the heat, Harry is standing still near the broom shed, watching the sky thoughtfully, his hands inside the pocket of his jeans.

Alone and brooding, never a good sign.

He sighs, moving direction towards his godson. He has seen that quiet stubborn resolution on Harry’s face ever since he met him after Dumbledore’s funeral; it was a soldier’s face, a soldier with a duty that was hinted by Harry’s secret meetings with Dumbledore—the most secretive man Sirius had ever known—, and from all Sirius knows about Harry and James, that didn’t bid well.

He had a feeling Harry would leave. He was sure that James would hate it.

Sirius walks quietly, stopping a few steps behind Harry.

‘So, how it went?’

Harry jumps under the sound of his voice, turning around. Sirius holds back a frown; Harry shouldn’t be caught so off guard—he may be safe at the moment, but soon, in the real world, he will need better reactions and not trust anyone. This thought doesn’t comfort him.

‘What?’

‘You finally told James, didn’t you?’

Harry squints, uncomfortable. ‘Dad said anything you?’

‘No, I just needed to come by—I still have a few repairs to do in my motorbike.’

‘Oh.’ Harry’s gaze strays to the broom shed. ‘Don’t mind me.’

Sirius watches him for a few seconds before nodding. It’s still hot and he had planned to do this later, but he has a feeling that now it might be the best time—and he knows that pushing Harry to talk before he is ready never works. So he goes to take his motorbike, opting to work in the open instead of the broom shed. Harry hasn’t moved when he comes back, as Sirius imagined he wouldn’t, so Sirius just kneels to check the engine, careful to let the toolbox closer to Harry.

‘Pass me a screwdriver, will you?’ he asks Harry, not taking his gaze off the engine.

It’s been a while since he rode his motorbike, Sirius notes shamefully, so he needs to check if all the electrical parts of the motor are okay. It’s a tiresome job that he could ask a real mechanic to do, but he enjoys the manual work anyway, and Harry seems to relax some of his tension as he watches Sirius working, helping him whenever Sirius asks him—things that Sirius could do alone, but he understands that Harry likes to feel helpful.

‘I am leaving,’ Harry says quietly at some point, and Sirius takes care to not let any emotion show in his face.

‘I thought so,’ he says. All those meetings with Dumbledore seemed too much as some sort of passing the torch, though Sirius doubts that Dumbledore had planned for things to go sour so quickly. ‘When?’

‘As soon as I am of age.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

Harry is watching him, and Sirius knows he is just looking for some sort of disapproval—though he doesn’t know what Harry would do if he found it. That boy is Lily’s son too much not to be stubborn and he would go anyway. Well, Harry does like to suffer.

‘Dad is mad at me. I think… I think I’m letting him down somehow.’

And there is it, the reason why Harry was staring sadly at the sky, brooding under the sun as if it could atone for his sins somehow. He sees the apprehension in his godson’s green eyes, and Sirius is suddenly aware—though he shouldn’t be surprised—how apart from his eyes, Harry looks a lot like James.

‘You never disappoint James,’ Sirius tells him reasonably. ‘He is just too worried. You know him.’

‘I feel like… like if I leave him, he won’t ever understand. He’ll hate me for doing it.’

‘Hating you for doing the right thing? That can’t be.’

‘You didn’t see him. He said… he said if I cared, I wouldn’t leave anyone.’

‘Do you?’ Sirius asks softly. ‘Do you care?’

Harry looks at his house with a heavy sigh. ‘Too much.’

‘Then he will understand. You’ll be of age, Harry, and you’ve been making decisions—good even if questionable some times—for some time now.’

‘I just want… I want it over.’

‘That’s all we want.’ Sirius pauses for a moment. ‘Are you sure you’re the only one who can do this?’

Harry doesn’t hesitate this time. ‘It has to be me. But I won’t be alone.’

‘Ron and Hermione?’ Sirius guesses, smiling a little when Harry nods. He is a firm believer that with friends by his side, Harry can do anything. ‘Ginny?’

Harry sighs. ‘No, we—I broke up with her.’

‘What?’ Sirius asks, confused, but the desolation in Harry’s face is enough to show him all he needs to do about this news. ‘For her own good?’

Harry kicks a stone in the ground, his head lowered. ‘I couldn’t put her in danger and… being near me is a hazard. It’s enough I’m already putting you and Mum and Dad in so much trouble—’

‘You know we would still be even if you didn’t exist, right? In fact, we joined the Order about two years before you were even born, kid.’

Harry shrugs, clearly not agreeing with him. Sirius rolls his eyes; Harry enjoys saving people too much not to feel guilty for anything that happens, even when is only remotely connected to it.

‘If you wanna blame someone, blame Voldemort, not you,’ Sirius says, and he stands up to finish a few protective spells on the motorbike.

As he casts them, blue light shining from his wand, it occurs to Sirius that Harry will need a quick course on Defensive Spells. He already knows quite a few, always having a knack for them, and Sirius is familiar with how much Harry loves his Expelliarmus—he supposes that a wandless enemy doesn’t provide much danger—, but Harry will need to improve his list if he is to be safe during whatever he will be doing.

He thinks of a few books he has at home that helped him in his early years of the Auror training, and he is sure that he can ask Moony to come and help them with training.

Away from James’ eyes, that’s it. Sirius enjoys not being hexed by his best friend.

But Harry’s birthday is still a few weeks away and, right now, Sirius doesn’t want to give Harry homework.

‘Why are you fixing your motorbike?’ Harry asks.

‘I got the feeling it might be useful. The Order has been discussing how to get you safely away from here, you know.’ Harry frowns heavily, so Sirius rushes to add in a teasing voice: ‘I thought of suggesting to hide you inside the trunk and be done with it. Death Eaters would never guess.’

Harry laughs. ‘I don’t think I’d fit.’

‘No, we’d need to transform you into something. Too bad you never felt an attraction to turn into an animagus, if you were a hedgehog it would be easier.’

‘Why a hedgehog?’

‘They are cute. And your hair does make you look like one.’

‘Hey!’ Harry’s indignation is cut by the grin on his lips. He runs his hand through his hair in a gesture that reminds Sirius of James more than ever. ‘It’s my charm.’

‘Oh, I’d have my doubts, but then Lily did marry and procreate with your father, so what do I know?’ Sirius tosses a helmet to Harry. ‘Here, put it on.’

‘To hide my hair?’

‘No, silly, because you need a helmet to ride.’

‘Ride?’

There is a bewildered expression on Harry’s face. Sirius smiles, more certain than ever of his idea. ‘Yeah, I've never taught you how to ride a motorbike, have I? Lousy godfather I am.’

‘You’re not,’ Harry says at once, distracted. He puts on the helmet. ‘Why didn’t you ever teach me before?’

‘Lily deemed too unsafe—a little hypocrite if you ask me, brooms are much more dangerous’

Harry doesn’t look as if he agrees on that one—that boy was way too influenced by James about brooms—but he seems excited enough.

‘Now what?’

‘Now pay attention. If you fall, your mother is gonna kill me.’

Harry looks amused with Sirius' concern.

Sirius shows him how to operate the motorbike, telling him to be careful with the brake and the acceleration and to not mix the gear shifter with them. Then he helps Harry get on the bike.

‘By the left side,’ he guides, and Harry looks somehow younger as he sits on the motorbike. Sirius had a sudden vision of himself holding a Harry who wasn’t even two yet as they flew through the night.

Merlin, the time has flown. Near seventeen already and ready to kick Voldemort's arse.

‘Keep your feet on the ground to get used to. Good?’ Harry nods. ‘Okay, now try to feel the clutch.’ After several minutes, in which Sirius makes Harry repeat over and over how every part works, he picks his key. ‘I’ll start the engine now, okay?’

Harry acquiesces; his eyes are shining, overjoyed. Sirius makes sure the bike is into neutral, then indicates the “start” button for Harry.

‘Slowly let the clutch out—keep your feet on the ground, it will give you more support.’

Harry nods once more, concentrated, his attention focused on releasing the clutch—and then his grip slips and the motorbike yanks forward too quickly. Sirius jumps to hold them.

‘Hey, hey, it happens!’ he says. Harry looks only sheepishly, not very much concerned for his health. Of course not, Sirius thinks. The boy is ready to face Voldemort, what’s a bike? ‘You stalled the engine because you let it go too fast. Try again.’

He does; this time his hand leaves the clutch in the right timing, and the motorbike wrenches him forward. Harry lets out a laugh—one of those carefree sounds that Sirius has been hearing less and less lately—at the same time as Sirius turns into a dog to chase him.

The Potter estate is vast, an enormous field that goes into the woods, and it takes several minutes until Harry finally steps on the brake, having made a huge round back to the broom shed. Sirius is glad and relieved to realize Harry remembered to use the brake over the throttle.

Sirius is out of breath—age comes with problems, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud—when he helps Harry down the kickstand so he can get off the bike. Harry immediately crashes into the ground, laying over the grass with a relaxed expression as he takes out his helmet.

‘This was so much fun!’ he admits. ‘Can I fly next time?’

‘One step at a time, kid. When you are good on the ground, we’ll try for the skies.’

‘Spoilsport,’ Harry complains without any real malice in his voice. ‘Thanks, Sirius.’

‘No problem, kid.’ Sirius sits next to him. ‘Just wanted to share Hyacinth with you.’

He lifts his eyebrows. ‘Hyacinth? Your bike has a name?’

‘All the good rides should have one. Don’t mock Hyacinth.’

Harry shakes his head, amusement all over his face as he closes his eyes. He puts his arms around his head for support, so Sirius does his godfather duty once more. He turns into Padfoot, laying next to Harry to offer him a good fluffy pillow.

[jackiearbs]

things that rwrb characters have said that i will never forget, a thread:

alex claremont-diaz, giving off dumbass™ energy (he has the most on this thread, for obvious reasons) 

- "put them in my room, put them in my room, put them in my room-" 

-  “Jesus Christ, it’s like they can see into your soul. cornbread knows my sins, Henry. cornbread knows what I have done, and he is here to make me atone.”   

- "do it for the 'gram"

- "leading member of korean pop band bts kim nam-june" 

- "whatever, fine. henry is annoyingly attractive. that’s always been a thing, objectively. it’s fine.”

- "see attached bibliography"

- "i said, you look great, baby!”

- "yo there’s a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe"

- "awesome, fuckin' love doing things out of spite.”

-”Huge Raging Headache Prince Henry of Who Cares”

-”it is amazing you can sit down to write emails with that gigantic royal stick up your ass.” 

- “who names a dog David? He sounds like a tax attorney.”

-” “Do I go on your side of the cubicle and turn off your Dropkick Murphys Spotify station, no matter how much I want to?” Alex demands. “No, Hunter, I don’t.”

- “for fuck's sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good-night.”

- “Bake Off makes Chopped look like the fucking Manson tapes.”

- “THEY KNOW. THEY KNOW I HAVE ROBBED THEM OF FIVE-STAR ACCOMMODATIONS TO SIT IN A CAGE IN MY ROOM, AND THE MINUTE I TURN MY BACK THEY ARE GOING TO FEAST ON MY FLESH.”

- “You’re from Boston, Hunter. You really want to talk about all the places bigotry comes from?” (he really hates hunter goddamn) 

-”so, what? you want me to quit politics and go become a princess? that’s not very feminist of you.” 

hrh prince dickhead😎  - "the moment you first called me a prick, my fate was sealed. O, fathers of my bloodline! O, ye kings of olde! Take this crown from me, bury me in my ancestral soil. If only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when American boys with chin dimples are mean to him.”

-"“I’ve been gay as a maypole since the day I came out of Mum, Philip.”

-”i will turn this car around.”

- “yes, the cocaine, alex.” 

-”i am a delight!”

-”have i mentioned lately that you’re a demon?” 

- “are you psychoanalyzing me? i don't think royal guests are allowed to do that.”

- "i can't believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.”

-“the phrase ‘see attached bibliography’ is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me.”

-"i just mean to say, you know, Philip is the heir and I'm the spare, and if that nervy bastard has a heart attack at thirty five and I've got malaria, whither the spare?”

- “they wanted something less fruity than the truth, but truly, what is gayer than a woman who languishes away in a crumbling mansion wearing her wedding gown every day of her life, for the drama?”

- “You are a delinquent and a plague. Please come?”

- “fat and sexually conquered, snuffed out in the spring of my youth. Here lies Prince Henry of Wales. He died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.”

june:  “- that is a clear quartz crystal for good vibes do not @ me.” 

- “He’s just so frail, it’d only take one good push-”

- “ugh! men! no emotional vocabulary. i can’t believe our ancestors survived centuries of wars and plagues and genocide just to wind up with your sorry ass.” 

nora: 

-”sorry, are we not? did i skip ahead again? my bad. hello, would you like to come out to me? im listening. hi.” 

“prince henry is a biscuit. let him sop you up.”  

- “you’ve been, like, Draco Malfoy–level obsessed with Henry for years.”

- “i don’t know, man. I was in my junior year of high school, and I touched a boob. It wasn’t very profound. Nobody’s gonna write an Off-Broadway play about it.”

dahra: 

- “You need to get back to fucking England now, and if anyone sees you leave, I will personally end you. Ask me if I’m afraid of the crown.”

- “both sides need to come out of this looking like your little slap-fight at the wedding was some homoerotic frat bro mishap, okay? So, you can hate the heir to the throne all you want, write mean poems about him in your diary, but the minute you see a camera, you act like the sun shines out of his dick, and you make it convincing.”

-”come on, you backyard-shooting-range motherfuckers,”

ellen (should i say PRESIDENT claremont) 

- “Diaz, you insane, hopeless romantic little shit"

-  “I had Planned Parenthood send over all these pamphlets, take one! They sent a bike messenger and everything!”

- ”where? Are you hiding a turkey habitat up your ass, son? Where, in our historically protected house, am I going to put a couple of turkeys until I pardon them tomorrow?”

-“As your mother, I can appreciate that maybe this isn’t your fault, but as the president, all I want is to have the CIA fake your death and ride the dead-kid sympathy into a second term.”

PEZ !!!

- “frolic naked in the hills, frighten the sheep, return to the house for the usual: tea, biscuits, casting ourselves onto the Thighmaster of love to moan about the Claremont-Diaz siblings, which has become tragically one-sided since Henry took it up with you. It used to be all bottles of cognac and shared malaise and ‘When will they notice us’-” 

-”-and now i just ask henry, ‘what is your secret?’ and he says, ‘i insult alex all the time, and that seems to work.’” 

**extra: nicer quotes from alex and henry 

alex heartthrob diaz  - "never tell me the odds"

-"we were not afforded that liberty."

-“I hate this so much. I know. But we’re gonna do it together. And we’re gonna make it work. You and me and history, remember? We’re just gonna fucking fight. Because you’re it, okay? I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you. So, I promise you, one day we’ll be able to just be, and fuck everyone else.”

- “On purpose. I love him on purpose.”

- “history, huh? Bet we could make some.”

- “But the truth is, also, simply this: love is indomitable.”

-“Take anything you want and know you deserve to have it.”

- “Someone else’s choice doesn’t change who you are.”

- “I am the First Son of the United States, and I'm bisexual. History will remember us.”

- “America: He is my choice.”

- “Give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart, There's so much of you.”

- the entire list of the things he loves about henry. i would die 

henry: 

-”i’ll be damned but i miss you.” 

- “when you rang me at truly shocking hours of the night, I loved you. When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you. and then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. Can you believe it?”

- “it sounds like you did your best.”

- “I’ve bloody well had it. I’ve sat about long enough letting you and Gran and the weight of the damned world keep me pinned, and I’m finished. I don’t care. You can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse, Philip. I’m done.”

- “Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I’ve just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all?”

[freckleddoll]

Reasons why Doll could still be alive

1. I’m still in denial

I compiled a list of reasons why I think that there is a possibility of Doll coming back in the future! Although I do think the chances are slim, given the fact that she hasn’t appeared in the Manga since 2009, which was 12 years ago. However, there is a handful of reasons from a story telling perspective of why it’s possible, and also a handful of inconsistencies between Doll’s death and all of the other Noah’s Ark Circus deaths. Very long post under the cut.

Starting with the most obvious, we never see Doll’s death actually happened, it’s ever only implied.

We don’t hear a direct command, it’s only implied that she died. This is “affirmed” a second later by Undertaker.

He laughs about how Ciel is hastily, and that he can not take back what he’s done, even if he regrets it later. However, this isn’t explicitly about Doll. We as the audience are made to believe that this is about her because we just saw the frame before, of Doll’s signature lollipop falling.

We have seen every other death on screen. We are certain to see each of their corpses, except for Joker, who’s death is confirmed by William T Spears earlier in the chapter.

This is placed conveniently, or dare I say, deliberately before Doll’s death. We see William and Ronald collecting souls only before Doll shows up. The only other Reaper we see in this chapter afterwards is Undertaker.

This is of course speculation, but I don’t believe that the death Undertaker is referring to here is Doll’s death. I think he might be referring to the massacre Ciel and Sebastian have basically just committed after being employed for this mission to save the children. This is something Ciel can not take back. But Undertaker never explicitly said Doll, in fact, he specifically chose the phrase “to hold each and every soul dear” which implies that multiple souls were lost. I don’t think he is actually talking about the Circus Troupe, Doll or Joker.

What could this mean?

I think we are purposefully being misdirected as an audience member here, and I believe that the decision to withhold the details of Doll’s death was deliberate. I believe that the narrative is purposefully withholding information that will much later in the story become important.

Another thing I’d like to point out is, why on earth is Undertaker here? His presence isn’t explained, other than to “affirm” Doll’s death. He is seen with a carriage, along with Charles Grey and Charles Phipps. Well this could tie back to R!Ciel, I think that it’s also possible that:

Doll is actually dead and the information being withheld from us is that Undertaker took her body to later use as a Bizarre Doll to mess with Ciel later in the series.

Doll was disarmed by Sebastian, and once they left, perhaps even believing Doll was dead, Doll was taken in by Undertaker and R!Ciel for revenge or something. I know this one is a lot more dodgy, but it’s the one I believe makes more narrative sense.

Now let’s move on to how this makes sense from a narrative perspective.

Obviously, Snake is still alive, and believes that his family is alive. He goes to Ciel’s manor looking for them.

Ciel offers Snake a position at the Phantomhive manor, under the guise that they are looking for Snake’s family. Snake joins him because Ciel is manipulating him here, telling him that Snake can essentially have a new family at the manor while looking for his old family.

I believe Doll is a big influence as to why Ciel makes this decision. 

Ciel sees Doll when he looks at Snake, which seems to be painful for Ciel. He then goes out of his way to affirm that they were, in fact, bad people (perhaps to justify his own actions in his mind) but then goes back on this and claims that he believes they were good people as to manipulate Snake.

He wants to help them achieve happiness and give them the chance to atone for their sins. The question is, is Ciel taking Snake in to atone for his own sins or to manipulate Snake?

Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked. A crucial character that is being played in this scene is of course, Doll. In every single memory that Snake shares, Doll is center frame, or the person who was closest to him.

Doll is either takes up the most space in the frame, or she’s the one who is standing closest to Snake. Not even Joker is this present in all of the images, but she is in all of them. While we didn’t see this much play out in the actual Book of Circus arc (given that Snake had very little screentime in that arc anyway), we can infer from these images that Snake felt the closest to Doll out of everyone at the Circus.

We also aren’t just seeing his actual memories normally, we are seeing his memories in an emotionally charged state. While he is feeling highly emotional, the person he thinks of the most is Doll. This is not just him remembering her as being the friendliest or most open person to him, this is who he was actually closest with within the Circus.

Doll’s relationship with both Snake and Ciel are very important parts of both of these characters. We see Ciel soften and feel guilt when he is reminded of Doll, and we see that Snake and Doll were presumably very close because of this scene.

Also just some fun images that I felt like pointing out:

Doll is featured in this image with one of Snake’s snakes. There isn’t much of a reason to feature one of these Snake’s snakes, unless we’re meant to infer a connection between these two.

I’m not quite sure where this image came from, but look! Doll and Snake are sitting next to each other, and Snake has a little smile on his face, which as we know isn’t very common for Snake in this series. There are very few instances of him smiling. However, this is obvious in the anime style so it likely isn’t manga compliant it’s cute though.

They’re featured together in another image!

Now for Doll and Ciel of course:

Doll and Ciel are seen here lying together.

These two images are very important to me and I feel they both hold a deeper meaning. Now it’s time to talk about Ciel and Doll.

Of course, there is the eye symbolism. Both of them keep an eye covered up, because both are hiding secrets that they need to keep covered up. Both wear a costume and live under a persona (Doll’s Circus persona that hides her identity of someone who kidnaps children and Ciel’s Smile persona where he is hiding his identity of the Queen’s watchdog). Yet, both of them are drawn to each other despite their secrets and form lasting connections.

We also see Ciel reaching out to Doll, and Sebastian taking the lollipop out of his hand. He is literally taking her away from him and blinding him from finding her. He is concealing the truth?

Despite what her family says, Doll refuses to believe that Ciel is with the yard.

She draws the parallels between herself and Ciel right here! She literally said it herself! Both of them are capable of holding secrets, and despite what appearances may suggest, people are still capable of hiding things. When she says “but we” she is acknowledging that appearances don’t always match expectations.

However, she still believes in him, up until the very end.

Even up until this point, she was still willing to listen to Ciel, and denies it until she can’t anymore. She reflects on their time together, having believed that their friendship was real.

Doll finally accepts it and feels hurt, betrayed and angry. She tries to kill him after this. Instead of anger, fear or hatred, this is the face we see Ciel make.

He looks sad and tired. This isn’t the face of someone who takes pleasure in the idea of killing her. We see him feel remorse for Doll even earlier, like I pointed out earlier in this scene

This scene is what compels him to take Snake in, being reminded of Doll. He looks sad here, he looks remorseful.

But most importantly, there is this image.

This takes place in the Green Witch arc, meaning that he is still thinking about Doll, she is still relevant up until this point in the story.

This image isn’t necessarily him leaving behind those who impacted his life who have since died, though that is certainly part of it. As we know, R!Ciel is still alive which O!Ciel at this point was not aware of. This picture does not reflect the complete truth.

His last obstacle could be interpreted as the Circus itself, but Doll and Joker aren’t positioned together like Rachel and Vincent are. Doll is a distance away from Joker in this image, and her image is a different size than Joker’s, implying that they are two completely different obstacles. In my opinion, Joker represents the Circus as a whole and himself. He represents all the sacrifices he had to make in Baron Kelvin’s manor. He could even represent his trauma while inside the cult.

But Doll is a completely different obstacle. She represents a personal obstacle. She seems to have impacted him greatly, being an influence in what compelled him to take Snake in. She is also one of the only people in this series we see Ciel feel remorse for. She is important.

At this point, this is supposed to give us the conclusion to all of these stories and ideas. But as highly speculated by the fandom (and practically canon) the first Ciel we see in the image is actually R!Ciel who O!Ciel left behind at the cult, who we know is still alive. The first greatest obstacle and his last greatest obstacle. That’s symbolism right there, right?

But I don’t believe that Snake’s story has concluded just yet. His family should still be a huge part of his character and his motivations. If his story isn’t leading up to something, than I think it’s going to be a rather poor choice on Yana Toboso’s part. But as we know, she doesn’t just do things for no reason, I believe that a lot of this was intentional.

TL;DR: Because Doll’s death is never specifically seen on screen, because Undertaker seems to purposefully mislead us after Doll’s death (and because of Undertaker’s presence in the first place), because the promise of looking for Snake’s family who is pivotal to Snake’s character, and because of the importance of Doll’s relationships with both O!Ciel and Snake, I believe that there is a chance that Yana Toboso is planning on bringing Doll back into the story.

This is all speculation, of course. I’d love for it to be true, but it is still rather dodgy given the fact that Doll hasn’t appeared in the Manga in twelve years. I could definitely just suffering from hopeful thinking, but I would love to see our girly make a return. Perhaps with R!Ciel? But the idea of her returning with R!Ciel is an idea for another day and I might make a separate post about it sometime! Thanks a bunch if you made it this far!

[adelaidedrubman]

😳 “touch yourself and think about me” for Jestiny + John for the sentence prompts? x

hi thank you red sending u all my love for requesting this <3

word count: 4.3k (look, i also wish i wasn't the way that i am)

pairing: deputy jestiny x john seed

warnings: you guessed it, NSFW. (some subwarnings for publicly aired dirty talk and john and jestiny both being slightly creepi towards each other, but nothing out of the ordinary.)

John couldn't actually truthfully remember who called who first, or for what reason. At this point, he was so accustomed to beginning and ending every day alone in his office with a radio clutched in one hand to scream into and the temples of his head throbbing with painful fury cradled in the other that it didn't even seem there needed to be a particular reason for it. This was just his fucking life now.

"...because of your pathetic little 'reap the land' Bible fantasy, which is a dumb fucking idea, by the way, and just an excuse for you to fuckin' bully people for no goddamn reason, and…"

Had it been the pig farm? No, that was this morning. Or was it yesterday? Didn't matter, it'd been at least a full forty-five seconds she'd been allowed to screech insults at him uninterrupted, and that wouldn't do.

"I'm sure it will seem like a very dumb fucking idea when everything has been purged from the earth, and you're finally dying the slow, painful death that you deserve —"

"And you know what Adelaide said to me the other day? Why didn’t John and his goons just drive over a ways to the fuckin' wholesale club where shit’s already packaged and canned, and —"

His jaw clenched so tight in anger at her interruptions that it took conscious willpower to loosen it enough to keep his lips parted to speak. "Your body feeling the weight of suffering for every sin and transgression I offered you the chance to atone for, the excruciating pain of sickness and famine and —"

"AND you know what? She's fucking right. So add Adelaide fucking Drubman to the looooooong list of people smarter than the esteemed John Seed, Esquire."

The tension built back up as soon as he willed it away, he had to fight and flex muscles to swing his jaw back open to shout. "AND when you're desperately looking around, searching a world burning to the ground for any source of relief, of the salvation you are foolishly casting away as we speak —"

"There's a fuckin' Costco in Missoula, John. You got plenty of money. You coulda just stocked up there and had way better provisions for this alleged societal collapse. But you'd rather get off on throwing your weight around taking shit from people, huh?"

Scratch that, she made every fucking muscle in his body clench in anger, every part of him was tense and rigid when she spoke. "And you come crawling back on your empty, aching stomach to beg for a scrap of our harvest, to beg for mercy from the faithful…"

"To beg for what, John? A fuckin' pumpkin?” She interrupted with a scoff. “What good's that gonna do me?"

Dispel the tension from his jaw, ignore it everywhere else. She made everything so difficult. "It will seem very fucking dumb then," he spat out, "When you're begging me to take pity on your wretched, damned soul and withering body."

"Yes, take mercy on me and give me a pumpkin, please. Oh, yes John, please please give me a pumpkin," she cooed through the radio, clearly doing her best to make that nasally little rasp of hers mimic a sweet, alluring hum. "Please John, please. I need it so bad. Please give me a taste of your big, fat, juicy pumpkins."

Made everything so difficult, especially ignoring that the furious, pulsing tension she built in him included a bulging hardness between his legs, the part that ached hardest as her sarcastic words melted to a parody of needy begging, ridiculous as it was.

"You are going to choke on your fucking words, Deputy. Choke on your words, and on the weight of your sins."

"Oh, no John, please no. Please let me choke on one of your goddamn pumpkins instead. Please, John. Oh, I'll do anything for a pumpkin John, you're so wise and so smart for taking them. Please, John, please give it to me. I'll do anything for it."

If he could just touch that painful hardness for one second for relief, no different from the way he pressed against his temples, moving his hand from one throbbing ache to the other as he tried to gather his words. "You will —" he just barely began.

"I will do anything, John, please," She rasped out playfully but breathy and exhilarating all the same. "I need it John, please. Please give it to me." He tensed further as she spoke, gripped harder. "Oh, please. Is this fucking doing it for you, John?"

"Aa-aaaaaah," he bleated out shaky and broken to himself in response as his body jerked and stiffened again, before he willed it to relax once more so he could respond.

Fuck fuck fuck. It was only in the process of forcing himself to unclench that he realized he'd tightened his grip on the radio as well, pressing the talk button in the entire time he'd moaned and rocked against his hand. Maybe she hadn't heard, maybe no one heard, he tried to reassure himself. It had been such a brief little slip, nothing so obvious. But the uncharacteristic silence weighed heavy in the air, seeming to spell his doom.

"Oh, shit," was what she mumbled over the line once the speaker finally crackled back to life. Yes, he thought as he dropped the radio to his desk in defeat, Oh, shit indeed.

"Was that, uh…" She continued, "Was that… A-Actually doin' something for you?"

He burned with embarrassment and anger and need that frustratingly hadn't dissipated a single bit. What was he supposed to say to that, exactly? Vehemently deny it, and have her taunt him all the same? Play stupid, and receive ire for that, plus let anyone listening in hear the defensiveness in his voice? Confess with earnestness, 'Oh yes, Deputy Rook, have I neglected to mention I spend most of my nights thinking about what it would feel like to relentlessly fuck you into my mattress? And it's getting harder to ignore the urge during our chats, I hope you don't mind me playing with myself just a little as we speak,'? Continue to sit there dumb and silent and seething?

Yes, that felt like the only real option.

"Oh, don't worry, I get it. Can't actually say anything over the line, huh?" There's no way she could have concluded it the same moment he did, be inside his mind that well. "That's fine, I heard you loud and clear already."

He pouted his bottom lip a little in frustration. Now was the time to actually ignore her goading, he told himself. To turn off his radio and walk outside, take a stroll amongst his faithful family members stationed there to guard him, show anyone who was listening in how pure he'd actually remained. (Or it would be, if he could get the visible bulge at the front of his pants to go away by the time he made it downstairs. Because running out to get in face time with his followers while he was still obviously aroused, shaking hands and clapping backs to boost morale with a glaring tent in his pants, really wouldn't help his image at all.)

"And it's okay, I don't mind, John. Go ahead," she continued in that breathy voice, making the prospect of actually losing the erection quickly all the more far fetched. (As did the fact he still hadn't removed the hand grasping himself through denim, but that was incidental.) "Touch yourself and think about me."

Fuck. He dug teeth into his bottom lip in an effort to resist, but that didn’t help the delicious, flooding warmth that came with that, with that permission. Yes, it was from someone he’d just confidently declared would be burning in hell and whose moral judgments shouldn’t really reassure him, but still it was so fucking intoxicating to hear. Go ahead, he let it ring in his mind again as he ran a firm palm around the rigid length straining against his zipper, Touch yourself and think about me. It was an order he felt powerless against.

“In fact, maybe I should help you,” she continued, taunting levity creeping back into her voice. “You want me to keep talkin’? Help you take care of that?”

“Yes,” he whispered aloud to the empty room in reflexive response, gripping himself a little harder, rocking in his leather chair, praying its hinges didn’t squeak too loud as he did.

The voice on the speaker gave a little twinkling laugh, making him feel embarrassed and aroused all at once, that unbearable burn she always managed to spread along his skin. “I know, you can’t really answer, huh?” She let out a mocking sigh over the line. “Hey, flip up a couple channels if you do,” she said before the line went silent.

Oh, he hated her for that — for making him take an affirmative step to follow her astray into a promise of wickedness and ecstasy, forcing him to make an active choice to sin for her. It would have been one thing to sit there passively and let his body react as it may to her words, it was another to make him actually seek her out.

And he shouldn’t. He should stop now, it wasn’t too late, he should be removing the hand cupping his bulge instead of moving his free one to turn the dial of his radio to follow her voice to its next frequency, letting worry build in him as he waited for her to break silence again. Even if he sat there without speaking, someone could know, could try to reach him on his original channel and know he’d tuned into her instead, could grow suspicious at his quiet absence.

Another crackle of static broke his train of thought.

“Good boy,” Jestiny’s unmistakable voice purred.

And none of that really mattered, didn’t compare to the sick shiver that sent down his spine to pool in his base and finally tingle along his length.

"I want you to touch yourself," she hummed, “Every way I tell you to. Can you do that for me?”

Of course he could, if she could just go ahead and tell him, he thought to himself as he bucked against his palm again impatiently, chasing friction.

“Unbutton your shirt for me, okay? I want you to start there.”

There was no real reason he should do that, no reason to follow her instructions obediently, no reason his fingers should be finding the buttons of his shirt rather than the buttons of his pants to finally stroke himself to a quick completion and leave the whole ordeal behind once he’d gotten a bit of relief.

“I’ve always wondered what you really looked like under that stupid little vest,” she mused, shooting those dual pangs of anger and arousal through him again. “I can tell you’ve got a nice body under there, wish I could tear that shit off and actually feel it for myself, run my hands along your chest. But I guess I’ll have to let you do it for me.”

Oh, no reason except that following her instructions made it so much easier to imagine it was her fingers that were trailing along his skin, and that caused a heavier lurch of exhilarating pressure to twist in his stomach and ripple through his body than mechanically pumping himself to an efficient finish ever could. And god did he feel it as he brushed the silk of his shirt aside to explore the newly exposed expanse of skin, making the touch of his fingertips a little lighter to assist with the illusion that it was her smaller hands dancing along his chest.

“Yeah, I bet it feels nice though,” she breathed out with subtle shakiness through the radio, and he wondered with a shiver as he brushed along twitching muscles and hardening buds if she was touching herself too, what it would look like if she was. Was she mirroring the movements she asked of him, snaking a hand up her shirt along her toned stomach? Grasping at those round breasts, twisting at her nipples with need? And more importantly, did her little button nose twitch involuntarily when she was succumbing to pleasure the way it did when she was angry? Did her mouth pull at the corners when she moaned to make those little imprints of dimples show in her cheeks? God, he wished he could see.

“But you want more, right?”

At least he could hear, there was a tremor in her voice that was certainly something more than just the static of the radio adding coarseness as it broadcast her.

“Go ahead and undo your pants for me, but don’t you dare touch your dick until I tell you to, got it?”

He let his fingers move down to find the buckle of his belt, then the buttons of his jeans, finally pulling down his zipper, avoiding the temptation to make anything but indirect contact with the throbbing hardness he exposed as he did. He closed his eyes to let his thoughts flicker between conjured images of her undoing her own pants in tandem and her being the one in front of him to undo his, settling on the former to wonder how she did it. Did she hesitate after undoing her own buttons, or let her fingers find her folds without the delay she demanded of him?

"I bet you've got nice thighs under there, too. Wish I could dig my fingers into them."

Fuck but what would she do if she could, he wondered as he gripped at them himself. Would she go down on him as she held him tight, finally let him feel the relief of his cock slipping into the hot pressure of her mouth? Or would she simply run her hands teasingly along his legs the way he did as he waited for permission to do more?

“Go ahead and touch your balls a little if you want, John,” the voice groaned from the radio, and he was quick to take the opportunity, caressing along his sac gently just a moment before grasping with a full hand to push against himself, feeling a shuddering moan rise from his center at the indirect pressure against his shaft, just barely teasing the place that so desperately needed to be touched. He saw through squinting eyes that precum was already beginning to leak in the smallest bead from his head from the stimulation. He knew he could cum so fast and so fucking hard if she would just let him finally touch himself, tell him it was okay to —

“Are you ready?”

He nodded his head frantically, as if she could actually see his answer.

“Just run your fingers up and down it a little bit for me first, alright?”

He did so, and jolted against the ghosting sensation as if his own touch held electricity, carried the galvanizing quality of her voice his body so eagerly responded to. He felt a vein throb under his fingertips, counting every tense pulse as he waited for her to allow him more of his own body, his own touch.

“Now, stop.” His fingers froze in place at her command, his hardness twitching to meet them where they rested in place, asking for more, sending another tight, begging pang through his base. “Grip the base of your cock for me, but don’t move yet.”

He left his hand clenched in place where she asked, but his hips were harder to control, shaking into the tight squeeze of his hand a little, so close to imagining what it would actually be like to be inside the tightness of the woman tormenting him, so close, if he could just run the pressure up his length a little, try to feel it all at once, so close, just —

“Go ahead, John. Touch yourself how you want.”

Fuck, yes, finally. He wasn’t sure if he moved his fist to stroke up and down or his hips to buck swift and uncontrolled into his grip first, his body shaking and thrashing towards the promise of a release all at once, no more care for the way his office chair squeaked under the pressure of his movements or his panting breaths filled the stale, empty air.

“Fuck, I bet you — h-ah, could barely fuckin’ wait for that, huh?”

He closed his eyes tight again to focus on that whimper of need he could now hear unmistakably in her own voice as well, imagine what it would be like to hear it whisper directly in his ear instead of carried over the mechanical hum of a radio, no distance between them, him thrusting up into the tight pull of her center from his place sat there instead of the grip of his own hand.

“I hope you were, mmm… Real good for me, real patient.”

God, he hoped she’d whisper praise in his ear like that in person, too. Tell him more, tell him how good he was fucking her in that gravelly moan of hers. She would fall apart into those subtle stutters even quicker with the force of him pounding into her. He felt so fucking hard and thick and ready to burst in his own hand, he could only imagine what he could do to her in same position, imagine it as he tensed and chased that enveloping pressure, that shadow of the consuming pleasure he could get from her.

“I bet you’re close too, real close for me, huh?” She let out those ragged breaths through their electronic connection, now so shameless and bold and tempting him to be the same, to cry out as he let himself go. He felt certainty she would finish soon too, felt assured she would be pulsing around her own fingers from all those miles away. “Real close, r-right?” She asked again before she cut off, leaving him with silence that stung his ears, silence that rang out too long and loud through the empty room.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath and slowed the stroke of his hand for just a moment in frustrated protest, wincing at the unfairness of being denied the sounds of her finish, the symphony that would have surely brought him to release as well. She was so infuriating, so irritating, made him buzz and crawl with so much rage. And he was just so so close.

“Are you ready to be good for me again, though?” She asked when she finally spoke again, now returned to that shrilly taunting and controlled tone, and he opened his eyes for just a moment to glare at the radio, as if the sheer power of his contempt could hurt her over the airwaves. His cheeks burned with both embarrassed anger and the flush of lust still coursing through his body as he kept up the rhythmic pump of his hand, unable to give up that tempting pull of the edge she brought him to even as resentment pooled in his tightening stomach.

“You need to stop,” she ordered, now droning and authoritative. “Stop touching yourself until I tell you to do it again.”

It was now the dull ache of pain that pulsed through him, stung through to his marrow as he ratcheted to a halt, his cock aching even more excruciatingly than before with the soreness from him pawing himself and the suddenness of her denial. He didn’t know why he instinctively followed her order in the first place, why he jerked his hand away from his length, why he felt compelled to obey her even from the distance, with no promise of an ultimate reward.

His hands now gripped forcefully at the arms of his chair, even as his hips still shook upward in little thrusts to search for something to bury himself into. He moved his hands to push down at the sharp bones of his hips to still himself, rubbing little half circles there just to touch himself some way, soothe the skin close to where need stabbed at him.

Fuck, what was wrong with him? He couldn’t stop himself of his volition, his own morality, couldn’t resist reaching down to touch himself from the strength of his own piety, but he could do it at her command? Bring himself to a standstill at her mere suggestion? What the fuck was this unworldly power she had over him, why did he let her lead him to the depths of damnation then stop before he was even allowed its enticing reward?

Yet even as he wondered it he sat there in desperate waiting for her word, for the thrill of that permission she’d first given him. It had surely only been minutes, but felt like hours, an agonized eternity as he sat there still half undressed and hard and dripping. He didn’t dare allow himself the slightest touch, the smallest bit of pressure surely enough to send him over the edge, his need not dulling a bit even as he stayed frozen, waiting for her word, a final crackle from the radio to allow him to resume.

A knock behind him drew his attention first, and he swiveled around in his chair reflexively in response, heart drumming even faster in his chest as he finally saw her, standing there, in the flesh, on his fucking balcony, tapping at his window with a mischievous smirk.

And he should have glared at her, thrown his heaviest paperweight at the window to strike her, cursed her name, continued lecturing her about damnation. But frankly, he thought all those things would certainly be undercut by the fact he looked back at her with pants around his ankles and shirt unbuttoned and proud, needy erection clearly on display, anyways. So instead he silently mouthed ‘Come in,’ at her, hoping she would crawl through the window to finally put her own hands on him, give him the reward of her touch.

But instead, she shook her head with a deepening curve of her lips, those short copper locks brushing against her cheeks as she did, then finally motioning with a nod towards his lap, mouthing back ‘Go ahead,’ as she stood there with watchful eyes.

He couldn’t even make a proper effort at bitterness as he followed her directions one final time to reach for his hardness, watching with a perverse thrill her focused gaze on him as he gave himself a first tentative stroke, delighting in the way her eyes followed the movement of his hands, occasionally flicking up to his face to lock onto his own, which never wavered from that amber stare.

Fuck, it was almost as good as having her actually touch him, this. Having her watch him approvingly with desire smoldering in her eyes at his actions. It built him back to that edge just as well, let his stomach tighten even harder with the thrill of being watched, being seen for what he was with silent adoration, the freedom of falling apart and thrusting into his own caresses for her, as she saw every trembling movement.

Yes, this was the most delicious way she could have given it to him, he thought as he tightened his grip, on the verge of too much but instead just enough as he gave a final squeezing stroke, finally falling into that oblivion of release, eyes still focused on her face all the while even as his vision blurred at the edges and his thighs grew hot and sticky with his cum and his body finally went limp, sinking into the leather of his chair. Her smug, crooked smirk, her focused brown eyes. Her.

He finally blinked his eyes closed with exhaustion for just a moment, pulling heavy lids up just as quick as he heard a creaking at his window. Refocusing just in time to see her swinging the window open and resting on the seal with crossed arms, leaning into his office.

“C’mere,” she finally said simply and softly.

And it shouldn’t have worked, he should have finally been free of her unnatural spell. Now would have been the time to throw the paperweight. But instead, he sighed and pulled his pants up, fastened a single button of his shirt to cover his chest before walking over to her as requested, shame sinking in as he approached her.

And he felt the first point of actual contact with her as she reached for his still burning cheek, and he shouldn’t have wilted into her palm, shouldn’t have nuzzled against it, shouldn’t be shackled to any more of the base reactions of his body.

But he did, and he was.

“You did so good for me, John,” she whispered with a thumb stroking against his face where she held him. And worryingly enough, that made it all okay, made the guilt churning inside him settle to warmth in his chest, made him relax and lean down as she pulled him into a kiss, a shockingly gentle pressing of her lips to brush against his.

He cleared his throat as he finally pulled back, straightened himself to stand upright. Tried to tense again, but his tired muscles resisted.

“I don’t particularly appreciate being spoken to like that,” he hissed with a poor mockery of his usual venom.

She laughed a little, granting a rare sight of the dimples in her cheeks deepening from a smile rather than a scowl.

“Yeah, I don’t think I buy that,” she retorted with a lopsided grin. “Not after what I saw. In fact, I think I might speak to you that way again sometime.”

“Can you at least do it in private, next time?” He said with a huff.

“Sure thing, you earned it,” she said as she finally leaned back from her place intruding into the space of his office. “See ya next time, pumpkin,” see chimed with a parting wink, darting out of the view of the window.

And that really should have made him angry.

But fuck, it didn’t.

[highqueenofelfhame]

far away from sane - one

i’m going to preface this by saying that nobody has read this over so i don’t know if it’s good or if i just think it’s alright, who knows. only time will tell. I looked over this twice for grammar and editing and stuff but i’m sorry if i missed anything.  Thank you @starborn-faerie-queen  for your genius prayer to anneith. I owe you one. Not sure what the ‘one’ is but like certainly something let me know when you’d like to collect lmao.

TW: blood mostly. // 2435 words

Celaena had said it before, and she would likely say it again: the lying in wait before a job was the worst. Some people relished in it, seeing it as something religious almost. In fact, she knew a handful of assassins that worshipped their chosen deity in the moments before pouncing on their prey. Celaena wasn’t particularly religious herself. Too much had happened to her in her twenty four years to really believe that anyone up in the sky was looking out for anyone but themselves. Sometimes she felt like the sun was shining on her a little brighter than it did on other people. When she was a child, her mother had told her she was Mala blessed. She was not inclined to agree.

Still, when she slipped up the alley by the temple, she paused. A quick glance to her watch told her she still had an hour before she needed to be at the warehouse. An entire hour to kill, and what better way to spend her time than giving some old religious bastard a heart attack? She couldn’t think of anything, so she silently slipped through the front door of the small temple, splashed some holy water at the tapestry of the gods, and made her way toward the small confessional booth. 

Celaena settled inside on the uncomfortable, hideously upholstered bench and waited quietly. After seventy-two seconds, and just as she was about to leave and give up on spooking a foolish old man, the divider on the priest’s side of the partition slid open with a heinous screech that sent a shiver sprinting down her spine. Dim, warm light peppered over her lap through the grated holes of the window. Never too careful, Celaena adjusted her hood to be sure that ever defining feature about her was swallowed up in darkness. 

“Anneith, goddess of wisdom, we beseech you. Hear our prayer,” she recited, eyes looking to the little holes that separated her from the priest on the other side of the booth. A low, humming voice accompanied hers as she spoke and Celaena found herself slightly annoyed that he didn’t sound as ancient as she had hoped. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been… gods. If I’m being honest, like sixteen years since my last confession. I… I don’t know where to start, actually.” 

Celaena tapped her finger against her watch and made a mental note of the time while she contemplated what she should confess, exactly. It wasn’t like she had a shortage of sins, but if she came on too strong straight out the gate, it would be hard to slip out of the church and into the night unnoticed. She sighed heavily and looked back up at the partition as she twisted her mouth in thought. The holes in this particular confessional were too small to see even a hint of the man that sat on the other side of the booth. Good. That meant he couldn’t see her, either. 

“I haven’t been in one of these things since I was a kid. My mother and father would take me to temple and I would fall asleep leaning against my father and wake up when he lifted me into his arms after it was all over. Church happens so early in the morning for young minds, you know. You should consider pushing back the time.” When the priest said nothing, she huffed an impatient sigh. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure the last time that I was in here it was for shoving my cousin down the four steps that lead up to our front door because he’d taken my ice cream. If you ask me, he should have been the one repenting. He stole -- and from a little girl no less. But I was the one in trouble.” She snorted, giving him a moment to say anything at all but the man was made of stone and said nothing. “I’m here now because I have a long, long list of sins, father. Longer than anyone else that has been in this crumbling building. Well, that isn’t true. There is one man, I think, that would top me. But I doubt he’s ever stepped a single toe into a church, much less tried to atone for the things he’s done.”

Celaena glanced down at her watch again, then settled back against the chair and dropped the bomb to end all bombs: “I’ve been killing for as long as I can remember. Well,” she shrugged to herself, “since I was eight.”

“Killing?” The priest finally asked, a trace amount of surprise laced in his tone. 

“Animals. People. Animals first, because that’s how they train you. The people come second once your technique isn’t so shoddy. And if I say so myself, and I do, my technique has been flawless for the last ten years. There’s a learning curve, but, well, that isn’t why I’m here. I’m not here to brag about my perfect skill or about the secrets that I’ve heard whispered in the dark. I bet you’ve heard your fair share of secrets, haven’t you, father?” Celaena glanced down one more time, already working the door open slow enough that it wouldn’t make any noise. The man didn’t say anything, likely at a loss. Or maybe he was already calling the police on his cell phone. “Anyway, what do you think my penance would be?”

“For killing people?” He finally answered. Celaena smiled to herself as she opened the door enough to slip through.

“Yes,” she said, and then disappeared through the small opening she’d made and disappeared into the shadows of the church, then the shadows of the street. She wasn’t a complete maniac, she didn’t begin cackling as soon as she was out the door. Though she did wish more than anything that she had been able to see the look on the man’s face when she revealed such dark truths. Wished he had been able to see the smile pulling at her lips while she spilled her secrets to him in the dark. 

Instead she weaved up and down the streets and alleys, climbed onto roofs and hopped from building to building when they were close enough. She didn’t stop moving until she reached the warehouse that she knew the stupid fucks were hiding in. She could see all three of them sitting around a shitty metal table, taking turns throwing down cards. Celaena was too far to hear anything that they said beyond a low murmur of voices, not that it mattered. They had all signed their deaths away to her when they’d had whatever part in killing Sam. It was made worse by the fact that they sat around a table now, playing games mere days afterward. She had hardly been able to eat since his blood had been splattered across her face, and they were playing stupid card games? They could beg and plead all they wanted under her knife, but it didn’t matter. Every single one of them would cease to breathe in the next eight minutes or less. 

It hadn’t been hard to figure out which of the safe houses they would be at that week. The men of the Assassins Guild had never been smart. Smart enough to get away with murder, yes, but not smart enough to beat Celaena. They could call her a bitch all they wanted, but growing up with the lot of them she was always Arobynn’s favorite, always the most skilled assassin of them all. Arobynn had crowned himself the king of assassins, but Celaena had earned her title as the assassin queen, had fought for it in violent shades of red over the years. The student had become the teacher, and tonight she would school all of these idiots for thinking they could take Sam from her and get away with it. 

After waiting another two minutes, Tern and Harding both stood from the table and began their laps around the property. Mullin stayed seated, idly shuffling his cards while Celaena snuck inside and up behind him. With a simple flick of her wrist, her favorite daggers had extended into her hands, and moments later a blade was at his throat. The assassin queen didn’t bother with pleasantries, didn’t inconvenience herself by trying to go easy on the rat beneath her fingertips. She pressed the blade into his skin and fought off a grin when a bead of blood dripped down his flesh. 

“Which one of you did it?” Her other hand twisted into his oily hair as she pressed the blade harder against his neck. “Normally I wouldn’t give you any credit, Mullin, because you could never out run me. But since I was in a little bit of shock, whichever one of you did it had a few minutes time to get away. You can tell me who it was and I’ll consider letting you live, or I can slit your throat right now and let you bleed out before your friends get back.”

“They were your friends once, too,” Mullin grit out, to which Celaena snorted.

“None of you were ever my friends. I could counter your shitty argument with the same one, he was your friend, too. He still lived with you, for gods’ sake. And you or one of your nitwit friends shot him in the head like he didn’t matter. So, I will give you one more chance, Mullin. Which one of you stupid fucks ki—”

She was violently cut off by someone yanking her head back by her ponytail. While part of her wasn’t surprised that someone had found her, she also knew they had found her a little too soon. Their fifteen minute patrol hadn’t been nearly long enough. Neither of the men should have been back yet, but here she was with one at her back and two at her front. Mullin now held her dagger in his hand, the one she’d had at his neck but dropped from the surprise attack. Harding stood beside him, which left Tern  keeping her hands in a vice-like grip behind her back, his knife pressing into the throbbing pulse in her neck. 

Stupid. She had been so rutting stupid.

Her eyes slid to Harding, who was kneeling to open and rifle through a wooden crate beside the table. When he stood he was unravelling an iron-tipped cat-o-nine tails. She refused to give any of these bastards the satisfaction of being afraid, so she kept her jaw locked and her eyes clear. Mullin approached her, pulling two pairs of handcuffs from his pocket that he used to lock her arms behind her back. Just as she poised herself to bring her knees up into his groin, her feet were knocked out from beneath her and she was helpless to catch her fall. Instead, she ate the concrete, teeth singing as her chin knocked into the ground and blood pooling in her mouth because she bit her tongue on contact. Celaena spit in the direction of Mullin and Tern, her blood splattering across the ground. It didn’t take long for her to feel the warm stickiness of blood dribbling down her chin while one of them unzipped her suit from neck down to her waist. 

And then they began whipping her. And whipping her. And whipping her.

Until black seeped into her vision and threatened to pull her under. A set up. It had been a set up. Killing Sam had likely been part of that set up. Arobynn had been mad at her for leaving the guild and had killed Sam to make her angry. He knew she would be reckless and a little stupid after losing the one person that meant absolutely everything to her and he had been right. And now she was going to die face down on the floor of a dirty warehouse in the slums of Rifthold, in a pool of her own blood. Poetic. 

“Just leave her,” she registered someone saying, but she couldn’t tell which voice it was. Everything sounded the same with the loud ringing in her ears. Someone was kneeling down beside her, looking at her face but she was seeing double and couldn’t figure out who was who. 

The man’s head snapped up as she heard a second set of ringing that sounded an awful lot like sirens. 

“What the fuck? The cops?” Vaguely, she registered blue and red lights flashing in the windows,  clearly getting closer as the vibrancy became hard to look at in her state of distress. Footsteps ran away from her followed by a lot of shouting. Gods, she wished they would shut up. Her head was hurting, her tongue hurt from biting it when she’d been kicked to the ground earlier. As footsteps ran toward her this time, she tried to focus on anything that wasn’t the mind-numbing pain. 

Tried and failed, until someone was crouching beside here and a set of bright, livid green eyes was in her line of vision. 

“I’ve got her! We need a medic!” The man yelled over his shoulder, leaning down a little closer to her. Celeana’s eyes moved down to where his pinky finger had dipped into the edge of her blood pool. A hard shiver made her body begin to tremor and she realized just how cold this room had become since she’d first entered it. The man rose up a bit, ripping his coat off and draping it over her body. She wanted to scream at the pain, at the raw sensation the jacket rubbed into her mangled skin, but she didn’t. “Can you hear me?”

She blinked once for yes, unsure if he would understand her code until he said, “Yes? One blink for yes?” She blinked again in silent confirmation. Once, she had known this man’s name. The man with the silver hair and bright green eyes that had been tracking her like a hawk. He had always been close, but too far. Celaena had always been a few steps ahead. Now, bleeding out onto the cement she couldn’t even remember what letter his name started with. “Stay with me, Celaena. Stay with me.”

She tried. She really did. 

But the darkness encroaching the edges of her vision was a lullaby and with one final blink at the man, it dragged her down and sang her to sleep.

@starseternalnighttriumphant @highladyofthesith @scarznstars @court-of-glass @tintinnabulary @musicmaam @awkward-avocado-s @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @clockworkgraystairs @shyvioletcat @westofmoon @the-regal-warrior @ame233 @empire-of-wildfire @thewayshedreamed @singme-t0sleep @royalsqueeze @stupendousslimepeanutcroissant @katelynchang @damebadwolf @wingsway @i-love-all-books @musicdreamer003 @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @mu-si-ca-l @3am-reading @stardustsroses @booknerdproblems @prettygalsread @angelofmusic81 @sleeping-and-books @cool-ish-nerd @noodlecatposts @meltalgel-ig @fancysludgeshoelamp @greenbriaars @wifeofchrishemsworth @ccrtana @cityofsuns @rowaelin-fireheart @sunsummoner @spyofthenightcourt @joyceortiz13 @brokenbutnotquiting @emilyrose111294 @feyresarrow @tangledraysofsunshine @silvermindwarrior @superspiritfestival @maastrash @ashleyfroberg @cursebreaker29 @moondancer-204 @jesstargaryenqueen @januarystears @vasudharaghavan @city-of-fae @firedoorcinemaclub @rowaelin-cressworth @annejulianneh111 @blackjacks-donuts @crackedship @runawayrowan @that-other-pineapple @mynewdreamwasyou @highlordswhores @abookishfreak  @tottenhamboys20   @empress-ofbloodshed @morganofthewildfire @starborn-faerie-queen @b00kworm @musicdreamer003 @bamchickawowow @ireallyshouldsleeprn @booksofthemoon @ashlynn231 @mariamuses @sanakapoor @harrymoncheri @ladywitchling  @smalltddygothgf @booksbqueen​

[seeker-of-the-stars]

Can I please ask for a short story of IDW Autobot Megatron trying to be friends with TFP Autobot Starscream (who grew a backbone), cause Meg feels guilty about how he treated IDW Starscream: however, TFP Star instead calls Meg out on how he treated IDW Star so badly that IDW Star wanted to die! TFP Star also calls out Meg on running away from Cybertron instead of fixing the damage that he caused: "It's like you became the coward you always claimed me to be!" ⭐ Meg feels even more guilty...

“Starscream.”

The Seeker in question immediately tensed. He had a feeling that this new, “reformed” Megatron would try to talk to him at some point while he was staying with the Autobots, but still he avoided him whenever possible. He’d been lucky enough to not have to exchange more than a few words with the former warlord since he arrived a couple weeks ago, but it appears as though his luck has run out.

“Yes, Lord Megatron?” 

Megatron flinched. “You know you don’t have to call me that. I’d actually prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Why, Lord Megatron? What are you going to do if I keep saying it?” He rose his optic ridges, daring him to threaten him.

“I’m not going to do anything to you. I just wanted to say,” he sighed, his hand moving to the back of his neck. “I heard what my counterpart did to you, and I’m sorry. I’m glad you got away from him. But I’m not him, and you don’t have to be afraid of me. In fact, I’d like it if we could become... friends.” He looked down at the ground, avoiding optic contact. 

Starscream looked at him in shock. “You want to be friends?!” He folded his arms across his chassis. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Megatron carefully put his servo on Starscream’s shoulder. “I know I’ve made mistakes in the past. Many, many mistakes. But I’m trying to make up for that now and be a better bot, just like you. Isn’t that why you joined the Autobots?” 

Starscream brushed Megatron’s hand off of him. “Partly, yes. I don’t deny that I have my own laundry list of sins to atone for. But you want to know the real, true reason I decided to leave my former faction?” He got up so close to Megatron’s face he had to stop himself from shaking. “It was to get away from you.”

Megatron flinched. “That wasn’t-”

“Yes, yes. I know. It wasn’t you, it was your counterpart.” Starscream made a dismissive guesture. “But I’m also well aware of what you did do to my counterpart.”

Megatron froze. “Who told you?”

“Why do you want to know? So you can beat them until they beg for death too?”

“That’s not what I meant!” Megatron’s servos clenched into fists by his side. “I’m trying to be better! I’m trying to apologize! If I really still wanted to be the big bad leader of the Decepticons, why do you think I joined the Autobots? Why did I allow Optimus Prime to put me on trial when I knew the most likely outcome would’ve been my execution? Why would I have subjected myself to all of that unless I was genuinely trying to change?”

“It doesn’t matter what you’re trying to do!” Starscream shouted. “What’s done is done. If you really wanted to atone, you would’ve asked Optimus to keep you on Cybertron so you could help clean up the mess you made! Instead, you ran off on some stupid space quest so you wouldn’t have to face any real consequences!” As he stared back at his former Master’s counterpart, he felt shaky and out of breath. His vents turned on without his permission to cool him down. 

“You, or your counterpart rather, always called me a coward whenever I begged him to spare my life or show me mercy after making a mistake. But it seems as though you were the true coward all along.”

Without looking back, Starscream turned and walked away in the opposite direction, leaving Megatron in stunned silence. 

[illusionsofdreaming]

what kind of characters are your type?

To answer this question I had to look into the deepest, darkest depths of myself. And it was an absolute dumpster fire in there. 

Course, I could’ve just taken the easy way out and list out several characters I like but why do that when I can try to psych myself out by analysing why?

So without further ado...

my favorite character types:

Let’s get the simplest one out of the way first which is: Character visual design

This only applies to characters which usually have some sort of canon visual design (eg. anime, manga, webcomics, games. For now characters from books will be excluded.) 

I’ve picked a few good boys as examples but as you can see, I seem to have a preference for two types of designs: wavy hair and redheads. 

Wavy hair group:

is that bedhair or natural curls? sometimes look like they’ve never showered in 80982638 years but still hot. only works in anime. rain only makes their hair look better. 80% chance they smoke. usually darker hair. 200% tired. probably looks kind of dead inside. also can look evil/assumed evil but actually baby. wow they already look good but when they pull their hair back-ASDLAKSJDLKJ. I want to run my fingers through their hair. btw those curls can’t be replicated in rl. short, medium, long lengths, all of them please.

Redheads:

red.

With that out of the way, let’s move on to the good stuff. Character personalities.

Did I just make a shitty meme for this? Yes. Yes I did.

Obviously that’s not the real selling point of these babies. 

It’s also not everyone but I specifically chose these few as an example because they are also part of a group I’d like to call “boys with unassuming/disagreeable reputation but psych! they’re actually super smart” group.

Please, let me elaborate.

These characters usually have two sides. The public face and the ‘real’ self. Now, a lot of characters have two faces but the characters I end up liking are those who’s ‘public face’ is perceived negatively or extremely ‘harmless’ that they’re often underestimated/looked down upon. 

Their fronts are actually a defense mechanism - a repellant if you would - to discourage others from investigating too close and hide their vulnerability. Because most of these babies have been through so much.

Virion’s flamboyant, braggart, flirtatious front masks the fact he still feels so much about the fact he’s been forced out of his country, watched his people die and continue to suffer their wrath for what they perceived as his ‘cowardice’ when he was just as much of a victim as anyone else. 

Cale who insists he is trash because theres injustice in this world and if he’s trash he might as well break all the rules and mould the world as he sees fit. If only to create a world where people can live without regrets then he’d be the trashy one and point out the flaws in the system and correct it himself. Trash don’t follow rules anyways. 

Kenshin who clings to an easy-going, happy-go-lucky, very non threatening persona as he tries to live day by day, atoning for the sins of his manslayer past which haunts his every step.

Claude is known as the schemer. A person who’s nonchalant attitude makes reading his intentions hard. Untrustworthy. A person who’s willing to use any and all kinds of underhanded tricks to win. Because that’s how he had to survive back home, when he had to fight his brothers to survive. He learned to keep a facade because the wolves are vicious and unforgiving once they smell blood. Despite his childhood, he only had one simple wish, grander than others. To open the borders, so that everyone can be treated as an equal. 

Venti literally wore the face of his dead friend for over 2,000 years, need I say more?

I would go on and explain more but I think you get the gist of it. Perhaps what separates them from others is the fact they don’t care to change what others think, almost welcoming bad rep because it helps one way or another to be unnoticed and underestimated.

Because guess what. All of them are incredibly smart/skilled. It’s sexy. Despite their skillsets, they would choose to withhold from abusing them and accept abuse society throws at them instead. Well not entirely, they do have a line, it’s just more tolerant than others but boy, if it is crossed... 

Perhaps it’s because I’m a writer, these characters just naturally attract me because their duality has so much potential I can angst about. 

Anyways, that seems to be majority type of characters I go for. There’s also a small group of emotionally constipated characters such as Saizo from Fire Emblem Fates and Gilbert Nightray from Pandora’s Heart. These characters who are fluent in communicating in grunts and glares, have the emotional range of a brick, gets offended if they’re given affection - otherwise colloquially known as the tsunderes.

random outliers:

Tartaglia is... I don’t know. He just grew on me like a stinking weed. He’s a bit on the crazy side but I think I smell something of story - I don’t know much, I feel like I want to know more but whoops. I like him now.

Niles who’s whole personality revolves around being as vulgar and repelling as possible. An angry cat, albeit a justified angry cat. He has so much anger and expresses it so painfully. that I just. can’t. I feel for him.