#before eros is betrayed

[devastatinglygreen]

hey, uhm, so...anyone else familiar with eros and psyche wonder just how far they're taking this metaphor for them now that cressida named them as such herself?

like, you know. that whole pesky moral of the story being that there is no love without trust and how psyche had to endure a whole lot before eros forgave her and begged for her to be saved by divine intervention?

gonna go fling myself off a cliff now that i remember psyche was usually depicted with butterfly wings as well. bye.

[fhrlclln]

I don’t usually do ask but I DESPERATELY need a qimir au smut😭 idk about what but I just know I need it

in the darkness | qimir

SUMMARY -> abandoned by her own family and order due to her curse and having no husband, they leave her on a remote planet surrounded by water and grey clouds, as said in her cruel prophecy that her supposed betrothed awaits for her there to take her. but this husband of hers is no ordinary man as he always wears a mask.

qimir x fem! reader

masterlist

GENRE -> nsfw/smut

WARNINGS -> eros & psyche inspired au, unprotected p in v, mutual masturbation & sensory deprivation

WC -> 6.09k

a/n: hope this satisfies your req, anonzz!! sorry it took so long for me to write!!

likes, comments and reposts are greatly appreciated !! <3

enjoy !!

the waves thrash against the rocks as the harsh winds blow across your face.

you clutch your cream scarf tight around you, the grey clouds loom above you menacingly and you can smell a storm coming. you blink wetly, your chest feels heavy and you feel somewhat terrified and betrayed. your father had forced you to wait here, leaving you behind with only a few words of a sorrowful goodbye. you couldn't blame him really... you knew you were cursed, as said by the elders in your order your family is apart of.

"you would never know love with that darkness inside you."

you could not understand what that meant. you were a normal child growing up, always following your family's footsteps and obeying the order. what darkness shrouds inside you? that it would forbid you to love or be loved.

"but someone will want her darkness and they will be waiting for her in a place surrounded by endless water and shores filled with grey sand. her betrothed awaits there, that is her destiny."

you thought for a moment that your supposed prophecy was just a means to make your family usher you to find a husband, for in your age you were supposed to be married by now. all of your sisters were bethroted and you were the only one without any prospect. your mother had been disappointed that you being the eldest was unwedded and you were the shining beautiful daughter she prided in, putting a lot of expectations in you. yet, after the elders had announce your cruel oracle, none of the possible suitors wanted your hand anymore which made your mother's frown deepen.

and you, in-fact, were more displeased in yourself more than anything. you had wished that you were born different... born normal. alas, you couldn't change your life. and here you are, waiting by the grey rocky shores, standing by the waters crawling up to gently touch your sandaled toes. you breathe in the sea air, anxiousness clouding your mind.

who would want you?

or instead... what would want you for you and your darkness?

the anticipation lingers as you watch the sky slowly turn more greyer. was night falling? was that how long you have been waiting on this deserted planet? the hurt inside you grows, and you shiver at the coldness of the weather. your lips tremble, and you curse yourself for being this way instead of living a perfectly normal life in coruscant. you look to the horizon of endless oceans, you had to accept you were either going to die alone on this planet or suffer the loneliness if you will yourself to make this your new home. you now stand up, opting to walk by the shores before the night captures the dull grey sky.

"are you her?" a feminine voice suddenly asks from nowhere. you halt from where you stand at the sudden presence of another person. "are you the wife my master was promised to?"

you turn your head around to be met by a young woman dawning a dark purple cloak and a wool black and grey gown underneath. her hands are clasped in front of her, you look up to her face but you are only met with her eyes that were slightly covered by her hood and her braided hair. the half of her face down is concealed by a bandana similar in color to the clothes she wears. you blink, registering her question and throwing away the curiosity in your mind about how she managed to appear in thin air moments ago.

"...yes." you merely answer with a soft and slightly questioning tone. her eyes do the talking and she seems relieved. you wait, curious to know who is she and what she is to the supposed "betrothed" of yours that she calls her master.

"come, he's waiting for you." she gestures her head to the caves up the island's hills. your gaze follows there, and a chill runs up your spine when you see the dark opening of a cave. someone is watching you. you look back to the strange woman and nod. she walks first and you follow. the gravel is rough underneath your feet in each step you take. you stay quiet, not knowing what to ask of the mysterious woman.

the path to the cave opening was an easy one. You should have noticed a dirt path when you first walked around the shores, and you wonder why you hadn't turned your attention to the rocky hills then. You look beyond the mysterious woman's shoulder and see that you are almost nearing the cave. you let out a tiny sigh of nervousness, and your mind conjures scenarios of what may lie ahead when you meet your husband-to-be.

will he be kind?

would he hurt you?

would he be neglectful?

"my master awaits for you in here." the mysterious woman's voice snaps you back to reality. your breath hitches, and you nod as you look ahead to see only darkness in the cave. she steps aside for you to enter and you step forward. before she could leave you behind, you stop her for a moment.

"I didn't catch your name." you said, and she halted her departure.

"mae, you can call me mae." she answers, her tone light than before. you nod and offer a small smile in response.

"thank you, mae." she nods at you and leaves you alone to face the prophecy of what lies inside. you almost wished that you had asked mae to stay for a while until you entered the vast darkness in front of you.

enough stalling now. your mind scolds you, and you finally take a step in despite the pounding rhythm your heart is doing. The darkness envelops you for a moment, but as you take small steps forward towards the little light at the end, you are met with an unexpected sight of a well-furnished room. the interior walls were of the caves,' but the interior looked like what your home used to look like in coruscant. it felt... nostalgic in a sense. you stand in the middle of the supposed living and dining room, waiting as you look around.

"hello?' your voice echoes throughout the home. you wait for a response, but your eyes catch an unusual object on the wooden dining table. you walk towards it, feeling an unexplained sensation of something pulling you to it. your gaze is attached to the peculiar object and once you near it, your mind is curious to see a saber of all to catch your attention. the saber was like the elders' in your order, similar style, yet somehow this one had a gravitating and oddly weird aura. you lift your hand to touch it, yet a voice scares you.

"you are a curious thing, aren't you?" a deep modulated voice interrupts your curiosity. you jump at the sudden presence of another. you swiftly turn around, clutching your hand around your scarf. you were met with the sight of a masked stranger dressed in black robes. a poncho-like robe concealed most of his stature, but the peek of his arms made you feel relieved that he was human.

this is your betrothed, then.

strange he's wearing a mask.

"forgive m-me." you meekly say and step away from the table. you hear him walk towards you and your heart skips a beat.

"welcome, wife." he greets you, and you look up at him.

"thank you, husband." you nod and your eyes roamed to examine his mask. it was eerily scary seeing how it had multiple lashes, and the design made it seem that it had teeth. but... you can't help but feel more comfort than fear for this mysterious husband of yours. this was entirely different than what you were dreading when you were alone by the shores.

"are you hungry?" he asks, and you shake your head. your fingers fiddle with the hem of your scarf, feeling shy all of a sudden. despite his mask, you could feel a smile creep behind it. he takes a step to you, and you avert his gaze even if you can't see what lies behind the mask.

"do i frighten you?" he cocks his head to the side, curious about your reaction. you momentarily glance at his masked face, wanting to question why he doesn't let you see his face yet you look away, not wanting to offend him.

"no, j-just... nervous." you confessed.

"why?" he asks, and you shrug.

"not to you! i mean, i'm nervous about what lies ahead... about all of this. it's baffling to think i already have a husband that i haven't met or known yet." you sighed at yourself, fearing you have ruined your first impression towards him. "sorry."

"you don't need to apologize. i completely understand your reasons." he assures you, and your shoulders drop at the sudden relief.

"what about you? isn't this prophecy of mine baffle you? that you would want my..." you try not to say that word that has been thrown around on your face.

"it doesn't." he suddenly holds his hand out, and you glance down in curiosity. "i am looking forward to knowing you, wife. whatever the prophecy might say."

you don't have words for that. even though his voice is robotic and you can't tell if it's genuine, you know he speaks the truth, somehow. you slowly raise your hand and place it on his waiting palm, and sparks ignite when the rough callous of his hand touches yours. it felt warm inside that this mysterious person had accepted you despite what was said.

and you feel like this is the start of a life you always wanted now.

・゜゜・．

the days passed since you have been living on the remote planet with your husband. you have grown a tenderness for the mysterious man even though you both barely know each other. he was kind, that was given, caring in a way you never expected, yet he was secretive for the most part. he would always go out, but he would still remind you before he departs, yet he never tells you what he does. in the days that you have been adjusting in his home, there were unwritten rules, or rather what he implies, that you have followed as you got to know him. you two did slept in the same bed, but for the first few days, he gently told you that he'd let you sleep alone for comfort. once you had told him that you were fine and you two were technically married in a sense, he did agree yet he strictly had said the lights had to be turned off.

that was one rule. you never should turn the lights on once he lays with you. and the second was mostly obvious...

you aren't supposed to see his face.

you always wondered why and you did ask him this night as you two readied for bed.

the room was pitch black, you were snuggled in the shared blanket as you felt his body near yours. the sheets shuffled, and you bit your lip if you should ask him the question repeating in your mind. your heart thumps as you hear him let out a relaxed sigh; you wish to see him, yet you know better than to not respect his one wish.

"why do you wear a mask?" you asked, feeling nervous, but eager to hear his voice than the modulated one.

you hear him chuckle; it makes your chest feel tight and how deep and raspy it is. "many reasons."

"can you tell me one?" you ask again, feeling courageous. his voice was beautiful to hear the first time you heard it. and it made you even more curious to see his face that matched his voice.

"why do you ask? are you eager to see me?" he teases you and you pout. he chuckles again, and you wonder if he can see your reaction despite the darkness. you are about to turn your back to him, yet you are surprised when an arm wraps around you, pulling you close to his body. your hands instinctively go to where his chest is, and you are met with the touch of smooth, warm skin. you feel hot all of a sudden as you feel his chest rise.

"for your safety, you can't see me." he merely says, and you blink at that. "i don't wish to put you in any harm."

"why? are you... ashamed of your face?" he laughs at that, a heartful one, and you are pleased to hear it. his hand caresses the side of your waist, and you shiver at the feeling; your legs rub against each other, and you wish to see his smile. the warm feeling of his body against yours, with the shame you can't see his face, is starting to get to you.

"on the contrary, i am not ashamed of my face, wife." his raspy tone makes you squirm for a bit as his hand caresses down to your hip. his touch wasn't foreign to you this moment; he had been respectful the first night when you two slept together, opting for distance. but as the days passed, you two had grown to entangle with each other. you both are technically married, and you knew at some point that this would become normal. but you can't help but mourn the fact that this came with the obstruction of the pitch-black room, even though it brought you comfort still. you loved it, the feel of his body to yours.

"i understand." you say to him as you lay your head on his chest. you sometimes hope you'd catch a glimpse of him in the morning but he always woke up before you. you dismiss the other questions in your mind you want to ask him, you need to show him that you wholeheartedly understand his reasons, no matter how vague they are.

"what do you want to eat for supper tomorrow?" he casually asks and you nuzzle your face against his skin. "will you be cooking?"

"mhmm, can you pick up a couple of cooking herbs? I'm hoping to make a stew for you." you respond, eating times were also a big disappointment for you. you always would eat first, and he would eat after, but you still cook for him, knowing he loved your meals from how he would always if you would cook again.

"alright." you feel his face nuzzle against the top of your head. this affection you two had made was astounding to think that you both were already acting like a married couple in mere days. even if you barely know what he does, you do know small things about him. he often bathes in the lagoon, since he would always smell like the sea. he likes to walk along the shores, and sometimes you'd join; you know that he was like a teacher to mae, saying that she's a student of his. you also know that he apparently is a heavy drinker, judging by the bottles of alcohol you'd see by the counter. and that he's also been living alone on this planet for a long time, and he apparently hates the rain.

"good night, qimir." you yawned, saying his name sleepily. and you also knew his name. the name was unique, and somehow, you felt like you heard it before.

"good night." he whispers softly as sleep takes the both of you.

you wake up suddenly from a strange feeling that's poking against your bum. the darkness still is blinding your sleepy eyes but you squirm at the strange sensation. qimir's chest was pressed against your back, and his arm was lazily draped across your torso. his breath tickled the nape of your neck as you unconsciously push your hips back, wanting to get rid of the object poking your rear. did he forget to take off his belt? you thought as you sleepily sighed, still squirming in his hold.

an elicit groan from him fully awakens you and you freeze in place. qimir's arm tightens around you, his hips suddenly press against your rear, and the poking sensation makes you ponder for a moment if you should wake him up. you close your eyes, still wiggling your bum until a tingling sensation on your neck stops you.

"stop moving." he whispers in your ear, hoarse and... agitated? you're confused for a moment until he softly traces his lip on your neck again. your eyes widen at the realization of the moment, and you suddenly feel embarrassed.

"sorry." you whisper back as you lay your free hand on his arm. "h-have i awoken you?" you try to mask the quiver in your voice of how close he is and the thing of his poking your bum.

"no." he answers, but there's a beat. "...maybe."

you're about to apologize again, but his lips suddenly trace from the nape of your neck to the side wherein he hovers above a particularly sensitive spot.

"you've been moving in your sleep." he says. "bad dreams?"

"not really." you confessed, and he suddenly kissed the sensitive spot on your neck. "q-qimir!"

"do you want me to stop?" he hoarsely asks as his hand softly traces the plane of your stomach.

"no." you immediately answer without much thought than to feel more of his lips and his addicting touch. his hand moves downward to where your ache is, the ache that has been pestering you for the past few days since you had been living with him. your mysterious husband, one you desperately want to see his face than his mask. the one that you have been imagining day and night since he welcomed you into his home despite the cruel curse that has been placed upon you.

"i have been holding back from touching you like this out of respect... but it seems like i have deprived you, my wife." you gasped when his hand gripped your nightgown as he scrunched it up to your waist. your grip on his arm tightened as his hand delved down to the center of your thighs slowly. "i did, did i?"

you could only nod slightly as he nipped your soft flesh. "please..."

"you sing so sweetly for me." he groans as his fingers are met with your wetness. your legs open slightly and you could feel him grind his crotch slowly on your rear.

"husband..." you whined when he rubbed soft circles on your pulsing clit. you wondered how he managed to do this in complete darkness. you let go of his arm, wanting to do something for him. he continues his ministrations as his other hand moves to fully embrace you since you were still laid sideways from him. his hand gripped the soft flesh of your breast while the other pleasures your core. your back was flushed against his hard chest whilst he grinds his hard cock against your ass.

you let your one free hand touch him from behind, it was a little uncomfortable that you had to find the prize you were seeking, but once you felt the tent of his crotch touch your fingertips, accompanied by his low groan, you immediately palmed his clothed cock slowly. the darkness of the room was making your senses sharp. even though you mourn not seeing his mouth open in pleasure from the way he is breathily moaning against your ear due to your hand palming his cock, it did make everything feel more heightened. his scent envelops your senses with his warm body heat has you letting out more noise with the way he's rubbing circles on your clit.

"want you inside of me." you moan out as your hand massaging his prick searches for the hem of his wool pants. your hand glides down from his abdomen to be met by the warm flesh of his cock. you grip him, and he bucks his hips toward your hand with a breathy moan. qimir removes his hand from your dripping cunt while you pump his aching cock.

"open your legs." he suddenly says, and you squeal when he suddenly grips the underside of your thigh and lifts it up. you obey him as you spread your legs slightly for him. you remove your hand from his crotch when you feel him shift in his position to lower his pants down. your heart is beating loudly and the anticipation gnaws you. the act of marital duties wasn't unheard of you from your sisters, your mother would always put on a strict lesson for them of what to expect on the night after their marriage.

a prodding sensation touches your wet entrance and you brace yourself, not entirely sure what to expect. you almost expect qimir to fully take you, but you are surprised when he rubs his cock slowly, making you let out a pleasurable sigh.

"you smell so sweet, so pretty, so beautiful..." qimir huffs as he positions the tip of his cock to your entrance. "and all mine."

you let out a moan when you feel him enter you finally. he's gentle and slow in the process, ensuring you were comfortable. he wraps his arms around you tight, as if you were going to leave. you feel your breasts spill out of your top as the cool air hits the skin of your chest. he cups one and pinches your nipple as he fully sheathes in you. you grind back, feeling full. the darkness of the room is a pleasant sensory sensation, you thought you would be disappointed at the aspect of not seeing him. but he made it pleasurable, which makes your heart skip a beat for him.

he thrusts into you at an agonizingly slow pace that has you pushing your hips back to him. he alternates gentle bites and sweet kisses from your neck down to the slope of your shoulders. you close your eyes, wanting to feel all of him as your free hand finds its way to his hair. you want to touch him as well, and you feel satisfied when you interlock your fingers with his soft hair.

both of you don't know how much time has passed. you both were too into the heat of the moment, not wanting to rush things but to just feel each other. your walls clamp around him as qimir's thrust went from being slow to now setting a steady pace. your moans and his groans fill in the void of the room. you could feel his thumping heart from your back and he could feel your heartbeat under his hand.

your mouth hangs open in pleasure. you feel yourself nearing your high as his other hand dives down to rub your clit. you call out to him, and he calls out to you. he fastens his thrusts, cock hitting that spongy spot in you, and you soar high. he lets out a moan of your name when you squeeze him tight with your orgasm. he shakily thrusts into you, and with a loud groan, he follows through, fucking both of your orgasms into completion. his cum spills on your walls, painting you with his seed. your wetness coats his cock entirely and he halts his thrusts, feeling spent like you are.

a moment of silence transpires, heavy breaths are only heard. his cock is snuggled inside you, and you feel exhaustion and sleep taking over. he loosens his arms around you, still holding you close. you hadn't realized that a small smile graces your lips as you feel him kiss your neck, soothing the intense aftershock. you caress the side of his face, and his lips touch your fingertips. nothing else is said other than sweet caresses and kisses on the skin. sleep seems to take both of you as you let exhaustion null you to sleep.

・゜゜・．

you feel like a whole new person waking up after that night. you were only disappointed to see your husband not by your side when you had awoken. but the sweet soreness of your legs and the dampness of your core were enough to rectify your displeasure of him not being beside you in the morning after. you wobbly did your morning routine and dressed yourself in one of the dresses he had gifted you, a black dress that matched his clothes and your own jewelry, and draped your cream scarf around you since it was cold.

once you had properly dressed yourself, feeling a little giddy when you looked in the mirror to see marks on your neck from his doing. you went out of your shared bedroom and were surprised to see mae sitting by the dining table. qimir was by his workbench, wearing his mask as usual but dressed in clothes you knew he would be going somewhere.

"good morning, mae." you smiled at her, and she nodded at you in greeting. her scarf that concealed her face the first time you met her was gone. you could now see her truly, which made you happy. if only your husband would do the same.

"good morning."

"do you want something to eat?" you asked her, going straight to the kitchen to prepare something for yourself.

"no need. i already ate..." she says, yet there's a concern in her voice as she looks at you. "are you alright? you look tired."

your cheeks heat up all of a sudden. "y-yes, i'm alright. why do you ask?"

"you're walking funny." she points out, and you hear your husband let out a robotic chuckle. you feel embarrassed as you shoot a glare at qimir from his workbench. mae stays silent, a little confused, but you change the topic, noting that they both seem dressed for something.

"are you two heading out?' you ask, and mae nods.

"i'm preparing a lesson for mae in euda. it shouldn't take too long as she will need to learn it herself." qimir answers you as walks towards where you stand. you nod in understanding, finishing up your breakfast.

"will you be here before supper?" you ask him, since sometimes he'd be late.

"i will." he promises as he caresses the small of your back, knowing you ache below. mae watches the both of you with subtle curiosity, and qimir seems to sense this. "wait by the ship, mae. we'll leave soon."

mae nods. "yes, master." you wave goodbye to her as she heads out. only the two of you are alone at last. he presses himself against, and it makes your heart beat loudly at what he's doing. you tilt your head to see his masked face, but you can feel his tension.

"come back safely." you softly say to him as you turn around, and his hands drop to your hips. he squeezes them as your hands caress his chest.

"always." he assures you. the way he's touching you makes you want to kiss him. and you suddenly realize you still haven't kissed him yet. you already had him inside you and the thought of you two not sharing a kiss baffles you. before he could leave, you stop him.

"i want to kiss you..." you pout and his grip on your hips tightened. "for luck."

you see his chest rise and you smile at that. his other hand lifts his mask up slightly and you watch in anticipation to see a peek of what he looks like. he holds his mask up and you are met with the sight of his pink lips surrounded by facial hair. you thighs clench, knowing that those lips were the cause of the marks that are on your neck.

"are you just going to stare at me, my beautiful wife?" a grin spreads across his pink lips. you roll your eyes as you tiptoe up, wrapping your arms around his neck to finally kiss him. his lips are soft against yours. you let out a noise when his hand gripping your hips pulls you close, and he deepens the kiss. you moan, almost wanting to pull him inside the bedroom, but you let go, and he seems to chase after your lips, which makes you laugh.

"go, mae's waiting." you could see him pout before he adjusted his mask to cover his entire face. you feel a little disappointed he has to hide again. he lets go of you, and you watch him leave, feeling happy. but the gnawing curiosity of what he looks like still itches you now, even if everything is perfect.

・゜゜・．

in truth, you knew in yourself that the one forbidden rule he had said would come to you. you feel guilty that you are still thinking about it... but how could you not? you lay beside him in the darkness again, your head laid on his naked chest and your body pressed against his. you convinced yourself you can live like this with him, that you can learn to love him even if you would never see him for what he is until you die. qimir made everything perfect despite there being clear flaws. you can't sleep, you feel restless, and the desire to see him is strong, but something else bothered you.

"you would never know love with that darkness inside you."

those were the first words the elder had said to you when she prodded into your mind and future. you were terrified... would you know love with qimir? you haven't spoken to him about what your prophecy truly is. and it frightens you to think that maybe this would all fall apart because of you. your brows furrow and a dark feeling encapsulates your chest as something calls out to you.

you lift your head gently, feeling through the room, careful not to wake your sleeping husband. the strong hum of the force calls out to you, so familiar that you cannot place what it is, but you know where it is. you quietly detach yourself from qimir, trying your best to make as little noise as possible as you guide yourself to stand up and let the force guide you. your feet walk on its own and you are pulled to somewhere in the dark room.

your hand stretches out, and you feel cold sweat envelop your whole body when your hand grips a metal object. you let out a shaky breath, and your fingers grip it as your thumb presses against a button. your eyes widened as a red glow enveloped the pitch-black bedroom. you gasped, you were holding a saber. a lightsaber with its color that was forbidden in your order, for it tells a story of its connection to anger, hatred, vengeance, and all things that were forbidden. you freeze in place, seeing that the hilt of the saber is familiar. it was qimir's-

"my love?" you turn around quickly to hear your husband's voice, still holding the illuminating saber. you watch in horror as the red glow reveals his face.

he's beautiful. his face is chiseled, his skin is smooth, and his messy black hair matches everything. even if red illuminated his face, his dark brown eyes are a wonder to stare at.

and you recognize him.

"qimir-" you were cut off when the saber in your hand suddenly flew out and landed on his outstretched hand. his black hair is messy, and his eyes shine a pain of betrayal towards you. your heart stops, and guilt washes over you for what you have done. he switches the saber off, and the darkness meets you again.

"wait, qimir!" you call out to him as everything happens so fast. In the blink of an eye, the bedroom door opens with light, filling the dark room again. you watch your husband without his helmet leave hastily and the one thing you feared most comes to you.

he's going to leave you.

your eyes water as you rush to follow him. a sudden gush of harsh winds makes you falter when you see that the front door of the cave has been opened. you follow still, desperate to make this right for him. you huff, stepping out to see the blue hour of the day. your eyes scan down to see him walking hastily towards where the lagoon is- to where his ship might be. your chest feels heavy as you quickly ran to get to him before he leaves.

stupid, stupid girl. the cackling noise of one of the elder's taunts you in your mind. always playing with the darkness.

tears stream down your face. how could you do that to him? the one thing he asked for you not to do, and you completely disobeyed him. your feet ache as the gravel wounds your bare soles. you see his figure near your line of sight, you had to make this right. you love him-

"qimir! p-please! i'm sorry." you sob out. he suddenly halts in his steps, his grip on his saber tightens and you fear for the worst. will he kill you? now that you have seen him. you stop in your steps as your chest heaved with utter sadness and guilt.

"you can't see me. you're not supposed to see me- why did you..." the hurt in his voice pains you.

"i'm sorry." you bowed your head, ashamed.

"i-i..." you aren't sure if you should say something. you knew his face back in the order, one of elder vernestra's students in her stead. the one that disappeared one day without any trace. rumors that he went rogue on the order, communing with the dark side of the force. and rumors that the order threw him out. while you were by the sidelines, doing your duty as the eldest daughter, you had seen him around years ago in the temple in coruscant. he was a knight and you remembered when one of your sisters gushed about a handsome knight coming out of the temple. tall, black hair, a charming smile, and a skilled warrior. you never once dallied with your sisters' hushed talks about handsome men. but he made everyone stare at him when he entered a room. it's a shame you can't remember his name back then, but all is pieced together now.

"and now you know where i fleed. you must have a lot of questions." he sighs as he finally turns around to you. your heart still beats loudly, seeing his face now. you stay silent, unsure of what to ask him.

"i don't have any." you decided, and that surprised him. "i'm sorry i did that."

his brows furrow. "that doesn't matter now. don't you understand? i am the one the elders of your order who warned you all about-"

"i don't care. you're my husband." you cut him off as you step towards him. his chest rises when you near him as you shakily place your hand on his where he still grips his saber. "they don't matter anymore, qimir. i haven't been in contact with them since i've been here."

"really? did you know that they threw you away as well. haven't you wondered why they suddenly placed a prophecy upon you?" he asks, and you think about that momentarily. he was trying to let you see the seriousness of it.

"i know..." you nod, deep-down you knew why they carelessly threw you away. maybe your own insecurity had taken over when they had said that to you, and you believed them.

"when i heard about your ridiculous prophecy, i knew they were using you to find me." he confesses, and you frown at that. his other hand lifts up to caress the side of your face. there's a tenderness in his eyes, and you understood why he chose not to let you see his face.

"but it seems like i find myself not caring about that anymore."

he looks deep into your eyes and you feel the weight on your shoulders lighten. "i love you, my beautiful, beautiful wife."

"i love you too." you say to him as you pull him down for a kiss. the morning sun shines between you both, no need for hiding now. qimir happily reciprocates the kiss, dropping his saber to the ground as he scoops you up in his toned arms. the salty breeze of the planet is a nice touch to this tender moment, wherein all are finally coming to peace.

and you were right, this is the life you always wanted now.

[gothsuguru]

Hello! You can totally ignore if this isn’t up your alley but you could write something about suguru watching reader from afar while they grieve him for leaving? Either it’s super sad or twisted cause he feels happy that you love him enough to grieve him

I also could send in nsfw requests if you want those too

the choiceless grief that drove him underground

contents: f!reader, mentions of guilt, stalking, & mass murder. both characters express grief in different ways. bit of callous/twisted suguru, a nod to his dacryphilia as well. mainly angsty but i guess at the core of it… it’s sweet? w.c: ~ 1.4k

a/n: rem, i owe you my life & then some! :’) thank you SO much for the concept idea! <3 i love delving into the twisted/not-so pretty parts of suguru so i hope you enjoy! :D

the premise of the situation is quite… haunting.

to mourn a friend, (‘a lover’ — his voice gently admonishes from the back of your mind), who isn’t dead.

he still roams around the aether — akin to a ghost. and here you are, grieving a corporeal phantom of your past.

both you and suguru have a penchant for nostalgia, him moreso than you. it’s why he’s here now at the foothills of mount mushiro, camouflaging himself into the shadows of the night, depleting his own cursed energy so there’s not a single trace of him left. he stands there in a vantage point hidden behind massive japanese oak trees, a lonely specter peering wistfully at his dearly beloved.

ex-beloved, rather, he should say.

it was of his own volition anyways.

your lack of cursed energy leaves a bitter taste in his mouth when he remembers why he despises you so. the healed x-shaped scar on his chest burns and he wants to give you a matching one on your heart, as a reminder. you’re worse than a curse, he forces himself to seethe. heavenly restriction, huh? nothing heavenly about you…

a sick part of suguru wants to finally see you shatter — to watch someone as powerful as you break down and wail with such unbridled anguish, to hear your sorrowful screams pierce through the night sky like a gunshot wound to the head. something about imagining the way your tears would stick to your lashes makes his heart beat unbearably fast from within his ribcage. from sadness or intrigue, he doesn’t quite know…

he just selfishly craves to be the cause of it. to have you drown in tears of melancholy & be sundered by it like a tsunami of eerie desolation — to be plagued with devotion and corruption. just like him.

he wants you to get on your hands and knees and prostrate yourself to him — to lower yourself at his feet.

beneath him.

where you should be.

to apologize for being you. to apologize for coming into his life. to apologize for making him fall in love. to apologize for being his greatest curse. his greatest regret.

(regret for loving you or regret for leaving you… he’s not sure, yet. he’ll decide when he’s of more sound mind.)

yet all he gets is… just you… sitting there. expressionless.

suguru huffs quietly, his low-lidded gaze is heavy with fatigue and slight boredom. his soft exhales turn into smoky vapor in front of him, evaporating within seconds. he tediously redirects his amber irises back at you, observing you like a science experiment, scrutinizing your every move… only if you had done something, of course.

he notes that your stony face betrays no emotions, your body is rigid as if in living rigor-mortis. he surmises that the only thing that differentiates you from the zen statues around you is the gentle wisps of your hair across your face courtesy of the cold wind, crisp due to the night air.

before he realizes it, suguru’s fingers involuntarily twitch.

muscle memory.

(the same fingers have brushed against the plush of your cheek, caressed your hair & gently moved the strands away from your face. soft finger-pads outlined your lips gently, the shape of your cupid’s bow committed to memory. suguru figured the name was quite apt… he found himself wholly enraptured & in love.

hit by eros’ arrow the very moment he laid eyes on you — his lighthouse. his demise.)

a slight sniffle breaks suguru out of his reverie. he snaps his head back up at you, pierced brows furrowed and bright ochre eyes wide. he ignores the pang in his chest, his shock overtaking his senses leaving him paralyzed.

are you…?

your reddened eyes flit towards the foliage where suguru hides behind, and you softly rasp out a tired sigh. your lack of words are far more frigid than the midnight air, causing an ice cold shiver to run through suguru’s spine.

forcing the constriction in his throat back down, he exhales shakily, in a state of utter shock.

right.

heightened senses. superhuman physical capabilities. you always knew where suguru was before he ever knew where you were. a relationship of mutual indulgence — you pretend you don’t see him, and he pretends that you don’t know where he is at all times. as if you haven’t memorized his scent, his mannerisms, his soul. as if you couldn’t recognize him through physical vibrations alone.

just pretend you don’t see me now… indulge me one last time… please.

muscle memory.

you look away.

you focus your gaze towards the skyline of bountiful forest green trees, impeccable eyesight zeroing in on a tree with a heart carved around both his and your initials upon the espresso bark. the same tree where you had rested your head on suguru’s lap while he read his favorite books to you. the same tree where you had both shared your first kiss. the same tree where you had found out from a dear friend that suguru had murdered a whole village — some bullshit about him wanting to create a world with no curses. no non-sorcerers. no you.

you once playfully joked to suguru that you loved him more than he loved you. you remember the way his fists clenched at his sides, the furrow in his brow coupled with the immediate narrowing of his eyes, along with the slight snarl in his lip and voice pierced your soul as he resolutely scolded you — no one could ever love as deeply, as passionately, as genuinely as he loves you.

loved, rather, you should say.

what a fuckin’ liar.

…

in a blink of an eye, you disappear.

like a ghost.

you leave suguru alone to his own futile devices. he figures it’s fair, to indulge you one last time too, allowing you the ‘last laugh’, though he knows there’s no victors in this sick game that’s being played. he’s walked away from you before, it’s only fitting you do the same to him now.

his feet drag him to where you were hunched over before, his brain unable to catch up to what his body is doing. something glints in the moonlight, there in your stead, atop the plush green grass.

he crouches down, picking up the small photograph. the faded polaroid feels far heavier in his hand than he would think. a delicious shiver runs down suguru’s spine when he realizes his fingertips are touching where yours have touched. the bitterness that found its way in his mouth in the beginning washes away, leaving only a sickly sweet flavor that surrounds his mouth like pillowy cotton candy.

it’s one he hasn’t seen. you must’ve kept this with you all this time, he muses.

a photo, a candid, of him.

the pink sakura petals offered up a beautiful backdrop after a mission you two took in kyoto. back then, his smile was genuine & unbelievably wide — pearly whites on display, his pierced cherry red lips matched the camellia red blush that painted his cheeks — no doubt from your flirtatious comments about his beauty. his eyes were squinted, a photo you took of him while mid-laugh. he pushed his bangs aside while speaking to you, wanting to give you his full attention. the promise ring on his finger glinted in the sunlight along with the silver hairpin you gifted him moments before you took the photo, its amethyst gem dangling above his bun. a beacon of light.

a sign of devotion, of unending love. a promise.

suguru’s heart feels a bit heavier than he would like it to, yet the soft smile that graces his features is the most genuine form of adoration he’s exhibited since his defection. inundated with grief, you still held on to him.

an anchor of your past. a plague of your present. a welcoming calamity of your future.

“you still love me too, huh?” he softly whispers into the night, a sad smile on his face.

he gazes up at the moon. it looks quite beautiful tonight. he silently hopes you’re staring at it too.

thinking of him the same way he’s thinking of you.

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 1.2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Bradley just can’t keep his hands, or his thoughts, to himself. People are starting to notice.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, making out, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, cum, bradley dislikes her fiancé, deception, also inaccuracies in the timeline of Pompeii and the telling of Greek mythology, very brief allusion to SA at the very end, 18+ minors dni, wc: 7.5k

…

“So there are rumours in the city that Psyche is the second coming of Venus, or the daughter of Venus — something like that. But, Venus — Aphrodite — sends her son Cupid — Eros — to shoot Psyche with an arrow to make her fall in love with something hideous.”

You’ve read stories like this before.

“He scratches himself with the arrow, and falls in love with Psyche the second that he sees her. But Psyche’s two sisters are married already, and no one seems to want to marry Psyche, so her dad starts to think they’ve incurred the wrath of the gods. He consults the oracle, and is told that Psyche is going to be married to this hideous, terrifying dragon-creature.”

“Ew.” You scoff.

He snorts. “This part of the story is where it gets kind of interesting. The oracle says that she is to be left on a cliff for her new husband, and they send her there in her funeral attire. Death and marriage become just the one central theme of being a total transition into the unknown.”

You’re quiet against him. He pauses. The ugly lampshade seems drawn to the rock on your finger, making it twinkle in the light.

“Anyway, Zephyrus — which is the god and personification of the Westerly wind, which is the most favourable of — I’ll explain it another time. Zephyrus gets Pysche ready to meet her fated match, and sets her in a meadow, where she falls asleep. She falls asleep in this perfect place, and wakes up transported to a kind of grove.”

You rise and fall with his chest as he sighs.

“Then, she finds this incredible house, with big golden columns, a carved ceiling and silver walls embossed with wild animals, and mosaic floors,” Bradley glances down at your fingers toying with the buttons on his shirt. He squeezes your waist. “And a voice comes out of nowhere telling herself to make herself at home, and she’s presented with a great feast.”

“The dragon doesn’t sound so bad.” You mumble into his chest, drawing a breathy chuckle from him.

“Well— she doesn’t trust him so easily. She’s impressed, but terrified. But, y’know, he’s her husband, and it’s technically their wedding night. So she lets herself be guided to her bedroom at night where she has sex in complete darkness, with something that she can’t see.”

“The dragon?”

“Well, he never lets her look at him. He always leaves before sunrise and doesn’t allow her to look at him. But she learns to like his visits, and becomes pregnant — in this version, anyway — but her family haven’t heard from her at all, so her husband allows Zephyrus to bring one of Psyche’s sisters to visit her.”

You’ve got plenty of opinions on what you have heard so far, but you keep them to yourself as Bradley continues with the tale.

“Her sister is jealous of how happy Psyche is, in this magical house, with her mysterious husband, you know? — So, she kind of reminds Psyche that he’s supposed to be this gross monster, who will kill the child when it’s born. She manipulates Psyche into wanting to know who her husband really is.”

“So, one night after her husband has fallen asleep, Psyche finds an oil lamp and a dagger — to find out if her husband is a monster, and to kill him if he is,” Bradley shifts his hips, stiffening as you sit forwards and press a soft kiss to the glimpse of his chest under his shirt. “And um… well, she sees him and he’s beautiful. Incredible. She’s so happy. But, she spills oil from the lamp on his skin, and he knows that she has betrayed him by looking, so he leaves her.”

“Why was he so against her seeing him if he was so beautiful?” You sit up and turn around, barely noticing as Bradley catches hold of your knee. He tugs it over his lap and pulls you across him, sitting you against his middle.

“Because he defied his mother by not making her fall for something disgusting. Aphrodite wouldn’t have allowed them to be together,”

“Oh, I understand.” You confirm, resting your hands against his stomach.

“So first, Psyche sees the god Pan. He recognises how in love she is, and she recognises his divinity. Then, she starts to walk the world looking for her love. She starts by going back to her sisters and telling them what happened, but they’re both pissed that her husband was Eros. So, both sisters try to offer themselves as a replacement to him by climbing the rock face and casting themselves to Zephyrus, but they both fall to their deaths.”

You frown, which seems to spark amusement in him. He gives you a calm shrug and tugs at your hips, making you flinch as the cold metal of his belt touches the warm skin of your inner thigh.

“So, Psyche keeps on wandering, looking for Eros. She comes across the temple of Ceres, and finds all of these offerings that are thrown everywhere and — it’s a mess. So she organizes it all, because offerings to the gods shouldn’t be neglected, and Ceres appears to her. Psyche begs her for help, and Ceres acknowledges that she needs it, but can’t offer any help because she can’t go against a fellow goddess.”

You shift uncomfortably, pushing away from his belt and settling against his thigh instead.

“Um… right, so after Ceres, the same thing happens at the Temple of Juno, and Psyche realizes that she has to pledge herself to Venus. This is what Venus wanted all along, right? — So, she turns Psyche over to her two Handmaids, Worry and Sadness, for her to be tortured. They ruin her clothes, and hurt her, and mock her for conceiving a child in a sham marriage.”

Your face creases, frowning back at him.

“Venus leaves her with this huge mass of different grains, and demands that they’re all sorted into different heaps by dawn. But a little ant takes pity of Psyche, and assembles a fleet to complete the task for her. We also find out around this point that Eros is in the same house, recovering from a wound, but he doesn’t know that Psyche is there.”

His hands bracket your thighs, and they have been since he sat you in his lap. Watching his Adam’s apple rise and fall with every word, your lips twitch at the corners as you think of the other day in the library. His lips on your neck.

“At dawn, Venus sets her a second task. She has to cross a river, and fetch golden wool from an untameable, aggressive sheep on the other side. Well, Psyche’s heartbroken and worn down by this point, so she plans to drown herself in the river, but she is saved by a reed and gathers the wool caught on the briars of it.

He can see it on your face that you’re up to something, but he pauses to let you kiss him anyway. Soft, and slow. His hands grabbing firm at your waist.

His lips graze yours, his nose brushing your cheek as he continues on with Pysche’s tale, fingers curling into the pale pink chiffon.

“For her third task, Venus gives her this little crystal vial and sends her to collect the black water from the river Styx. So, Psyche climbs the cliff face to get to it, and as she does,” Bradley is interrupted mid sentence as you press forwards and kiss his mouth once more, then the corner of his lips. He hums softly and tries to recapture his train of thought. “She’s attacked by the dragons that surround it — Jupiter himself takes pity on her and sends his eagle to protect her from the beasts and collect the water.”

Your nose brushes the curve of his jaw, soft lips parted just enough to tickle his skin with your cool breath right before you close them around his pulse point and suck.

He’s holding your hips, nice and steady — he could pull you back and stop you, but he doesn’t. His long fingers dig into the meat of your thighs.

“Keep going, what happens next?” You urge him, pushing lightly at his chest and pressing another longing kiss to the length of his throat. Your fingertips slip under the unbuttoned top of his shirt, skimming the flushed skin underneath.

He swallows, leaning his head back against the wooden headboard. You gasp softly as he squeezes firmly at your waist and lifts his hips from the bed.

“So, for the last trial, Venus sends her to the underworld to collect a dose of beauty from Proserpina, the queen of the underworld,” He’s painfully aware that his voice has grown thick and that he’s blushing like a kid, and suddenly the details of the story seem a little bit blurrier. Then, your tongue dips out from between your lips and wets the spot you had just kissed — exactly the way he does.

“Christ.” He chokes out, letting his head fall forwards to rest against your shoulder. “Do you get off on trying to make me cum in my pants or something?”

It’s at that point that he remembers exactly who he is speaking to, and how you’ve reacted to this kind of profanity before. Nose wrinkled, he’s wincing as he pulls back to look at you again.

You’re smiling. Well, biting at your cheeks in an effort not to, but smiling nonetheless. Your nose is wrinkled too, like you’re trying not to like the idea quite as much as you do.

“Oh, you do.” He scoffs.

“No, I just…” You huff and then shrug, glancing down at that loose button on his shirt. He watches your fingers toy with it absently, painfully aware of how his straining cock is wedged against his thigh. “Hadn’t really thought about myself being sexy before. I mean you’ve given plenty of people orgasms, right?”

He knows better than to answer that question, so he just stares back in response.

“I don’t think I’ve ever come close.” You tell him.

His hands feel electric as they skim under that pretty pink dress, a twinkle in his eyes and a slight quirk to the right corner of his mouth. “Now who’s thinking too much, huh?”

With that, he kisses you. The deep and dirty kind as he presses forwards and grabs hold of the back of your neck. Every time, the surprise gets you and makes you part your lips. His tongue dips into your mouth as he pushes his hips off of bed and into yours. Only, this time, whatever he does has you making the sweetest little sound.

Right against his mouth too, a pleased little mewl. He groans right back onto your lips, fingertips trailing over the fabric of your underwear all of a sudden. You had been too distracted to even notice them creeping their way up your thigh.

Heart racing, your fingers skim into the curls at the nape of his neck, eyes locked on him. Swallowing hard, you glance down towards his just parted lips and catch sight of your lipstick printed faintly on the side of his neck. A beat passes where he just watches you studying his lips, waiting for you to kiss him.

Finally, you lean forwards and your cushioned lips are on his once again. Pouted and oh, so gentle. His fingers curl at the back of your neck, his nose bumping yours as he takes lead and lets you sink into the feeling of him.

Even with the thin linen of his shirt, and the slight crack in the window to the left of the bed, Bradley hasn’t ever felt quite so hot.

“Can I feel you?” He asks against your mouth, trailing the pad of his thumb across your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear.

“If I can feel you.” It’s not an exactly well thought-through plan, you don’t have the logistics of it figured out, but he’s kissing feverishly across your face and, what with it pressing into your thigh, there’s only one thing on your mind.

“I can’t, baby—“

“It’s just touching.” The second that the words are out of your mouth, you’re struck with a strange kind of deja vu. Not here, not with him. An outer body kind of thing. Either way, you aren’t left with much time to think about it as Bradley dips forwards and captures your mouth once again.

You let yourself fall with him, even with little choice once he wraps you in his arms, and he turns the two of you until you’re on your back and he’s between your legs.

This is exactly what got you so worked up earlier, so afraid. It feels so right to be moving in sync with him like this, your hands, your mouths, your bodies. His weight pressing into your stomach and his thick arms bracketing your body, engulfing you in him.

As he nips and rocks and caresses, you’re happy. It couldn’t possibly be wrong if it just feels this easy. His blue jeans are tented, straining against the pink of your dress, his shirt untucked and messy.

It’s like the two of you think of his shirt at once, as he props himself up with one hand and tears open those already loosely attached buttons with the other. All the while, his mouth is hot on yours, deep, soft sounds spilling from his lips.

He pulls it swiftly off of his shoulders and drops it haphazardly onto the floor, then there’s a pause. He’s sitting back on his ankles, both of you struck with the same thought once again. His gaze falls down to your dress.

“Should… Do you want me to take it off?” You figure, bringing your hands up to cover your chest, still blinking at his freshly exposed skin. Wide, angled shoulders, sitting square and rising and falling heavily with each breath. His skin taut with muscles, but without the definition of a man who keeps them for an ego boost. Tanned skin, dusted with light brown hair.

“I want you to,” He gives a slow nod of his head. “But I can work around it.”

“No, okay… I can take it off,” You lift one hand to stop him and swiftly tear it back the second that it touches his bare stomach. “Just— give me a second— the zipper—“

Bradley hooks one arm under your hips, and the other under your back, hugging you swiftly to his body and covering you with his weight. You squeak quietly as his fingers curl around the zipper and his lips work feverishly across your jaw.

The zipper barely whines as he pulls it slowly along the length of your spine, feeling the material go loose between the two of you. His mouth follows the sound south, feverish at your neck and down to your clavicle.

Squeezing your eyes tight shut, you let you shoulders relax and the material fall slack, giving his hands the freedom to tear it off and discard it like he had his shirt. Even so, the second that his warm mouth touches the centre of your chest, you push back into the pillows, scorched by the feeling.

“You want me to zip it back up?” Bradley asks coolly, one of his hands squeezing softly at your balled up fist. You hadn’t even noticed you were grabbing at the bedsheets like that.

“No, I just — — don’t want to watch when you see me.”

And that just about breaks his heart. He thinks back to the phone call he had that night in December, when Malcolm had finally picked up. Bradley had been standing beside your bed with that stupid plastic phone in his hand, keeping you on your side so that you didn’t choke if you puked — and that little shithead had answered laughing.

At first, Bradley had regretted threatening the little weasel. It could have cost him his career, especially if you had decided to flip the narrative on what happened in his car — luckily you hadn’t remembered that part. But god, hearing the arrogance and thoughtlessness, Bradley doesn’t regret threatening to knock some sense into that kid one bit.

And now, seeing what eight years of supposedly loving that kid has brought you to, he doesn’t regret what he’s about to do either. In fact, what he’s about to do might be a little bit to do with the fact that he would purposely like to spite your fiancé.

“Why don’t you want to watch?”

“I don’t know. In case you don’t like me.”

“Oh, I like you,” You hear him breathe out a chuckle as his hand reaches across yours, peeling your fingers off of the bedsheets and stroking his thumb across your relaxed knuckles. “C’mere. Feel.”

As expected, it works like a charm. Your eyes spring open so wide they look for a moment like they’re going to pop right out of your head. Heat spreads like wildfire, starting in the tips of your ears — it engulfs your face and your chest, spreading down your arms with no sign of stopping.

Sitting back on his knees, his chest bare and his shoulders squared proudly, he’s looking you right in the eye as he squeezes his hand around yours. Under your palm, still within the confines of his jeans, you can feel all of him, straining against the denim.

“Okay, but men get erections over ridiculous things sometimes—“ You reason as you pull your hand away from him. He lets it go instantly, but follows your hand away, planting his free hand into the pillow beside you and forcing you to lean back as he comes in close.

You think first of all that you’re ready for what he’s going to say. Then, he leans in closer. All the way past your face until his lips are grazing your ear.

“You want to know why I’m hard?”

“Mm.” You croak out, fingers once again balled into the sheets.

“I’m hard because I can’t stop thinking about how wet you were that night in Venice, and how you kissed me the next morning. You know you talk in your sleep?” His voice against your earlobe makes you shiver and pull back, frowning disapprovingly.

“I do not.”

“You do, baby — do you know how hard it is for a man to get a good night’s sleep when you’re whispering his name?” He turns his head towards your face and kisses your jaw softly, reaching out and grabbing at your hips. He tugs you just a bit closer and the dress falls just slightly. You let it go.

And before you know it, your fingers are curled into his hair, your legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s unhooking that pretty pink dress from your left ankle. The second that it’s off completely, his hands go for his belt. The leather clangs against the metal buckle and against the button on his jeans loudly as he fumbles to work it open one handed. His other hand cups your jaw. His thumb sits on your left cheek, his four fingers sit on your right, he holds your head straight as he sucks at the supple skin of your bottom lip.

“Fuck me…” Bradley mutters, his forehead inches from yours. Looking down between your two bodies, both of his hands abandon their previous posts and go for your middle. Instinctively, you lift your knees, hunching forwards in an attempt to cover yourself. “Stop, honey, let me see.”

“You’ve seen plenty of women.” You remind him, crossing your arms over the unlined, unremarkable, comfortable bra covering your chest.

Bradley teeters on the edge of being amused or upset by your comment. You’re nervous. He’ll give you that one. He looks up at you as he crouches between your legs, “So, I know what I’m talking about, huh?”

With that, he leans down and presses his lips to your stomach, right below your belly button.

“I could look at you all day.” He tells your skin, without looking up from his onslaught of delicate kisses, his fingers walking along the curve of your waist and back down again to your hips. As his hands skim down to your thighs, he takes note of just how much you’re trembling. Finally, he lets his lip graze the waistband of your underwear.

If he was being really truthful, and if he wasn’t holding back, he would’ve popped open the clasp on that bra about a minute and a half ago. Bradley has seen just about every kind of underwear there is to see, and his favourite has always remained the same.

There’s quite simply no better alternative to naked. His mouth works along your navel, headed straight for the apex of your thighs, and he thinks to himself that he couldn’t care less about what kind of underwear you’re wearing, until he sees it.

He’s on his front, face to face with the pink underwear with an embroidered Wednesday across the front. It is, indeed, Wednesday.

“These,” He rubs softly at each of your hips, pressing a wet kiss to the embroidery. “Are very cute.”

“Oh my god, no—“

“But I want them off.”

That’s what that look in his eyes is. You get it now, as he curls his fingers into the sides of your underwear, and it makes your stomach erupt into butterflies. The last time he took your underwear off, he didn’t get that good of a look — this time, you’ll be naked. But, he still has you nodding dumbly at him.

“Wait — yours too.” You realize.

Bradley nods his head, gently guiding the pink underwear down your legs. He’s not looking at your face. He’s practically salivating. “I will. I just want a taste.”

He lifts your legs upwards, slipping the panties off of your ankles, dropping them to the bed and grabbing the backs of your thighs. Legs pressed together and pushed back toward your abdomen just slightly, you can’t quite see his face, but your skin is hot with the knowledge of exactly what he’s looking at.

There’s a moment before you feel anything at all, where you know that he is just staring. It takes everything in your power to make yourself keep still, not squirm away, to not say something stupid.

Then, you feel his fingers right there, trailing through your excitement, examining exactly how you’re feeling about him. You turn your face sharply to the left, aiming for the respite of hiding it in a pillow. But next, he sits forwards and grabs your hips, lifting them off of the bed and bringing you to his mouth.

Right as your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest, you feel his lips on you, kissing softly, following mostly the same pattern his fingers had. The tip of his nose bumps your clit as he flattens his tongue and licks upwards until he’s at that sensitive bundle of nerves.

But he doesn’t stay there. With how you’re trembling against him, he knows better than to overstimulate you. The last thing he wants is to make you cry on your second time at this. His mouth turns towards your thighs, sucking and kissing at random.

Your soft skin, bristled by his rough jaw. He can tell you’re trying so hard to sit still for him. You’re so polite when you want to be.

Then, he’s right back where he wants to be, his mouth presses firmly to your soaked core and he does the exact same thing once again. Familiarity is the easiest path to comfort. His tongue follows that slow, familiar stripe up to your clit and flicks softly at it. Then, he presses impossibly closer and wraps his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking softly.

“Oh—“ You squirm, trying to reach for his shoulders, your thighs pushing back against him.

Finally, he relents. You want to touch him and that joke about ruining these jeans is about to become a reality if he doesn’t do something soon. Your head spins as he moves between your legs and kisses at your mouth, eyes open and blinking as you taste yourself on his lips.

The sound of a zipper breaks through the surprise, eyes widening further as you watch him shove his jeans down his legs.

“Still with me?” Bradley checks, kissing the corner of your lips as his jeans hit the floor. You swallow softly, glancing down at him kneeling between your legs. He’s wearing loose fitted blue boxers — well, you imagine they looked more loose before. All that’s separating him from you is that thin cotton material.

“Mhm.”

“Still want to touch me? — Tell the truth, honey. That’s all I want.” Your eyes are closed, head tipped back as he sucks his way along your jaw. You nod weakly at him, wondering if you look half as wild as you feel.

“Yeah.” You follow his mouth, chasing his lips until he kisses you hard.

You lean in once again to kiss him the second that he pulls back, and then, blinking slowly at him, a fluttering erupts in your chest. Pride surges through your ribs and into your stomach as you take note of the darkened hunger and arousal in his expression.

“But you can’t laugh at me.” You breathe out, willing that funny feeling in your stomach to just go away so that you can focus.

Every single word that spills out of your mouth, Bradley gets that little bit closer to knocking your fiancé on his ass the second that the two of you are back at home. He wonders what this asshole possibly said to you to make you so timid.

“‘M not laughing.” Bradley answers you, his voice calm as his hands skim over your naked hips. He swallows softly as he reaches for his own boxers, settling down at your side as he pushes them down his legs.

Suddenly, you’re far from laughing too. Your mouth is dry as he lays down and pumps his hand once around the length of his dick. It sits just below his belly button, standing to attention, swollen and red. Impressive. Big, like the rest of him.

He tucks an arm under your waist and pulls you across the bed, into him. Your stomach presses into his length while his fingers curl around the curve of your ass, teasing that line between your thigh and your pussy.

“Can I have a kiss?” Bradley whispers, nudging at the tip of nose with his to guide your head back. He knows that’s where your confidence lies. You’re smiling softly as you dip forwards to kiss him, well within your comfort zone. “Thanks, honey. Can I have your hand?”

As he asks, his hand inches forward until you can feel him once again brushing through your excitement. Another slow kiss, sucking softly at your top slip as he pulls back.

The tip of his index finger swipes through gently, his throat thickening his voice with desire. Your hips push back, and the tip of his finger slides in with no resistance.

You press your lips together, presenting your open palm for him to use. Bradley pulls back to look at your surprisingly steady hand. With the hand that isn’t toying between your legs, he takes hold of it and brings it to his dick.

He knows there has to be some natural curiosity buried under all of those nerves, and he’s not into the idea of using you like a doll. He takes your thumb between two of his fingers, swiping it through the pearl of precum on his tip, and down toward his shaft. Then, he lets your hand go.

With the hand that’s between your legs, his finger presses in again, further this time, and you squeeze around him in response. You trail three fingers from the top all the way down to the base of his pelvis. It’s smoother than you thought it would feel. Fuller. Just… not what you were expecting, maybe.

With one finger inside of you, his others explore between your legs, the long digits easily reaching across your lips and stretching towards your clit. You tuck your head between his shoulder and jaw, cuddling close to his chest as your fingers sprawl across the soft, ridged skinned of his length.

It’s not the most comfortable for him, stretching his arm around you like this, but he’s so entranced in watching you touch him that he forgets to mind.

You gasp sharply as his finger presses deeper than before, curling into a spongy part of your walls. Bradley kisses the sound away, his free hand coming up to cup the side of your throat.

“Does that feel good?” He whispers against your lips, kisses growing eager as he pushes his hips forwards, rocking himself against your bare stomach. You squeak back, nodding your head at him.

“Can you show me what to do?” You’re both being so quiet, sharing breaths and whispering even though you’re just about as close as two people could possibly be. Bradley takes your hand again, at once he pulls his finger out of you and dips yours between your own legs. Reeling, you just watch as he circles your clit with your fingers, soaking them before pulling back.

By the time he wraps your hand around his cock, eclipsing it with his own, it’s plenty slick. He lifts it slowly, and drags it back down, pumping it a few times on his length.

“Just like that, little firmer — yeah — yeah, that’s good,” He murmurs, now able to reach back between your legs more directly. He captures your mouth into one of his specialty dizzying, open-mouthed kisses as he presses his middle finger back into you. “Fuck, you’re so, so wet.”

It occurs to him briefly that maybe he’s in too deep — if this is how his first attempt at trying to convince you to further your studies has ended. It doesn’t stop him in the slightest.

He slows his motions next, rocking his hips into your hand as his ring finger hugs his middle and toys at your entrance before easing into you. You gasp, wincing slightly.

“Shh, shh… does that hurt?” Bradley whispers, searching your face for answers as your hand stills around him.

“A bit.” You croak out.

“Come here, honey, just give it one second. Tell me if it hurts any more.” Your head drops back down to his chest as the rough pad of his thumb circles at your clit. Trusting his expertise, you put your attention into touching him instead, guiding your hand up and down along his length. He pants softly, his heartbeat thudding against your cheek.

Slowly, he starts to work his fingers into you, moving them just barely to accommodate you to the feeling. A gentle curl of the two digits has you crying out softly into his bare skin. His cock twitches in your hand in response.

It’s been a long time since he has felt so out of his depth. He’s afraid of stepping a foot out of line. He wants you to trust him. It’s why he hasn’t yet snapped open the clasp on your bra — he doesn’t want to grope at you like some animal and scare you off. Getting to that point seems like a long stretch away.

But, the way you exhale softly and lift your head to kiss at his neck calms his nerves just a bit.

As his fingers push in further together, spurred on by the needy mewling noises you’re making, Bradley suddenly remembers the throbbing in his dick.

A pleased moan spills from your swollen lips as you drag them across his collarbones and along the protruding vein in the side of his neck, your hand still loosely working at a steady rhythm around him.

“Faster.” He hums into your mouth, rocking his hips eagerly into your hand as he curls his fingers into you. You keen helplessly into the feeling, squeezing your palm tighter and doing exactly what he had. A simple up and down tug.

“God, you’re the sweetest fuckin’ thing.” He doesn’t swear with you often, and really you’re not much of a fan of men with dirty mouths usually — but this, the gravel and desperation spilling from his voice has you throwing yourself at him, rocking yourself onto his fingers. “Taking it so well.”

Your mouth hangs open, legs spreading wider apart for him to angle himself closer. Bradley studies the look on your face, breathing heavy, knowing that if he does see you in his classroom in September, he’s in big trouble.

He’s not sure how he’ll ever look at you again and not think of this wide-eyed, trusting expression on your face.

His free hand comes up to brush your hair back off of your forehead, not quite noticing the lovestruck way you’re watching him as your stomach starts to tighten and tremble. His lips press softly to your forehead, just above your eyebrow, and then your cheek, just below your eye.

“You’re perfect.” He whispers, smiling at the way it makes your mouth hang open in a rounder shape. Then, he leans in and sucks softly at your bottom lip. “How’s it feeling?”

You swallow through the dryness in your mouth, suddenly remembering to close it, then you try to nod at him. “Good.”

“Real good, or just good?” He nudges at the tip of your nose with his, fucking his hips into your hand as his skilled fingers drive the thoughts out of your head. Another slow, dirty kiss and it feels like you might just melt into him and become one if he does it again.

“Real good.” You whimper.

You’re hugging his fingers so tight that you wouldn’t even have to be touching him for him to still be on the verge of cumming already. He gasps and covers your hand with his, slowing it around his cock as his fingers continue into you relentlessly.

“Was — Did I hurt you?”

“The opposite.” Bradley reassures you, breathing hard as he starts to slowly guide your hand along him again. “You almost made me cum.”

Your eyes hurry open, right as something Bradley does makes you squirm right into him and gasp out loud. He watches you watching him, trying to see what you’re doing, what it looks like.

“Oh — mm, don’t… you want to?” Your other hand comes up to grab firmly at his thick shoulder as your eyes squeeze shut again. You can barely feel your legs. Bradley grunts softly in your ear, his thumb working firm circles around your sensitive clit.

“Not ‘til you do.”

Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to wait long. Well, really there is nothing lucky about it. His moves are tried and tested. Before you know it, you’re coming all over his hand, babbling against the hot skin of his neck as you try to find the right word. Legs trembling, you cling onto his shoulder as he rocks your other hand around his length.

You can feel how close he is, how close he wants to be to you. He’s practically engulfing you, turning his face towards your neck and groaning enough to make you wish he hadn’t ever stopped touching you.

“I’m gonna cum.” Bradley seems to realize at once that you probably aren’t going to like what’s about to happen. He kisses you hard as he untangles your fingers from his and takes over, pressing his weight into you, chasing his own high.

Grabbing firmly at your waist, he pulls you against him and breathes hard into the crook of your neck, making it unmistakable as he groans your name. You watch, lips parted, as he coats his hand in his release, the fluid dripping onto his taut, shaking stomach.

“God, fuck—“ Bradley pants, swallowing hard and letting his head fall back against the pillow. So much for trying to keep his hands off of you.

You push yourself up so that you’re sitting, curling your knees up to your chest, taking a moment to observe him while his eyes are closed. All golden skin and soft lines, broad and strong. If he existed all those years ago, someone certainly would have wanted to carve him out of stone too.

“So, how does that myth end?”

He hums in amusement from beside you as his blurred thoughts start to come back to him. He’d almost forgotten what you had both even been talking about. He swallows thickly and glances down at the mess he has made on his hand.

“They survive it all, and get married,” He answers simply as he pushes himself up from the bed and searches for something to clean himself with.

Making a trip to the shared bathroom on this floor would probably be frowned upon in his current state.

“Their baby in the story goes on to be Voluptas — she’s known as the goddess of sensual pleasures.” He settles on a hand towel that seems untouched, and wiping off his hand and his stomach, then his dick. He turns around and finds you staring at him like he grew an extra head.

Quickly, you stand up and look towards the window like you hadn’t been staring.

“They went through all that just for it to be fine in the end.” You muse, shaking your head slightly as you grab your pyjama set and step into them, buttoning the shirt over your bare chest.

Now clothed in his boxers, Bradley presses his chest into your back and mouths softly at your neck.

“That’s how it always goes, more or less, right?” He decides, closing his eyes finally, turning his face towards your hair. You hum quietly. There’s a soft pause as his hand brushes over your bare stomach under your pajama shirt and then grabs firmly at your waist again. He sighs. “I should go.”

There’s no way he’ll be able to sneak out of here in the morning. You’ve all got an early checkout and with everyone being on the same floor, he’s just asking to get caught sneaking out of your room.

You whine quietly and turn towards him.

“Really?”

“Unless you want to explain to the class exactly what I was doing in your room all night, baby, yeah.” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head. Despite your tired protests, you do let him leave without either one of you speaking about the line you have once again crossed.

He lets himself into his room, shirt barely buttoned, belt barely fastened. Luke is sitting upright with his back against the headboard of his twin bed, eating a packet of miniature cookies and watching an Italian dub of The Golden Girls.

They meet eyes, silent as the door clicks shut behind Bradley. It’s 3:45am. Luke hasn’t seen Bradley since they parted ways after the class dinner at 10pm.

“Hey, buddy.” Bradley mumbles, kicking his shoes off and already starting to unbutton his shirt.

“Hey.” Luke mumbles back, eyeing Bradley curiously. They haven’t spent much time together recently. Luke has noticed that he basically has the room to himself.

He scoops up a handful of the cookies and fills his mouth as Bradley strips out of his jeans. His head is turned strictly towards the staticky television, but his eyes peek quickly across at the lipstick mark on Bradley’s neck.

Again, Bradley doesn’t want to talk about it. He makes the most of his couple of hours of sleep and drags himself out of bed once again all too soon, packing his belongings for another day of travel. They make small talk as the two of them head down to the lobby.

Luke walks right ahead, greeting Robin’s tonsils with his tongue before he greets her verbally. Bradley strolls behind, dropping his bags to the floor and stretching his neck from side to side.

“So, what’s in Monteriggioni anyway, Brad?” Zoe asked, draped across the couch with her arms folded over her chest. She’s wearing a little pink tank top, looking at him over the top of a book she’s reading for him. This is the least hungover he has seen her in weeks.

“It’s a walled town — but we’re staying around forty minutes away from there.” He explains, dropping his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose.

“Where?” Abigail pipes up, sipping on a bottle of water.

“It’s someone’s house. He takes study assistants through the summer. Worked with him a couple of times.”

“You know so many cool people.” Zoe hums, turning her head and grimacing as she comes eye to eye with Luke’s hand groping at Robin’s ass over her levi’s cut offs. Bradley makes a soft sound of acknowledgement as he turns his head to see you giggling with Pasquale on the way into the lobby.

With his tongue finally out of Robin’s mouth, Luke cranes his neck to get a look at what it is Bradley’s smiling at. You. He turns his head to look at Robin, giving her a knowing look as he gestures for her to look over too.

“Alright, gimme your keys, let’s get out of here.” Bradley calls out to the group, walking around and taking the key from each person in the class. You take a seat on the edge of the couch that Zoe is laying across without greeting him as he heads up to the front desk to check out.

“Where do you go every night after dinner? — You just sit in your room or something?” Robin asks, leaning around her boyfriend. You lift your head and turn to look at her, immediately bristled by the smug little look on her face.

“Sometimes, other times I walk around a little.” You don’t owe her an answer and really, Pasquale wishes that you wouldn’t engage.

She makes a face, almost smirking, “All by yourself?”

“Oh, we have a message for this room. A young lady from New York called three times yesterday afternoon, we were trying to reach the occupant.” The receptionist realizes as she holds up your key. Bradley glances at the number, then back at you over your shoulder. He has to remind himself to call you your name.

You whip your head around at the sound of his voice across the lobby. You turn quickly back to Robin and she quirks an eyebrow at you.

Bradley frowns slightly at the furious look on your face as you storm across the lobby towards him and stand firm, “What?”

“You have a message — someone called you a couple of times yesterday. Call ‘em back so we can hit the road, I’m going to take everyone else outside to load up the van.” Bradley explains, glancing down at your outfit for the day. He likes those shorts on you.

“Oh, right. Okay.”

“You alright?” Bradley lowers his head slightly, trying to get a better look at your face.

“Fine.” You answer him, turning away as the receptionist hands you the phone, “Hello?”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“… Catherine?” You frown, plugging one ear and holding the phone closer to you. Your maid of honour gasps on the other end of the line, appalled that you now have to second guess the sound of her voice.

“Everyone has been looking for you! We didn’t know which hotel you were at, Malcolm said you hadn’t called in days!”

You frown, wrinkling your face at her. “Daddy’s credit card paid for the hotel.”

“Well, Mac didn’t ask your dad. I’ve been so worried. How are you doing over there?”

Even more so, your frown deepens. Malcolm adores your father. They get along just fine. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t usually ask your father — usually, he wouldn’t need to. They talk every day.

“Yeah, good. Just busy and stuff, we’re traveling a lot. We have to get on the road in a second. I guess calling just slipped my mind.” You spent last night in another man’s arms and your fiancé was worried sick about you. You glance towards the door, watching Bradley laughing through conversation with Luke and Abigail outside. He doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“I’m glad you’re doing okay over there. I miss you. So, you and Mac are good, then, right?”

“Miss you too, but yeah, of course.” You mumble, propping your hand against your chin.

“Good. He mentioned you kind of cornered him about that fight at my end of semester party. I’m really glad you two figured that out. I thought for a second you two were going to break up over it when I first saw him on top of you like that.”

Bradley turns around and bends his neck to look at you across the lobby, his smile fades, brows furrowing slightly as he watches you press your finger harder into your ear and turn quickly away.

“Wait… Cath, what?”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27 @ahoyyharrington

[leiloc]

💣Astrology observations #7💣

DISCLAIMER : All the observations written below are from my research and DO NOT copy my work

I am apologizing for my absence so y'all are getting an observation now ♥❗❗

💥I noticed that a lot of people with taurus moon have most normal parents like I would sell my soul for that kind 👀

💥12th house can really tell about past life dominant sign. Ex. Taurus 12th house can mean that you were possessive of your belongings (either Taurus, 2nd house, Venus or 2nd house ruler dominant in past life)

💥Meeting people with sun in your 12th house reflects the person you were back in the past life. That's why you can find them either similar or you feel the energy A LOT

This can also mean that you might have had past life connections with them

💥Eris (136199) asteroid is where you feel lack of a specific aspect in your life depending on which house it lays and asteroid Sedna (90377) is betrayal from men (all depends from house to house)

💥Eris in 11th house means lack of social life, in 10th house little to no reputation, 7th house lack of partnerships (either love, coworkers, etc.)

💥Sedna in 7th house can mean betrayal from men who are your lover, coworker or smth like that, in 8th house they can betray your trust and your hidden self, in 2nd house it can mean loss of property because of them

I reccomend reading the stories about the name of those asteroids, it can make a lot of sense.

💥South node conjunct uranus can mean that the person can predict the things going on and they can be all random. It depends on house placement and aspects to those how is it performed

💥South node conjunct Neptune/SN in 12th house... That must be pain dreaming a lot about your past life or living in it still. Same for Uranus - SN, you SEE things happening

💥I don't know if i have written this before but asteroid Eros (433) conjunct personal placements in synastry can result in instant attraction

💥6th house indicates daily routine, medical problems and pets bur for now I will focus on medical problems. Having a sign in that house can indicate a problem with specific body part.

The list of body parts associated with zodiac signs will be posted soon and a lot of astrology - medicine associations will be posted

For now that's it and I hope you enjoyed this post and stay safe y'all ♥

[livelaughlovesubs]

Study about leviathan

Thanks to the people who replied to my post!

Trigger warning: the things I’m going to mention include child trauma, sexual abuse and other. The language I’m going to use is direct. I do not share that experience, which is why I tried my best to do valid research. I’m not trying to offend anyone, and I’m really sorry if I get things wrong.

My opinion, it could be totally wrong so take it with a grain of salt~

So, right of the bat, I think we can all agree that Levi probably got sexually assaulted as a child.

‘Rough, oppressive hands. Filthy sounds of breathing. Humiliating violence that ensued’ this is probably the biggest hint I’ve found to my previous statement.

Now, I think most of his actions can be understood from his past and if we make some claims. On the surface, he seems like a cold, strict and violent person. Also very mean and rough, and an asshole if you want. Many people weren’t a fan of his ero scene (I think). That scene also made things more complicated, cuz he said that he wanted the mc to hate him. He dislikes people who hate him or love him for no reason. Levi was a dominant bottom, has agoraphobia (fear of leaving their save place), is obsessively into breath play and prideful, jealous but also insecure.

It’s a lot to unpack and he really is complicated, but I’ll try to explain what I found/ what I think would make sense for his character.

Levi got experimented on and assaulted as a kid, got beaten up and tortured while in the company of other children with the same fate. This is important to understand him. The story (chapter 5, towards the end) mentioned that the beating included strangulation, force injection/ in take of chemicals, getting punched etc. and there’s been that speculation (which is true), that trauma can turn into kinks. The reason why trauma can turn into kinks… cuz the brain is weird. Your brain can’t forget that traumatic experience and keeps replaying that scene (cause of ptsd), and your body remembers that feeling you’ve felt. Even if your body feels ‘pleasure’ it doesn’t mean you actually enjoy it, but then your brain does some weird shit and you get a specific kink towards that situation.

I think the reason why Levi is into chocking could be due to that, due to being strangulated by those angels, having his air snapped off from experiments, chocking on his vomit from the aftermath. His ero scene, including how he insulted minhyeok and made mc mad was all planned. Mc also noticed how even though he was the bottom, he was always in control. He also was a huge masochist and wanted mc to whip him or hurt him. You could just brush it off as his kink, though maybe it has some connections like before.

I read that victims of sexual trauma tend to seek out people that are similar to their abuser, actively or subconsciously. Or they are into bdsm cuz they want to role play that experience, this time with a consenting partner. They would never want to relive that experience, but they want to role play it because now they do have control over the situation. It’s as if they are reclaiming the control that they didn’t have. This is comparable with what Levi is doing, wanting his partner to hurt him and treat him horribly like what the angels did. He wanted mc to hate him to recreate the scene with the angels more similarity, while still being in control of everything. He had completely control the entire time, could stop whenever he wanted or overpower you. Also, for him who knows how to lie and betray, who isn’t so naive to trust everyone, it’s easier if they hate you. Then their actions will be easier to understand.

About why he isn’t fond of people who hate or love him for no reason, maybe comes from the angels who hated him for existing and the other ill fated children who lost their lives for him for the same reason. He definitely feels guilty for the children who chose to sacrifice themselves for no reason. He probably thinks it would make him feel less guilty if the people had a good reason for their deeds. If they had a good reason for torturing him, for loving him, he would feel less bad and guilty.

Fear of leaving places he considered safe, that probably came from the trauma as well. He knows he won’t end up in that cage again, but it’s a trauma, his brain won’t forget. Another reason why he might not want to leave his safe place could be because he considers himself different from the other devils. He knows how to lie, be suspicious and fear their own kind. If the other devils think they are agents of heaven, he won’t have a place to call home anymore. Levi had to be strong and build his own nation to protect himself as well as other orphans, he won’t want it to crumble now. He had to live a good life for his comrades. That could also explain why he is so stoic or serious. He doesn’t have the luxury of fooling around, he had to make sure no one would ever get suspicious over them and chase them away. No matter how much you reassure him, he won’t be able to change. Even so there are times where he feels safe enough to smile and be chill. But that’s only when he is in hades, his palace and with his closest allies. This fear of his must also be the reason he is a shut in.

Some people said that having agoraphobia feels like no one understands you. It feels like everyone judges you or is about to hurt you. It fits Levi, who is so wary of other devils.

Many of his personality traits indicate that he is a narcissist. Prideful, insecure and jealous. There are different types of narcissists, he is the kind that is secretly insecure and puts on strong airs. He probably compares himself to others due to that and has a frail ego. That must also be where his jealousy comes from or the fact he can’t take critique well. Being a narcissist doesn’t only mean you feel like you are the worst when you are alone, it’s also actively talking yourself into believing you are better than everyone else. This could be another reason why he’s a shut in, because it’s so much easier, then you don’t need to compare yourself to others.

I also feel like he needs to be the best because the kids told him to live a cool life in their stead. He also had a day where he gets especially horny, right? It had something to do with his trauma and angels, more conformation that his trauma turned into kink. Being hypersexuell is also one of the symptoms.

With such circumstances, it’s no wonder he grew up cold and distant. Anyway, I wrote this on a whim, I don’t know if my thought process even makes any sense, maybe I forgot some aspects too. Just ask for my opinion of anything if you want.

[littlefireball]

May I request a Yunho x Yeosang fic? Where all of Ateez is Poly but Yeosang hasn't gotten intimate with anyone yet. But when yunho comes out of a shower he gets really hot and bothered and he doesn't know why. (He's a virgin) He talks to Yunho and Yunho explains to him what's going on. And he asked to know what it feels like to be fucked and Yunho shows him while the rest of ATEEZ watch?

🐈‍⬛

First time to write BxB ahhh hope you like it

sorry for the slow update cuz i hv no inspiration to write TT

i quite like 'Fake God' setting so i added it to this fic

maybe i'm gonna make a series haha btw i find that 99% of requests are about yeosang 😂(it doesn't mean that i don't like him, just wonder why 🤣🤣 where are the other members ㅋㅋㅋㅋ）

Yunsang|BxB|Eros paidikos(M) ft. OT6

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Fake God Yunho x Human Attendant Yeosang ft.OT6 Fake Gods Warning: Smut|Poly AU|BxB|Unprotected sex|Make out|Public sex|Pool sex|Huge age gap (OT7 are 1000+ and yeosang is 20+) Word count: 2K 

Becoming an attendant of the gods was considered the ultimate honor for a human being. Whenever a deity descended to earth, people would eagerly showcase their loyalty and talents in hopes of securing a place in heaven. They reveled in the adoration of humans, effortlessly casting spells to captivate them. To these beings, humans were mere playthings for their amusement or desire.

Yet, this did not stop humans from desiring to get close to those Gods, or I should say, those Fake Gods.

Becoming a servant was no simple task; one must first earn their favor. However, there was one man who effortlessly captured the hearts of the gods. No tribute or money was required. Simply being in their presence was enough to inspire them to offer everything for him. His appearance was akin to a masterpiece sculpted by the divine, drawing others to him like moths to a flame.

"Yeosang, bring us the wine," Yunho instructed. "Yes, master," Yeosang replied with a simple salute before turning to retrieve the wine. Unbeknownst to him, the seven men observing him were captivated by his beauty. Dressed in a white gauze garment that left little to the imagination, Yeosang's exposed chest, arms, and legs only added to his allure.

"He is truly remarkable, isn't he? I never thought I would use such a word to describe a man," Yunho admitted, his voice betraying a hint of desire. "Did you fuck him?" Jongho inquired, his posture shifting slightly as he leaned against the pool's edge.

"No," Yunho shook his head. "But I will not impose myself on him," he added. "Oh, really? I believe you have already made him your cum pocket," San remarked with a chuckle, resting his head on Seonghwa's chest. "I want him to come to me willingly. I am confident it will not be long before he does," Yunho replied.

“Why are you so certain?” Wooyoung interjected, moving closer to Yunho. “Maybe you just show him your big dick and he will ask you to fuck him badly.” “What?Do you want me to fuck you now?” Yunho lifted wooyoung's chin with his finger, hiding his surging lust under his cold face.

“Then fuck me,” With a smooth motion, Yunho flipped wooyoung over, pinning him under his big frame and thrusted into his hole with one go. "Oh fuck! You're so big!” Wooyoung moaned loud enough for yeosang to hear. He was already used to it as he watched them make love a thousand times, not to mention he could alway hear their moaning the whole day.

Yeosang carefully carried the tray back to the bath where they were gathered. What was once a sacred space now felt tainted by debauchery. Wooyoung was riding Yunho, Mingi was making out with Hongjoong, and Jongho was fucking Seonghwa as if the last day of the Earth.

The scene in the pool left onlookers speechless upon first sight. Yeosang was no exception, though he was tempted to join in despite his shyness. Deep down, he longed to experience the sensation of being desired.

The water in the pool rippled with their movements, creating a symphony of splashes against the sides. Moans and hesitant kisses filled the air, blending with the heady scent of desire to create an intensely erotic atmosphere.

"Master, your wine," Yeosang said as he approached Yunho, offering him the glass with a steady hand. As Yunho took a sip, Wooyoung's sudden rough movements caused him to choke on the wine. “Oh…mas─"

“Fuck you, wooyoung!” “Don't be mad~” Gripping wooyoung's waist hard enough to leave a red mark, Yunho fucked him at an inhuman pace. “Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!Slow down!” “Who told you to act like a brat?" With a loud moan, both of them reached the climax and the white liquid floated on water.

“I gotta take a shower. Yeosang, go bring me some new clothes.” Yunho stood up from the bath, wrapping a towel on his waist. But that didn't stop him from seeing his big cock. “Yes, master.” Swallowed with a ball of saliva, Yeosang tried his best to hide his nervousness before turning to get some clothes.

“Hey, Yunho, what I said is true.” Wooyoung bent over the edge of the pool, tilting his head with an evil smirk.

“And remember what I said? It won't take too long for him to ask me.” Yunho winked before taking a quick bath.

—---

Yeosang's body suddenly felt ablaze, as if a fire was consuming him from within. His flushed face only intensified the heat that coursed through him. The recent scene played on a loop in his mind, stirring up desires he had long suppressed.

Holding Yunho's garment in his hand, Yeosang found himself drawn closer, unable to resist the urge to inhale deeply, savoring the scent that was uniquely Yunho's. The action only served to heighten his panic, causing his heart to race as if it might burst from his chest.

"No… I have to go back now…What's wrong with me?" Yeosang willed himself to calm down, the chill of the wind offering a slight reprieve from the feverish sensations that gripped him.

Yet, fate seemed determined to play him as the next sight pushed him to the brink of losing all restraint.

"Master, your attire." Yunho had just stepped out of the bath, water droplets cascading from his hair onto his broad shoulders, trickling down the contours of his sculpted abdomen… He was big,no,huge. Yeosang couldn't bear to meet Yunho's gaze, immediately averting his eyes from the mesmerizing sight before him.

"Thanks, my doll.” He deliberately emphasized the last sentence, and his knuckled fingers traced Yeosang's arm, making him tremble. But Yunho took his hand back and didn't grab the clothes, making Yeosang whimpered softly because of lost touch. "Shouldn't you serve me change my clothes?” Yunho remarked, raising an eyebrow at Yeosang. “Ye…yes, I apologize.”

Yeosang's hands were shaking like a leaf when he touched Yunho's arm, making him imagine how it felt in his embrace, just like what Yunho did to Wooyoung a moment ago.

“Are you hot? Your face is so red, just like the apple Jongho crushes every day." Yunho's concerned voice and laugh snapped Yeosang to reality, making Yeosang slightly jump.

“Just…a little bit…”

“But heaven is not that hot, here is not hell.” Yunho lifted Yeosang's chin with his big hand, brushing his moist lips while speaking softly, “You know why, Yeosang?”

“Why…?” Yeosang once swallowed nervously, finding himself unable to move away from Yunho's captivating gaze.

“Because you want me so badly.” Yunho stepped close enough to brush yeosang's forehead with his lips. “It's called heat, doll.”

“It's just human nature, not a big deal. And of course, we, Gods, have desire too.” Yunho continuted, luring Yeosang to ask the question he wanted to hear. “Sometimes, we just have to do something and the heat would cool down.”

“Is it being fucked?” Yunho's face lighted up as he finally heard what he desired, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes, you're right, darling.”

“How…how does it feel…? Is…is it hurt?” Yeosang stammered, realizing Yunho's cock sunk between his thighs and rubbed against his sensitive skin.

“No, of course no. It feels so good. Do you want it? Tell me.” “Yes, please. Mas─" Before his words fully came out from his mouth, Yunho attacked his lips without a second thought. They kissed each other hungrily without care. Yunho took the lead, parting yeosang's lips and intertwining with his tongue. Yeosang let out a hem as Yunho kissed him aggressively, leaving him breathless in this heavy make out.

“Gotta fuck you now,” Leaving from each other's lips, Yunho wrapped Yeosang's legs around his waist and knelt down before placing him down on the ground. “Oh god!” Yeosang let out a soft gasp as Yunho entered him, drawing the attention of those around them. Yunho started at a slow pace to make Yeosang adjust to the sensation of being penetrated. After all, it was his first time. The feeling was a mix of strange and thrilling; Yunho pushed deep, almost pushing past his limits. Yet, Yeosang loved it so much. Each thrust gave him a wave of numbness and pleasure.

Murmuring and swearing fled both of their lips, Yeosang threw his head against the ground and closed his eyes, throwing himself into this endless bliss. “Fuck, you're amazing!” Yunho murmured, picking up the pace as Yeosang's long throaty moan urged Yunho to ruin him, have him completely. “Oh gosh-!!My god!! Ah~” Yeosang let out a choppy moan to make everyone gasp. How beautiful the melody was.

Without warning, Yunho pulled out and flipped Yeosang over, pressing him against before thrusting hard from behind. Yeosang's hips were in the air, allowing Yunho to go deeper in this new position. “Fuck!” Yunho groaned, his breath coming in heavy pants. His sanity was about to fade away as Yeosang kept sucking him in;the tightness and the wetness drove him crazy. He drew his hips back, and then slammed himself back in, pumping into his sensitive area.

“Keep your eyes open, Sang.” Yunho commanded, and Yeosang slowly opened his eyes to find that all of their gaze lingered on him. They couldn't tear their eyes away from the sight of Yunho entering him, and his face a mix of pleasure and desire. The wet strands of hair clung to Yeosang's face, swaying with each movement; his ass bounced each time Yunho rolled his hips into him. All of them couldn't lie; their lust was palpable, impossible to ignore.

“Wanna be fucked by them? Huh?Tell me, you slut.” Yunho slapped his ass, making Yeosang groan at the pain. Yet, he wanted more.“See?They all wanted you, wanted to sink their fat cock into your pink hole.” Yunho leaned down to whisper in his ears, pressing his chest against his back. “Oh please, pretty please.” He didn't know what he was begging for, but only felt something tightening in his stomach.

“Need to cum?” Feeling Yunho's big hand trails down to his erection, Yeosang moaned loudly as the cold touch sent him numbness. “Please, please.” Yunho jerked him off at a fast pace, all the heat rushed to his tip. The friction pushed him to the edge of climax, Yeosang spread his legs wider to make Yunho sinking deep. “Master…master…” Yunho fucked him faster and faster and the sound of skin slapping echoed through the room. Everything was overwhelming but perfect at the same time. Yeosang was on cloud nine, totally lost in the lust.

“Cum.” “Gosh!!” Yunho's command was like a trigger, making Yeosang cum immediately. “Good boy.” Yunho also came with a loud moan, filling Yeosang with all his seeds, even dripping on the ground. Huffed and puffed, Yeosang collapsed on the ground and couldn't even sit up straight.

“You're too rough, yunho.” Wooyuoung said while walking to Yeosang's side. “You should treat him softly," Patting his head, Wooyoung left a peck on Yeosang's lips, making Yeosang's eyes shut open in surprise. “Don't be afraid, we will treat you well.” “Don't break him.” Yunho smirked. Without waiting for Yeosang's response, he was picked up by someone effortlessly.

“We're gonna have something fun.” A gummy smile broke out on Jongho's face. Oh he looked so cute. But Yeosang soon denied this thought as Jongho was definitely not cute on the bed.

What Yeosang could remember after that was his clothes were literally ripped off, all the men fucked him at least twice, and he had came countless times until he couldn't anymore.

And, since then, Gods have not come to the world again. The blessedness of humans? They never care.

“Oh pretty, pretty, You want our cock so badly, do you?”

“Yes, please.”

What they cared about was only lust.

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 15th of February, 2024

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 15th of February, 2024

Question: What is the best way for the BRF to deal with Harry and Meghan?

Interpretation: Tell the truth.

Note: I don't know if this is the universe or the collective speaking through the cards, but the message is something that we having been saying for a very long time

Card One: The Nine of Cups.

This is the card of emotional contentment, wishes coming true, satisfaction, success and recognition. No doubt marrying into the BRF brought Meghan all those things. The picture on the card is of the reunion of Eros and Psyche, a celebration of their togetherness before their marriage on Mount Olympus.

The energy of this card is to look into the engagement of Harry and Meghan. Look at Meghan's life before she met Harry, look at how she positioned herself during her relationship with Harry, and look at why the engagement was allowed and announced. There are clues hiding there in plain sight that we don't know about, but the BRF does. The energy of the card is to take another look at everything and examine what happened that led to the couple being engaged.

The clarifier for this card is the Page of Pentacles in reverse. Pages are children, and the Page of Pentacles is an earth sign child, like Archie. It is also my card for the UK. The energy of children is coming through here. Did Meghan say she was pregnant? What happened to that pregnancy? What was the proof? What do the people in her past say about her becoming pregnant? Is there anything in her past the suggests this is impossible? The Page of Pentacles is in reverse, so this is the negation of a child - the child never happened or the child is not hers.

The other energy relates to the UK and the status/money meaning of Pentacles. When Meghan married Harry, both of them gained status and money because of the marriage. The Page of Pentacles in reverse says to strip both Harry and Meghan of that status. Remove the titles. If they are still receiving money from their father, cut off that money. Return both of them to the position and finances that they held before the wedding.

Card Two: The Three of Pentacles in reverse.

The Three of Pentacles is about teamwork, people working together to achieve a goal. In the reverse, there is no teamwork, the person is not a team player, if there is a team it is divided and not cohesive or loyal. The energy of this card is of investigating the 'team' around Meghan - her friends, her mother, her PR agency/s. What can they tell you? What can you uncover from their behaviour and stories? The suit is Pentacles, so money is important - follow the money trail. Where does it go? To whom does it go? Who can be paid to talk about what they know about Meghan's past actions?

The clarifiers here are the Wheel of Fortune and the Ten of Swords. There were people who helped Meghan on her way up that she has now discarded, and they are willing to betray her in return. Find them talk to them, and see what they have to say about her actions and motivations.

Given the underlying energy, this could also be a surrogacy card (three to make a baby - mother, father, and surrogate - pentacles is about the body and material things, such as making a baby). If so, then the energy from the cards is the same - investigate and talk to those who were involved. They are ready to talk now, whereas before they may have held their tongue.

Card Three: The Two of Swords in reverse.

This card has the meaning of not making a decision, having a decision made for you, not being able to decide, the lesser of two evils, and the truth being revealed. The last meaning is not one that I often find with this card, but today it is the one that has the energy. The cards are saying to reveal the truth. There is no right way out of this, You are at a stalemate, and there is no solution that will please everyone. The card acknowledges that both outcomes will be less than ideal, but the push of the energy is to revealing the truth, not covering it up. As the saying goes, speak the truth and shame the devil.

The clarifier for this card is the Seven of Swords, the thief card, the card of wrongdoing. There has been deception and trickery going on. We all know this. It is time to come clean and reveal what lies and deceptions were told. Let the Harkles face the full consequences of their actions.

Underlying Energy: The Empress.

This card is appearing in its meaning of the mother. The energy is of pregnancy and children or pregnancy and a child. This energy is underlying all the cards above - the engagement, the rumoured surrogacy, and the trickery that has resulted in choosing between two bad outcomes. They are all connected by the idea of pregnancy and being a mother.

The clarifier for this card is The Tower. Knowing the truth about the children will create a Tower moment that will successfully stop the Harkles's current behaviour and render them unable to damage the institution of the BRF.

Conclusion.

The cards say that the best way to deal with the Harkles is to make a decision that has no right answer and/or has two equally bad outcomes, and to tell the truth. Gather information of what Harry and Meghan have done, especially in regards to the pregnancies and children, and release it to the world. Look into Meghan's past life, look at why the engagement was allowed, look into the team that supported her and talk to them. They may have held their tongues in the past, but now they are ready to talk.

Once you have gathered all the information you need, bite the bullet and release the truth. Reveal all the deceptions that were practised and the lies that were told. This may make you look stupid or foolish, and you may have been complicit in some of the deceptions by your past silence (the choice between two bad outcomes). Release them anyway. Then strip the pair of the titles and status that they gained upon their marriage (I say strip them of everything, but the cards refer to the engagement and subsequent wedding). This will be a Tower moment for the Harkles were what is left of their reputation and credibility crumbles to dust around them, and they will not be able to rebuild it. They will be rendered toothless when it comes to damaging the BRF.

[darlingpoppet]

Upon A Lazy Bed — Patrochilles (TSOA)

The Song of Achilles | Achilles/Patroclus | M | 4.7k Words

My first* Patrochilles fic is two years old today! I’m still really proud of this one (everyone’s fic that’s designed to vent all their pent-up TSOA feels is always quite meaningful right?) So I wanted to reshare it here on tumblr <3 Thanks for everything so far, Patrochilles pals, I love talking to you all and creating for this fascinating ship <3 <3

Excerpt:

Achilles is in high spirits.

Throughout the night, he takes each opportunity as we edge past one another in the tent to fondly squeeze my shoulder, or playfully blow in my ear, or place a kiss on my forehead. He eats his dinner of spiced mutton and bread with a smile, complimenting my cooking tonight as particularly delicious. Even the dogs receive extra rubs behind their ears. If Achilles were anyone else, I might have thought there was something untoward about his easy affection and generous compliments, but I have long since outgrown my mistrust of his sincerity.

In truth, I am grateful for the ease in tension. After Phoinix came to relay the events of the first day to us, the enervating haze of suspense amidst our idleness has abated somewhat. Achilles’ plan seems to be working. I am anxious of what may yet still come to pass if his gambit fails, but for now, the cost has not been too great.

He reclines now in our bed, humming sweetly. One hand is behind his head while the other plucks at invisible lyre strings somewhere in the air in front of him. His ankle rests against a drawn-up knee, and his calf muscles flex as his foot bobs in time to the tune he composes.

I am there, too. My head lays against his shoulder while I listen to his voice and play cat’s cradle with a favorite bit of spun wool. My restless hands have been fidgety all day, so it is satisfying to bind them tightly while my fingers weave patterns into the string, and then release them again. The slashes on my wrist which Achilles redressed for me after dinner still ache underneath the fresh bandages, but the pain has dulled since yesterday.

Achilles’ hum is soothing, like a mother’s lullaby. My body tingles pleasantly. I still remember what his voice sounded like when it was yet untouched by the blossoming of his manhood. Sometimes I miss it, but since then it has deepened into a handsome tenor that seems to vibrate at the same frequency as my very core. I love it.

“What is that song?” I ask him.

He pauses for a moment to answer. “The story of Psyche.”

“Ah.”

I understand why it might be on his mind. In the stories, Psyche had betrayed the trust of her husband, the love god, Eros. Full of regret, she faced a series of trials given to her by the goddess Aphrodite, the last of which resulted in her death. Touched by her fidelity, however, Eros had forgiven her, and rewarded her with immortality upon Mount Olympus. A happy ending where love and devotion win the day.

I think back to our argument from the night before. How we had both wounded one another with our treacherous actions. But in the end, we had been able to overcome it.

I have no chance of becoming a god, of course, but I indulge for a moment in the fantasy of saving Achilles from his prophesied fate myself—that somehow my love alone might be enough to make the gods take pity on us and let him live so that he could stay by my side for the rest of our days. That the beauty between us is pure enough to grant him his eternal fame. And then he would have no need of things like reputation and honor in the eyes of the other Greek kings. The both of us, we are enough.

The humming stops again and Achilles is silent, as if weighing something.

“Are you… getting tired?” he asks.

He often inquires this when he is trying to gauge my interest in intimacy, but this time his tone is unusually diffident. Perhaps he is unsure if the past couple of weeks have irreversibly chilled my appetites. Even before our quarrel, we had been fearful to touch one another in the midst of the plague, and too busy and exhausted for it besides. This is probably the first chance we have had since the hardships began.

“I am not,” I say.

“I am not, either.”

I have his full attention now. He plucks the tangle of string from my fingers; I flex a few times to invigorate the blood back into them. He takes one of my hands—the bandaged one—and presses a kiss into my palm. His lips are soft, and achingly gentle. My breath hitches. Achilles, thinking it’s from pain, stops immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I reassure him. “Do not stop.”

He nods, redirecting his affection to my face. Slowly, and ever so tenderly, he plants a kiss at the corner of my mouth. My lips part slightly, hoping to lure him in, but he is not done yet. He leans over to one side to place another gentle kiss at the point where my neck, ear, and jaw meet. I wonder if he can taste my pulse there, I think to myself. The tip of his nose drags against my cheek slightly as he pulls away, jarring loose a few locks of hair that had been tucked behind my ear. I am in a trance now; my eyelids lower, my mouth hangs open. Smiling, he gives one final kiss at the corner of my brow that is light, and yet so fond that I begin to tremble.

Even when he is hardly doing anything at all, he has the ability to leave me breathless.

“Achilles,” I whisper. It is the only thing I can say when there is nothing else that needs to be said.

“Patroclus,” he murmurs in answer. His voice is heavy with desire. I want him to always sound this way when he says my name.

READ THE REST ON AO3 HERE!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41398932

(*Technically a Hades Patrochilles ficlet I wrote beat this one to the ao3 publish button, but this one is certainly the first published patrochilles fic I actually started working on so I’m still giving it the title, haha)

[devastatinglygreen]

Okay so now do what you think will happen after Colin finds out about Lady Whistledown. 🙏

so i sat on this for a little bit because i didn't really know how to answer it but i was chatting with @gleefullypolin, while totally not talking about polin nonstop, no. talking very normally i assure you.

i'm going to put the rest under the cut because it might have spoilers or speculation that people don't want to see:

alright so we know when colin finds out about LW, right? and we know they have a fight. a big one. obviously.

i think colin has to have a regression of his character. he's only been vulnerable around one person so far this season. penelope. and he loves and adores her and she's going betray (hello eros and psyche!) his trust.

there is no love without trust.

there's something very interesting we noticed while chatting about colin and his bro friends. they've been there each time he makes a choice about penelope.

the first ball, he chooses her over them after they're like, "the featherington girl? why concern yourself with her?" but then he tries to take it somewhere private and she checks him hard and cracked his armor. she was not impressed with that version of him and he knew it.

and he definitely will when he learns she's LW if he wasn't aware before

when he's not near them, he chooses her without thinking about it, he runs out after her at a ball when gossip about them is pretty much being said to their faces. even at the first brothel scene, he tells them he's late but then we see him at the market waiting for penelope. this man is a fake and a liar and we see him, we know what he's about. nerd.

in episode 3, he's with them at the balloon thing and they're messing with him about helping penelope and he's so dumb because he's like "i'm done with all of that. it's good to back" all cocky and lame like he wasn't just eating the same cupcake thing she did and staring at her. i was a dramatic teenage girl who once had a crush on a guy who i only saw at lunch and never knew his name and even i wasn't down that bad. good lord. embarrassing.

not really i love it, i love him so much

but he picks penelope over them again when he runs off to save her from the big mean hot air balloon.

we see them again in episode 4, at the library while he watches penelope through a mirror. because that's definitely not crying, screaming, throwing up behavior. they invite him out. for revelry. regency bro speak for possible syphilis and liver disease, it's fine.

he can't get down with his ladies of choice because he's knee deep in wishing he was balls deep in penelope instead. he stares at a wall. they manage to make us feel bad for a man sitting in a brothel. amazing.

we see them at mondrich's. they're talking about girls they probably didn't actually sleep with. oh sure, totally buy that you had access to a woman for 6 months straight. you bet, my guy, totally believable. colin is unhappy. he's like don't you ever want to have a feeling? they're like, no, i just feel the syphilis. it burns, bridgerton. we need antibiotics.

antibiotics won't be a thing for like another 100 years give or take good luck i guess

but he stays and drinks. he's picked penelope but he can't have penelope at this moment. he's in bed laying there waiting to sleep. or die. idk. he's a bridgerton, they're dramatic.

he sees them one last time in episode 4. they stop him. they're dicks. rude to will on top of it? pls. they invite him out and he says no. he's picked penelope once more but he doesn't say anything but "excuse me" and pushes through. they don't push back. they're like, fine. more chronic liver failure and fake stories for us, bro.

he finds penelope. causes a huge social upset that no one pays attention to because he's too busy ragging on debling for having the audacity to leave penelope for years. which is fair. colin would never.

chases penelope. catches her. not quite balls deep but knuckles deep at minimum, let's be real.

which, i am very sorry for this being this long at this point, is why i think we could see his "friends" again before the end. he's going to go through something world shaking and they're always there when he's making a choice but i think what's important to note is that he always makes the right one, he always picks penelope. i think he's not fully dropped that armor and it's easy to slip back into someone pretending not to care, especially when you're hurting. he's got to reject the man society wants him to be and, essentially, be the man penelope needs him to be. she's his purpose.

eta: colin loves to be penelope's hero. i think he's going to feel that pull over whatever else is going on.

i'm just saying it's a mirror of how penelope needs to reconcile how she's both penelope and lady whistledown. they both need to come to terms with who they want to be moving forward. symbolism or some shit.

or i'm totally wrong and all those words above mean nothing. either way i got to avoid folding laundry. time well spent if you ask me.

[theantonian]

The Death of Mark Antony, August 1st, 30 BC

At sunrise, Antony led his men out to do battle with the enemy and standing on the high ground outside the city, he watched his fleet move out from the harbour to attack Octavian's ships and to disembark the forces which were to menace the enemy's rear. But as he watched, he saw the sailors of each fleet salute those of the other and come to rest side by side, evidently by a secret arrangement made between them.

While he was still staring in dismay at this spectacle, his cavalry suddenly galloped forward before his eyes and were received into Octavian's lines. The enemy then advanced upon him, whereat his remaining troops fled back into the city. He had no other option but to retreat or risk being taken alive. He followed the confused retreat, cursing them, as he went, for their refusal to obey his orders, and shouting at them his accusations of treachery.

It was clear that the collapse was the result of a prearrangement with the enemy, and Antony made his way back to the palace after an honourable death was denied to him in the battlefield, crying out that Cleopatra had betrayed him, and calling her every foul name he could lay his tongue to.

It’s said that, as he stormed into the building, she ran for her life to her unfinished mausoleum which stood on the far side of a courtyard, overlooking the sea. It was a stone structure of two storeys. Her two ladies, Iras and Charmion, and one eunuch, accompanied her; and dashing into the mausoleum, they closed and bolted the great doors and thereafter mounting the stairs to the upper floor, from the windows of which they could observe something of what was going on in the courtyard and palace. It seems probable that the Queen was not responsible for the desertions. The generally held belief is: she knew quite well that Antony would hardly be persuaded to think her innocent, and her flight was from his wrath. A better probability is that she was preparing to burn up the mausoleum along with herself and the great treasures which she had accumulated as Antony gave his life on the battlefield.

Looking out of the window, one of her ladies called hysterically down to some servant or soldier below, telling him to go to Antony and to say that the Queen was about to kill herself; but the man in his excitement misunderstood the message, for the news that she was dead was presently brought to Antony as with two or three faithful officers, he paced about, sword in hand, waiting distractedly for events to shape themselves. At this He cried out: "Well, then, why wait longer? Fate has taken away the only thing for which I could say I still wanted to live."; and with these words he rushed to his own room, tearing off his armour as he went, and calling to his personal servant, Eros, to come to him.

He was heard then to speak aloud to Cleopatra, whose spirit he thought to be hovering near to him. "I am not unhappy to have lost you for a moment, Cleopatra my beloved", he said, "for I shall soon be with you; but what so shames me is that a famous soldier should be found to have had slower courage than a woman."

He then turned to Eros and, handing him his sword, encouraged him to keep his promise of being his executioner when the time came; but the man snatched the weapon and stabbed himself to the heart with it, falling dead at Antony’s feet. '"Well done, Eros!" Antony exclaimed, looking down at him in admiration, and picking up the dripping sword. "You have shown your master how to do what you had not the heart to do yourself." Thereupon he plunged the blade into his own body, and fell back upon his bed, where he fainted away.

The wound was not immediately mortal, and he presently coming to his senses, entreated those who had gathered around him to put him out of his pain; but at this they all fled from the room, leaving him groaning and struggling. Some of them ran to the mausoleum and called up to Cleopatra that Antony had stabbed himself but was still alive and thereat flinging up her arms and tearing her hair she screamed to them to bring him to her. They hastened back therefore and told him that the Queen was not dead but that she was calling for him; whereupon he immediately struggled to his feet but falling back, gave orders to them to carry him to her, although every movement was agony to him.

In their arms they brought him in the great heat of this summer's morning to the door of the mausoleum, but this could not be opened, for the bolts had been shot too deep to be moved; and he was therefore laid upon the ground beneath the window of the upper room so that Cleopatra might speak to him. The mausoleum, however, as has been said, was still unfinished and as some ropes were hanging down from the roof where the builders had been working. Then he was to be placed upon a stretcher and hauled up to the window. A few minutes later the Queen and her three attendants were frantically tugging and pulling at these ropes while the dying man lying half-conscious upon the lurching and bumping stretcher scorched by the sun, tormented by the flies, and agonized by every jolt ascended inch by inch towards them.

As he came near to the window, he regained full consciousness, holding out his blood-stained hands towards his wife, tried to raise himself up. Somehow, at last, they managed to drag him through the window and to lay him upon a couch, all covered with blood and dripping with sweat, and writhing in death agony. Cleopatra then flung her arms about him in a frenzy of grief, calling him her beloved husband, her lord, her emperor and her God. She mercilessly beat her breasts and tore her hair, wiped off some of his blood and smeared her face with it. She was shaken by the convulsions of her weeping but Antony stopped her lamentations and asked for a cup of wine so that he could speak to her. It is said that in that last frightful re-union all their misfortunes, all their bitter misunderstandings, were forgotten: for these short minutes of life which remained to him only their deathless love remained, and he was at last in the knowledge that they two, in spite of their many quarrels, were indeed one flesh. She brought a cup of wine, for him to drink; and when he had drunk, he gasped out some words of advice to her, telling her not to trust Octavian, but that she should look to her own safety if she could do to without disgrace.

"You must not pity me in this last turn of Fate", he whispered, "You should rather be happy in the remembrance of our love, the many good things that were mine and in the recollection that of all men I was once the most famous and the most powerful, and now, at the end, have fallen not dishonourably, a Roman by a Roman valiantly vanquished." A moment later the great Marcus Antonius breathed his last.

Image: ‘Cleopatra Captured by Roman Soldiers after the Death of Mark Antony’ Bernard Duvivier (1789)

Sources: Plutarch's Life of Mark Antony

Paricia Southern, Mark Antony A Life

Eleanor Goltz Huzar, Mark Antony: A Biography

Arthur Weigall, The Life and Times of Marc Antony

[wayfind-er]

Psyche (Myth & Butterflies)

Cupid and Psyche ◦ Art Credit (Antonio Canova, 1808)

"...I would rather die a hundred times than forgo the supreme joy of my marriage with you. For I love and cherish you passionately, whoever you are, as much as my own life, and I value you higher than Eros himself." - Psyche to the unnamed Eros; Golden Ass

Psyche's greatest story is undoubtedly her love story with love itself, Eros—son of Aphrodite and the Greek God of Love and Desire.

Their story is most commonly found in Apuleius' novel, Metamorphoses (of Apuleius) or better known as The Golden Ass. While Metamorphoses is said to be the only Roman novel in Latin to survive in its entirety, Psyche and Eros originates in Ancient Greece, where Apuleius adapted their story. (Synopsis & Art)

💜 TOO LONG ; DIDN'T READ Psyche betrays Eros by glancing at his true Godly appearance, and Eros abandons her. Aphrodite, angered by Psyche, forces her to undergo four Herculean trials to regain Eros' love. Psyche barely completed all the tasks with the help of others. Zeus rewards Psyche with a cup of ambrosia so that she may live among the Gods as Eros’ wife. Hermes, at the request of Eros, gathers the other Gods and they act as witnesses to Psyche and Eros’ wedding. This only touches on like, 2% of the story, but you probably get the gist.

Aphrodite's Four Trials

Sorting Grain in a Night: Aphrodite demands that Psyche sort a pile of barely, poppy seeds, beans, and other grains in a single night. Ants help her.

Gather Golden Wool: Aphrodite tells Psyche to somehow collect the wool of some extremely hostile golden sheep. She gets advice from the green reeds from the stream the sheep drink from, and safety gets the wool.

Collect Water from the River Styx: Aphrodite then tells Psyche to collect the black water from the River Styx. This is especially dangerous, as Psyche has to climb the face of a rock formation while pregnant, but then Zeus sends an eagle and retrieves the River Styx water for her.

Get a Beauty Box from Persephone: Finally, Aphrodite tells Psyche to obtain a beauty box from Persephone, Queen of Hades. At first, Psyche doesn't know how to get to Hades, but then a sentient tower gives her directions. Psyche manages to get the box from Persephone, but she makes the mistake of opening it and gets hit with a sleeping powder that immediately kills Psyche. Eros, who had begun to miss Psyche, decides to go look for her. He finds Psyche's dead body, wipes the sleeping powder off her face, and revives her with a kiss.

Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss (Antonio Canova, ~1870 )

“Poor, dear Psyche,” he exclaimed, “See how, as before, your curiosity might have been your undoing! But now hurry to complete the task imposed on you by my mother's command; I shall see to the rest.” - Eros to the revived Psyche; Golden Ass

Psyche comes from the Greek word for Soul [ ψυχή ].

In the Homeric Epics, Homer describes the psyche as the last fleeting breath before one's soul returns to Hades, the Ruler of the dead. Aristotle was the first recorded person to refer to butterflies as psyche. He found similarities between buttterflies' and our mortal life cycles.

Butterflies are undoubtedly associated with intense transformation and change—similar to death.

These associations exist in different cultures, not just Greek. In some cultures, two butterflies symbolize a tragic romance; in others, butterflies are souls themselves or leading the recently departed to the afterlife.

The meaning of butterflies can greatly vary from culture to culture, but many of them revolve around some sort of transformation or the death of one thing so something new can begin. Understanding the different symbolism and meaning of butterflies can help put into perspective what Ancient Greeks may have thought of Psyche despite her not being celebrated or honored like other deities.

The Ancient Greeks called the chrysalis stage, where the caterpillar enters a cocoon to become a butterfly, nekydallon or nekydalios, meaning “the shell of the dead."

In much of Psyche's art and depictions, you'll find motifs of butterflies (surprising, I know); however, some are more common than others. In many artistic depictions of Psyche before she's married to Eros, Small Whites (Pieris Rapae) are often drawn above or near Psyche.

For many, Small Whites symbolize childlike innocence, wanderlust, and healing. There are no definitive sources of Ancient opinion of Psyche; however, for the Ancient Greeks, Psyche may have been a symbol of hope personified in the shape of passing butterflies.

[Zeus] gave her a cup of ambrosia and said: ‘Take this, Psyche, and become immortal. [Eros] will never part from your embrace; this marriage of yours shall be eternal.’ - Zeus to Psyche at her wedding; Golden Ass

In many paintings, like in Psyche in the Temple of Love, Psyche entertains herself with a Small White and a sprig of honeysuckle, a symbol of happiness in Ancient Greece (and love in the West).

Psyche is the personification and Goddess of the Soul, and her association with butterflies may be a story of the mortal hope to find a place where we can belong.

She acts with love for herself and love for those she considers beloved. She shows us that human souls need to love and be loved; we yearn to devote ourselves to those we love and to our passions, whether that's our hobbies, people, or a special third thing. She is the childlike hope to give up our burdens and dedicate ourselves to love.

After Psyche is married to Eros, wings sprout from her back. In many artistic renditions, her wings look just like Small Whites, although her wing design is consistently inconsistent. In some, she has Small Whites with Eyes (spots on the wings); in others, her wings are brown, blue, fully white, etc.

Her new wings symbolize her transformation into a new phase of life: a deified mortal and wife of Eros. This immense change shows that Psyche is no longer the young Princess introduced at the beginning of Psyche and Eros' love story but rather a woman who has learned the pain of love and loss, seen death for herself and faced numerous trials and tribulations in the name of love for another.

Marble Figure of Psyche, Psyche in the Temple of Love (Edward John Poynter), Cupid and Psyche (Antonio Canova), The Abduction of Psyche (William-Adolphe Bouguereau), Butterfly banners (k1ssyoursister)

[theheirofthesharingan]

why do fans keep saying that itachi loved izumi where do they get that from?? Did I miss something? Because I've read the entire itachi light novel and there was ZERO hint in it about itachi loving izumi back. The ship felt really one sided, I mean yeah sure they could've been cute together but the only thoughts that ever crossed itachi's mind in the novel were about war, the village, sasuke, shisui, his clan. He couldn't care less about romance. Like there was ZERO indication of him having feelings for her, I think him putting her in a genjutsu before she dies is because itachi is a kind person and wanted his freind's last moments to be happy, that was the least he could do for her then. I mean personally if someone who loved me like that was dying I'd want to make sure that their last moments with me are spent 100% however they please. So is it just me?? I see kindness cause I know itachi is not a jerk, and I see care because I know he cares about his loved ones, but where is the romantic love here??? Just because she's female and was in love with him we gotta assume he loved her back?? Some even claim she was his "his girlfreind" ...wtff ??? itachi never had the time.

Anyways, what do you think? And sorry i know this was too long I hope you don't mind.

It's just people whenever there is "love" involved, it has to be romantic/sexual. Every time I see someone making connotations of the romantic love between two individuals, I am reminded of this quote by C. S. Lewis.

Those who cannot conceive of friendship as a substantive love but only as a disguise or elaboration of Eros betray the fact that they have never had a friend.

Two people can "love" each other and still not be interested in each other romantically. It's just, platonic love exists.

In case of Izumi, I believe giving Itachi a "lover" makes his story more tragic to some people. Because, oh look, he killed the girl he loved, so tragic! But he didn't actually love her. Fugaku mistakes her for Itachi's girlfriend, but that doesn't mean he had one. They were friends. Itachi had too many things going on and love was not any of his priorities.

She was the first person he killed because she was someone he cared about and thought as a friend. Not because he thought she was the love of his life.

I also feel most of the shippers don't really care about Itachi as a person. He's only a fantasy they need to either fulfill for themselves or for their favorite characters. It holds true for Izumi, Sakura, and even Sasuke.

The two ladies have no personality, so their ship with Itachi works as a self-insert for a lot of fans. And most itasasu fans are also along the same lines. None of them cares about Itachi, but they still ship him with them because the ships centre around the characters he's shipped with instead of himself. That is, these shippers get the gratification on behalf of the characters he's shipped with instead of Itachi himself.

So, Izumi and her ship with Itachi isn't very different. To some people, it makes his story more tragic. There's also a part of the fandom that thinks "Obito destroyed the world for Rin" when he himself says Rin isn't the reason the war is happening. People kind of like to project what they consider more tragic and then twist it to distort canon.

I personally don't take shippers very seriously. It does irritate me, but it's better to not interact with that side for your own sanity.

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Kassandra x Reader - Succulence

Kinktober 12: Aphrodisiacs [mature]

Word count: 634

Ao3 link here.

Men, minors and ageless/default blogs DNI. You will be blocked immediately upon interaction.

In a rare moment of serenity, you found yourselves perched atop a balcony, legs dangling over the edge, watching the sparkling azures of Aegean waters ebb and flow. The air was quiet, save for the crashing of waves and the croaking of locusts. A wicker basket brimming with fruits occupied the space between you, from which Kassandra had peeled the ripest orange for you to savour.

For her own enjoyment, she plucked an apple – unblemished, with pale green skin that bled into a lustrous scarlet. Little did you know, this very apple would be the undoing of the evening’s tranquillity.

Kassandra tossed the fruit in her hand before bringing it to her lips. Eyes still mesmerised by the sea, she flexed her strong jaw to indulge in that first greedy bite.

There was a crunch, followed by a blink of surprise as juice burst from the apple’s punctured skin. A saccharine stream flowed from her lips to her chin, trickling down her throat. She chuckled, letting a small droplet fall from the corner of her full mouth before she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. All the while, more juices oozed from the teeth-carved cavity in the fruit, seeping onto the webspace between her thumb and forefinger.

The orange cradled in your hands felt heavy, all of a sudden. Heavier still, when Kassandra brought her hand back to her mouth after thickly swallowing her mouthful, slothfully lapping at the nectar streaming down to her wrist.

Your eyes traced the movements of her tongue as warmth flooded your face. Perhaps Eros had laced your mind with a fog, but you almost swore that there was something rehearsed about the way she cleaned the juice from her hand. A memory of the muscle, stemming from countless hot, impassioned nights that ended in your essence soaking her fingers, dripping down the palm of her hand. She would languorously savour every morsel, tiding herself over until your next coition. Your mouth, only moments ago salivating at the thought of fresh fruit, ran dry.

Seemingly oblivious to your indecent predicament, Kassandra sunk her teeth into the apple’s sweet flesh a second time. More rivulets ran their course. Although, unlike before, she made no move to catch them with her hand. Such an endeavour would be futile, given the ripeness of the fruit, hence the juices gushed freely down her chin. They glistened in the setting sun against her bronze skin, clinging to her jawline as she chewed and her neck when she gulped.

Her face was a familiar mess – minus the breathlessness and glossy eyes, which your vivid, lewd imagination eagerly supplemented. Your vision clouded with the dusky pink of her lips, intoxicated by the shimmer of the sticky, sugary liquid. The low, contented hum she relinquished at the taste was a cruel, perfect replica of the sounds muffled by your mons as she pleasured you with her—

“You haven’t touched your orange,” came her curious remark. It sliced through your thoughts. You snapped your eyes towards her, hoping your face didn’t betray any sign of fluster.

Shooting her a shy smile, you awkwardly fumbling with a segment of the orange. “Just lost in thought, that’s all,” you sighed, bringing the loosened wedge to your lips. Your teeth pierced the tangy citrus, although you were far too riddled with distraction to fully appreciate its ripeness.

Kassandra cocked her brow. It was a miracle you managed not to choke as her lips curved into a knowing grin, dripping with both juice and smugness. “I’m rubbing off on you,” she teased before taking another bite.

You, in stunned silence, gnawed through the segment under her amused gaze. Heart drumming against your ribcage, you hoped she had a desire to sink her teeth into more than just an apple.

[howieabel]

“Under conditions of a truly human existence, the difference between succumbing to disease at the age of ten, thirty, fifty, or seventy, and dying a "natural" death after a fulfilled life, may well be a difference worth fighting for with all instinctual energy. Not those who die, but those who die before they must and want to die, those who die in agony and pain, are the great indictment against civilization. They also testify to the unredeemable guilt of mankind. Their death arouses the painful awareness that it was unnecessary, that it could be otherwise. It takes all the institutions and values of a repressive order to pacify the bad conscience of this guilt. Once again, the deep connection between the death instinct and the sense of guilt becomes apparent. The silent "professional agreement" with the fact of death and disease is perhaps one of the most widespread expressions of the death instinct -- or, rather, of its social usefulness. In a repressive civilization, death itself becomes an instrument of repression. Whether death is feared as constant threat, or glorified as supreme sacrifice, or accepted as fate, the education for consent to death introduces an element of surrender into life from the beginning -- surrender and submission. It stifles "utopian" efforts. The powers that be have a deep affinity to death; death is a token of unfreedom, of defeat. Theology and philosophy today compete with each other in celebrating death as an existential category: perverting a biological fact into an ontological essence, they bestow transcendental blessing on the guilt of mankind which they help to perpetuate -- they betray the promise of utopia.” ― Herbert Marcuse, Eros and Civilization: A Philosophical Inquiry into Freud

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster (Three. Shadow)

Summary: Eros and Psyche retelling with soulmate!AU elements. Morpheus x oc/female reader

Master List

Chapter Track: "Dream State (Dark Day)" by Son Lux

18+ (violence, swearing throughout, referenced child murder)

TAGGING: Tag lists break my posts, BUT I reply to comments the day of new chapters, so you'll get a personal update every time you stop to chat. ;)

A/N: Very short chapter this time. Mental health is quietly shitting itself and making writing difficult. Thank you all for your patience.

3: Shadow

The Not Deer smelled blood.

It smelled her blood, sweet with sand, ripe with magic. And this time, unlike all the others before, she had not escaped – and she was alone.

Teeth aching to close on her living flesh, thirsty for the hot blood flecked with its master’s power, it screamed.

She’d fallen too far inside her little moving fortress, and it couldn’t reach her. It could see, though. It could smell. And wasn’t it wonderful? Fresh red bloomed on her face, filling the night with the scent of the hunt.

If it could get through the window or beat down the door, it could have her. Finally. Eat her all up and lick the fluids off the carpet, crunch her bones and chew the soft fat of her pretty brain. Then sleep off a full belly under a pile of last year’s lacy, skeleton leaves, as it did after every good feeding. It caught children who left the path and slipped just beyond their parents’ sight, drunk men daring the dark on a summer’s night, anyone foolish enough to put too much faith in their own skills under the trees when the sun went down. In a hundred years, there had been many.

But she would be the best meal, and the last, because word already spread that the lord was returned, and soon the Not Deer would be missed. Urgency fueled its attack, but its antlers caught on the window frame, and though its legs stretched too long for a deer, its hooves couldn’t strike the valley between the seats.

It rammed the van, furious. Grey foam frothed from its lips, turning the forest floor black with rot where it dripped.

“What are you doing?”

A century was not long enough to forget its master’s voice, and as it heard the whisper of eons at its back, shock froze over delight.

It stalked the dark long enough to recognize prey. It was not a deer, but it froze like one now with fate ringing in its ears. The hunter waited as the Not Deer came to rapid terms with its renewed vulnerability, and the nightmare turned, clicking, to face the Nightmare King.

The Not Deer did not have words. That was not how it had been made. But the king didn’t ask his question in search of an answer.

The Not Deer was meant to hunt in dreams, to threaten and rip at hunters who killed too many, to remind those without caution what they had to fear. But it feasted on living mortals instead. The Corinthian introduced him to the fantasy, made the cut in the nightmare’s mind that festered into fantasy, and when it had the chance, it left the Dreaming to hunt.

It consumed a young dreamer who’d left his bed to catch frogs under the full moon, and the boy had tasted well. So, the Not Deer found new dreamers to eat, glutting itself on muscle and marrow. Until it smelled her. Then it ate others in frustration, because nothing smelled as good as the one with his maker’s name scratched in her heart, glowing gold, drawing him like a new lamb’s bleats or a dying rabbit’s shriek.

The King of Nightmares simply looked at it and understood. He’d already known. He must have. It was in his nature as it was in the Not Deer’s to admire screams.

“You have betrayed your purpose.” The king spoke softly, and the Not Deer bowed, the tattered flesh on its antlers dragging along the dirt. “And you have chosen most dangerous prey.”

Dangerous not because of herself, for all her tricks. Dangerous as the mate of a greater monster, a jealous king with dominion over every night terror and the things night terrors feared.

Eyes darker than any shadow, hard and unforgiving as obsidian, the king stalked nearer. The Not Deer didn’t move. It had witnessed the Endless’s wrath, had seen others of its kind unmade, and knew it was too late to flee.

A low grown and the chime of shifting glass disturbed the dead quiet of the forest, and the Not Deer wondered if the king’s mate would wake. It hoped. She cared for the weaker ones, the creatures of the Dreaming that did not bite into the waking world as the Not Deer had. Even though it hunted her, hurt her, she may show mercy, may ask for it.

But she slept on, disturbed by other nightmares in the Dreaming, and the king’s frown grew deeper. His attention splintered between worlds, and just as her dreaming had led him to the threat in one world, her distress in the other called him home.

Perhaps he would forget. Perhaps the Not Deer may escape to find more dreamers and keep itself as itself.

Even as it began to imagine what it could chase, kill, taste with more days of freedom, the Nightmare King’s eye turned back to it, and he lifted one long arm to spin the Not Deer back to sand.

“I am needed elsewhere. I have not the time to return the tortures you are owed.”

It bucked while it still had legs, roaring and clicking as body, senses, and mind fell grain by grain. If it thought its master would return, it would never have dared. It did not want to disappear. It wanted, it wanted…

“And yet.” The king stooped to take a handful of the witch’s salt from the circle she’d made around her vehicle, and he sifted it between his fingers, thoughtful as the ash stained his fingertips. “Since it was her pain and fear you stole –” he lifted his hand above the half-formed Not Deer and let it rain down “– let her repay it.”

The black salt caught inside the nightmare and burned like it never had before. It wasn’t discomfort. It wasn’t an unpleasant, stinging shock. It was agony without end, and the Not Deer abandoned any idea of survival or escape in an instant.

It needed to be unmade. To stop. To forget.

Its lord did not lift his hand, and the legless, heaving beast of horror whined in desperation.

“Perhaps this taste of her power will satisfy you.”

If it had words, it would beg.

The Nightmare King’s attention had already shifted back to the Dreaming, however, and he paused only long enough for his shadow to swallow the wailing thing before moving on to where his mate’s dreaming mind called for help.

Then all the Not Deer knew was the darkness and its pain within it. Her scent twisted through the sand, and soon it summoned no hunger, no greed, only unbridled terror it could not escape. Not even when it tore itself apart.

----------------------------------------------

In the Dreaming, the Nightmare King pulled her from the nightmares and held her in his hands for the first time, negotiating an opportunity to soothe her, to feel the places in their souls where they met, so she might understand…

----------------------------------------------

She woke with something damp between her legs and glass studding her palm.

Spears of light poked through the forest canopy, glinting sharp through her eyes, into the sensitive spaces behind them, burning her retinas from the inside out. Rainbows danced in the broken window, reflecting in the shattered diamonds over the floor. The driver’s seat. Her clothes. She decided to wait before trying to move, get her senses together, give her head time to steady before she did anything stupid. Like grating herself like Parmesan cheese on the remains of her window.

She closed her eyes for a minute. Breathed.

Something was off.

Her mouth was dry as cotton, and her tongue did nothing to help her equally dry lips as she pulled it over the broken, peeling skin.

Damn.

She felt…

Confused.

Hurt from her encounter with the Not Deer, but also well rested. Lighter almost. Like she suddenly had more attention, more energy, even though she had glass in her hair and a situation she strongly suspected may lead to a UTI if not immediately addressed. Which of course led to the question of what the hell she and the monster had really done in her sleep, if it was just the wettest dream of her life or if she ought to be running for Plan B. She didn’t think he’d go that far without asking, not after he so carefully sought permission. And wasn’t that a hell of a thing?

Sought permission. Honored it. Soothed her and held in a way her waking mind struggled to grasp. The concepts melted in her thoughts like ice as she woke, dripping away in cool streams of sensation and memory.

He’d been grand, and big, and frightening, but he didn’t use his power to crush her, as she’d expected.

After so many years anticipating the worst, she wasn’t sure what to do with this reality. Where things hadn’t gone tits up. With a creature beyond a god who assumed he had boundaries before she even drew them. Where the worst hadn’t happened.

Her monster had made a riddle of himself for her to solve. She’d need time to come to terms with that. With him. After a lifetime of the darkest expectations… well.

Getting up, though. That came first.

She shifted, wary of the bad, bad glitter threatening an unplanned trip to an urgent care as she picked the best spots to plant her elbows.

Rolling onto her knees, she tried to crawl forward, but something snagged her foot, and she finally noticed the pull of a grip around her ankle. Her heart didn’t skip a beat. Her breathing didn’t stutter. None of the normal, horrified reactions burst from trembling lips and teary eyes.

She knew that hand.

Looking towards the passenger seat, she saw the desiccated arm vanishing into the shadows under the pilot chair. Dead skin flaked away from crusty patches of old blood, and misty black shadows curled within, ready to turn into nightmare claws to terrorize small children.

The fingers squeezed, questioning.

“I’m alright, Jeff.” She reached down to pat him, glad to find something as expected and faithful as the needy nightmare worrying after her wellbeing. “It’s okay. Not Deer still lurking outside?”

Two quick squeezes – No.

“Good.”

The bastard must’ve given up when Jeff arrived. Never did like an audience, and Jeff could be a real pain in the ass if he wanted to be. Pretty literally.

As far as she knew, Jeff was only the arm. Maybe he had a few more inky swaths of darkness he kept tucked under low furniture, but he never manifested anything past a bicep. He didn’t speak with words, only by touch, and they’d learned to communicate by squeeze ages ago.

Once upon a time, he’d been the first nightmare to find her, and on the last night she had a family, he’d clung to her leg like a shackle – warning her, begging her not to follow her curious ears to the raised voices outside her door. Ever since, even though he had terrible timing, she never doubted his intentions.

The touches in her dream with Morpheus told her a lot of other things she wasn’t fully prepared to analyze.

She hadn’t had a fucking cup of coffee yet. She couldn’t be expected to contemplate the single greatest threat to her continued freedom before caffeination. Simply unreasonable. Inhumane.

So, she shoved it out of her mind – again – and climbed out of the mess. Her first aid kit was in the back, under the narrow bunk where she usually slept. She popped the plastic case open with her back to the sliding door, the Not Deer’s dent poking into her peripheral vision as a grim reminder of the previous night.

Another nearly.

She had a strange relationship with death. Dozens of near misses over the years made the sickening adrenaline rush and following crash routine. Some people could schedule their periods in their planners. Some days it felt like mortal peril penciled itself into hers. She was afraid, but too often, and she’d lost the technique of it.

As she plucked a few stubborn bits of glass from her hands, cleaned the tiny holes they left behind, and bandaged everything up, Jeff made himself useful. He swept up the fragments he could reach in long sweeps, pulling it all into the fathomless darkness of his home under the pilot seat. When he’d cleared that side of the van, he withdrew and manifested on the driver’s side. He reached up to pluck shards from the cushions, and his fingers spidered along the carpet, seeking little dangers he could remove from her world. In the time she took cleaning herself up and shaking the glass out of her hair outside, the nightmare cleared the interior of debris.

“Thank you, Jeff,” she said as she hauled herself into the driver’s seat.

She caught her own eye in the rearview mirror. She caught her first look at the bloody goose egg over her left brow, too. Could be worse, though the swelling might get some attention she didn’t want. Rusty red flakes peeled away from the trails leading into her hair, and she tentatively poked the edge of the swelling. Like running her tongue over a canker sore – she just couldn’t help herself, even though she knew how it would end.

Yup.

It hurt.

She groaned, dropping back against the headrest. Fan-fucking-tastic. The scratch needed cleaning and antiseptic, which meant a stop at the nearest convenience store with a bathroom. Nothing like scaring some gas station clerks first thing in the morning.

At least gas stations had coffee.

Fresh air breathed through the broken window, washing the smell of fear and blood out of the van. She took in as much as she could.

She needed to go, but she wasn’t sure where, and going never got her very far without a destination. Her pockets had bottoms, and she’d hit the seams fast if she didn’t budget gas money.

Where should she head? What did she need?

Out of sight, Jeff softly grasped her left ankle. He hadn’t been so clingy in ages, and she wondered what the little nightmare knew that she didn’t. It wasn’t like he was a great conversationalist. Their talks took creative shortcuts – yes/no taps, Morse code, even a Ouija board once or twice – but they still chewed up time she wasn’t sure she had, and even when well-equipped, Jeff wasn’t chatty. He couldn’t help her work through this chaos.

Oh.

And there was her answer.

Help.

People.

She needed people. Folks to talk with, to lend her an ear and a shoulder to cry on. Someone to distract her, friends who knew her and would keep her safe from rogue nightmares like the Not Deer – maybe even help her pick apart her feelings over the star-eyed Endless and his… attention.

People. Friends. Plural.

Checking the date on her phone, she did some quick math and determined where her favorite group of miscreants might be found. Hadn’t they sent her a text? A few weeks ago? She’d been so consumed with the pull across the ocean to the Burgess estate she barely read it. No time or attraction. Now, though – different story.

Destination in mind, she put on her sunglasses to protect her eyes from the inevitable wind through the open window and turned the key. The van grumbled to life. Bouncing over the rough little road she’d called home for a few nights, she smiled to herself. Happy in the moment, alive with a little purpose and a goal to chase, on her way to friendly faces.

Only after speeding an hour down the highway did she realize what felt so off – the pain in her chest had eased.

Next chapter: Link