#but she still mourns you or just likes to remember you when she hangs around your grave in ng+ bc she misses the hunters who pass through | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

animeyanderelover · 6 months ago

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Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional thoughts, clinginess, stalking, manipulation, male reader

Tags: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @cynniical @shenryu-sama

Zoldyck family with Gojo-like older twin of Illumi

Zeno Zoldyck

🐲You'd think that as one of the oldest members of the Zoldyck family, Zeno would act his role as the strict grandfather and drill into you every lesson you need to know as the future head of the family. Instead he has taken the complete opposite role and has settled into being the chill granddad for it is his son's role to lecture you in everything you need to know, not his. Most of the time he spends with you is more comparable to him just hanging out with you, unless he notices that you are slacking off in which case he will show you why despite his age he is still a feared assassin in the world. There are constant jokes thrown back and forth between you two as both of you try to see who can deliver verbally the bigger blow whilst both of you take it without a single grain of salt. Even during missions both of you have together, you tend to see who has the better one-liners all whilst being completely indifferent to the screaming and terrified targets. Silva has voiced his disdain as he thinks that Zeno is being too soft yet Zeno has always stood up. He's a proud grandfather so just let him do what he wants to do with his favorite grandchild. After all your very first word ever was "grandpa", how could he not love you?

Silva Zoldyck

🐺For all the respect he holds for his own father, the old man is giving him a headache with the way he treats you, his heir. Silva claims most of your time, either training you or teaching you everything you need to know as the next head of the clan. You are his entire pride and he has high expectations for you which he is confident you will live up to. There is especially much time poured into helping you honing your special Nen-abilities of the Infinity and your Six Eyes, skills which he is proud that you have gotten as it only further solidifies you as one of the strongest members of the family. He's aware of the fact that you favor your grandfather though and he knows that Zeno often sneaks away with you because he wants to spend time with you and the GIF I've used is probably the exact same expression he gives the two of you when he catches you. Is he perhaps a tad bit jealous that you favor your grandfather over your own dad? Perhaps, he is rather possessive after all but he would never admit that though his suffocating aura is already indicator enough of his feelings. He's most likely never gotten fully over it that your first word wasn't "dada" and Zeno has never let him forget it either.

Kikyo Zoldyck

🔺Kikyo has a terrible streak of jealousy and that isn't made better by the fact that Silva and Zeno steal so much of your time for themselves. As a result she is all the more smothering and clingy the moment you are by yourself as she seems to wait for you to be alone like a starved predator and pounces on you the moment neither of the two men are around. This woman is always complimenting you for everything. For your talents, your strength, your caring personality, your looks and whatever else you can think of. There is a tinge of bittersweet melancholy though as she sometimes mourns the time where you were chubby and small and came always stumbling towards her with a happy look on your face. Her little bird has left the nest far too quickly and has grown so independent.... Your kind and caring personality can be easily a trigger of her jealousy though whenever you pay attention to one of your siblings or can't spend time with her since you have promised someone else already that you'd be with them. She always makes a huge clamour whenever the topic of potential partners is involved as no one in her eyes could be worthy of her beautiful baby boy.

Illumi Zoldyck

🤎For as long as Illumi can remember, you two have always been together. You complete him, he completes you. After all both of you have been sharing the same womb, have shared everything since the very moment the two of you were conceived. It is this mindset that has always pushed Illumi to be surprisingly clingy, your silent shadow that has been trailing behind you ever since the two of you could crawl. From all of his siblings he has always thought that he deserves you the most, perhaps even more than the entirety of the Zoldyck family as the both of you share a special connection as twins. He's casually thrown needles into people's heads when they so much as dared to question whether the two of you are really twins as your appearances are like night and day, silently enraged whenever someone would do as much as doubt just how close the two of you are. He's the one seeking you out even quicker than Kikyo when neither Silva nor Zeno are in sight and likes to whisk you somewhere where he can have the time with you he thinks he deserves more than anyone else. He's tried to scare some of his other siblings away whenever he thought that they were stealing you away from him.

Milluki Zoldyck

💻Going back to Illumi bullying his siblings whenever they also try to get your time, poor Milluki is the one who gets the most of it, though Milluki has used this fact often to play the victim card to try to coax you into spending more time with him. Activities with Milluki contain munching on snacks whilst playing some video games or watching some Anime and with passing years this guy has installed an entire security system to make sure that no one disturbs him when he has you, his older brother with him in the room. The ony time where he has gotten too scared and let someone in his room is when either Zeno or Silva knock on his door as he knows fully well that they'll break it if he doesn't open it within 3 seconds. Whenever he has managed to make you promise to spend an evening with you, he buys tons of your favorite snacks and prepares your favorite movies, games and series so that everything is to your liking and so that he can hopefully become your favorite sibling. He's even made a phone specifically for you and gifted it to you on your birthday. There are a lot of special apps and features included on the phone, one of them being a very secretive tracker which allows him to always know your location.

Killua Zoldyck

🪀Killua has been clinging to you since he was a toddler and that hasn't changed much over the years. Seemingly adapting to the strategies of Zeno, Killua is always sneaky when he seeks you out and beckons you to follow him and spend time with him. He's probably one of the few who is willing to share his time with you together with some of his other siblings which is pretty much only Alluka. You've always indulged him though, knowing that there was a certain pressure on him due to his white hair and blue eyes as well. Killua has taken some pride in his appearance though, mainly because people not associated with his family always instantly acknowledged him as your younger brother whilst such recognition wasn't as granted with people like Illumi or Milluki which causes him to act somewhat smug in such given situations. Both of you have a sweet tooth and whenever one of you is on a mission, it has become a sacred ritual that the person buys something sweet before heading home again to share it with the other. The poor boy was heartbroken when you couldn't come with him when he took his Hunter Exam, though you strongly spoke up for him when people like Kikyo were hesitant to let him go.

Alluka Zoldyck

💝Whereas almost the entire rest of the family has always shunned Alluka, Killua and you were the only ones willingly spending time with her and playing with her. As a result Alluka as well as Nanika genuinely view the two of you as the only people both of them need and really love and Nanika especially grants the both of you free wishes. Okay, maybe not always free. At times there are demands for you such as wanting a piggyback from you, wanting a kiss on the cheek or wanting to be lifted up and spun around by you. Whenever you hear such words coming out of Alluka's mouth you instantly know that both of them want your affection and attention in that moment and you have never been able to deny them their requests, even if you have never used the wishes you were granted in return for something sinister. The room Alluka is kept in is filled with plushies and prettily designed because you demanded it to be that way and whenever Alluka or Nanika want the walls to be painted a different colour or desire a new plushie, you always take it upon yourself to fulfill them their wish and Killua gives you a helping hand for the majority of the time.

Kalluto Zoldyck

🏮Kallluto has arguably got the worst luck as he is the youngest member of the family and often is brushed over by all of his other siblings who deem that he should wait for his turn. The poor boy is a professional stalker even from a young age as he has spend countless hours watching other members of the family having fun with you all whilst he is deprived of it. He plays the even bigger victim card than Milluki for such reasons in the very moment you call out to him and spend time with him. Whenever you two walk around, he either clings to the sleeves of your clothes or even manages to hold your hand, his head constantly tilted so that he can look at you with sparkling eyes. The insecurities he sometimes feels as a result of being somewhat overlooked as the entire household revolves around you is something he learns to use effectively as an advantage when he wants to steal your attention away from someone else because he knows you'll crouch down and ask him if everything is alright the moment he starts fidgeting around with his fingers and makes himself small. As you are the person he idolises and looks up to, he ends up adapting your likes and dislikes all to feel closer to you.

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libraford · 1 year ago

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Okay so here's what's going on with the bird crimes.

On thursday I was going to Powers Park when I saw what I thought were 2 chickens hanging out in the parking lot, and a lady watching them from the fence. I thought... they could belong to the lady, but chickens aren't the kind of pet that you just let hang out loose.

I approach.

Lady: "These aren't mine."

I look closer. Its actually 2 roosters, one of which is a very small breed and is missing his tail feathers. Both of them have an injury to their backside- like its been plucked.

So we talk about what to do, I end up calling Animal Control. The actual Animal Control officer doesn't get there until noon, I get a police dispatcher. She says she can send one of the cops to grab them until the actual professional gets there.

I tell her that the roosters are being kept by the woman I met, she's coaxing them into her house.

I post about it on the facebook group in case someone knows who they belong to. The comments are full of jokes, obviously. But no leads. Eventually the big rooster gets caught by someone running a sanctuary for abandoned and abused livestock, but they're still looking for the little black one. Evidently they got out of the lady's backyard and were loose again.

I figure he's going to be a coyote snack and don't think about it for the rest of the week.

So now it is Sunday and I'm opening up the bathrooms. I'm at Summit Grove park and as I'm about to reserve the shelter for a birthday party I see...

A black pigeon.

Pigeons are not a common animal in this area- you're more likely to see house sparrows, crows, and mourning doves. So that's odd. What's more, she doesn't seem to be skittish and is definitely accustomed to humans. And she keeps trying to bite my fingers, so she associates hands with food and she's skinny as a rail so she's been abandoned for a minute.

Why does this keep happening to me? Is this the Morrigan come to teach me a lesson in pigeon form?

So I remember the number of the woman running the sanctuary and I give her a call. I tell her I've got a pigeon here that can't fly, is super hungry, and doesn't seem to have any issues biting fingers. She says she can't take her, but she can find a home for her because pigeons have specific needs. But she won't be able to get there until 12:30. We (my work partner and I) have to deal with the bird in the meantime.

We absolutely cannot take this bird with us on our route because we are in a tiny truck cab and don't have a cat carrier to put her in. So our solution is to lock her in the janitor's closet until the rep can get here.

Around 12:15, we head back to the shelter to make sure she's still there and hasn't been disturbed... and I realize that the reason I even saw her in the first place...

...was because there was supposed to be a birthday party at the shelter at noon.

The party is strongly underway and they have shoved a table against the door of the closet.

The sanctuary lady comes by and waves, we ask the party people politely to move the table slightly because we're trying to rehome a pigeon that's inside that closet.

They move the table, but not all guests see this interaction- because it looks like a bunch of maintenance people are just here to boss folks around during a little girl's birthday party and this draws a crowd.

The sanctuary rep arrives and we open the door just a little bit to let the bird out. She bobbles towards us, hoping for food, when one of the older ladies at the party exclaims:

"Does that ANIMAL just LIVE in there?!"

I mean... sure. For the past few hours, she did live in there.

"Do you have any IDEA how many DISEASES pigeons carry?"

The rep scoops the pigeon into her arms and takes her out of the shelter area to inspect her wings, feet, and back. She shows us her breastbone and explains that its been several days since the bird ate anything, which was why it was going for fingers.

Meanwhile, Aunt Ornithophobia over here: "I can't BELIEVE you would just TOUCH a BIRD like that in front of CHILDREN!"

We take the bird away to the van so the rep can thank us and explain what likely happened- which is that someone abandoned the bird when they couldn't take care of her anymore they just let her loose.

"I understand you got one of the roosters," I said.

"Yes, the big one. But the little bantam rooster is very fast- he darted into someone's backyard and I never found him again. If you see him, give me a call."

"I've been told that chickens are legal to own here, but roosters are not."

She gets an exasperated look on her face. "If you're going to allow backyard chickens, you're going to have to allow roosters. It's impossible to sex an avian chick and they don't get their dimorphic traits until they've reached the young adult stage and chick sellers don't care about whether they're a hen or a rooster. They care about the sale. We get roosters more often than egg-layers because someone sold them a male as a female and they don't want to pay the fine. I'd rather have the laws allow both, or neither. But disallowing roosters is patently stupid."

"Hm. Well. Note to self."

"Anyways, you're heroes to this little rock dove and I want you two to know that. She's going on a trip to a bird sanctuary in Toledo where she'll have lots and lots of snacks to eat that aren't fingers."

#parks and wrecks #life as a temporary twig pig

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soo0hee · 18 days ago

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In the Middle of the Night...

Pairing — Yoon Jeonghan x afab!Reader

Summary — One year after the snap your life finally is going back to normal again and with insomnia and nightmares plagueing your sleep, you do things you usually wouldn't. Thankfully a little spider is ready to swoop in...

Genre — angst, a hint of fluff, SpidermanAu

Warnings — Depression, mentions of ED, mentions of suicide, alcoholism, guns, mentions of kidnapping, sexuall assault, panic attacks, tell me if i missed sumn

Word Count — 2.8k

Rating — NSFW

A/N — Spidey!Hannie is here my babes, wifes and loves! @tusswrites @tomodachiii @svtiddiess @welcometomyoasis @diamonddaze01

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©soo0hee on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

You knew that it wasn't a good idea to leave your apartment at ass o'clock in the morning, if it could even be called that already. Most citizens of Seoul were dead asleep at this hour.

Most, but not you. Not when the nightmares of losing your loved ones were still plaguing you to this day. Making it impossible to sleep even now, 5 years later and with everyone who had vanished with the snap coming back again.

5 years of surviving as what you had done could not be called living.

You remembered the screams on the street of people vanishing into dust or of those who had to watch those they loved disappear. You could still feel how the hand you were holding was suddenly gone and you turned around just to witness the horrified look of your baby sister as she to turned to dust.

You felt your throat hurting as you screamed terrified just like half of the earths population and only when things had settled a bit where you able to drag yourself home feeling numb and like you had no joy left in your body just to find everyone gone.

Only your mother was left behind, sobbing in the ruins that had once been the living room of your familys home. They were all gone. Your father, brother, sister and even your beloved cat. It was only you and your mother left. Until the day you came home from your job only weeks later to find that she had left you too.

The blood on the kitchen floor had already started do dry as it seemed to cover every single tile it could reach. The missing knife on the counters cooking block and the metallic smell hanging in the air had burned itself into your memory.

Alone, mourning the disappearance of your family and your missing best friend Jeonghan you fell into a hole that swallowed you and held onto your being with sharp claws.

5 years of missing different puzzle pieces of yourself that left you wondering if you would ever be okay again.

Inclined to ignore the knock on your new apartments door you stayed on the couch with your cloths looking like they had been worn for weeks, which at that point was probably true and you desperately needing a shower and proper meal. But the knocking had been insistent and annoyed you threw your blanket to the floor, almost tripping over multiple take out boxes as you marched over to the door. The peephole was covered from the outside so you were unable to see who it was.

Growling out a curse that got stuck in your throat as soon as you saw who had been covering the peephole with his finger.

Jeonghan, still slightly out of it after having been brought back and having been explained what had happened had immediately went to your old home just to find a creepy stranger who looked like he had been nursing on one whiskey bottle after the other. Determined to find you again to see if you were okay, it had taken him a few days do find you and when he finally did, all he could think about was you. From his friends he already knew that you hadn't vanished after the snap just like they had warned him about the state he might find you in, yet when the door opened Jeonghan felt like he had been punched in the guts.

His best friend, the person he'd do anything for, looked like an empty shell of e person she used to be. It was obvious that the last years have not been kind to you and it took everything in him not do cry for the happy girl you used to be. The light in your eyes was gone, your hair a giant mess and even underneath the hoodie you were wearing, a hoodie he was 100% sure had once been his, he could see that you had drastically lost weight.

Jeonghan had barely caught the door as you slammed it shut or at least tried to before running to hide in the bathroom. He listened to the hysteric crying for maximum 2 seconds before breaking down the door after having heard the shattering of a mirror, scooping you into his arms as you begged for the hallucinations to finally stop torturing your mind.

He didn't mind the blood spilling from your bare knees as you sat in between the mirror shards littering the ground as he fought against you while you fought against him and the demons you were seeing in your terror and only when he forced your face to look at him did you finally give in, finally believing him when he promised that it really was him and not your mind playing tricks on you.

God, just how many times had you seen him when in reality he had still been gone?

Until you had calmed down, hours had gone by when you had passed out from exhaustion right into his arms and for you to get better it had taken much longer.

That was 1 year ago and so far, things were going ok. Telling your family about the tragedy that happened while they were gone had put a strain on all of them and while everyone was trying to live with this new reality, distance had grown larger then you thought possible. But they were back, and that was enough for you.

Now though, you were suffering another night of insomnia so you had grabbed your phone and started your journey to Jeonghans place.

Seoul at 3 am was not your favorite place and walking past dark alleyways gave you slight serial killer movie vibes. Tightening your hold on your phone you dialed Jeonghans number, hoping you wouldn't wake him up.

"Hello there, sunshine! Why are you awake?" your friends far to awake voice rang through the speaker.

"You know, I could ask you the same thing." You countered and earned a huff from the other.

"Yahh, at least I'm in bed unlike a certain someone, right?" he answered just as the honking of a car was much closer on his side of the line then it could be if he was in bed.

"Didn't know that your bed is out on the streets now..." you called him bluff. "I'll be at your place in 15, you know."

There was a moment of silence on his side.

"Wait, you're outside? y/n! It's 3 am! That's so dangerous!" Jeonghan whisper yelled and you faltered a little in your steps, unsure if you should continue your way.

“Sorry... I just couldn't sleep again and-"

You looked around yourself, suddenly feeling like you were being watched.

"Please, go home. Try for me! I'll be over in a bit but please go home!" His voice was urgent in a way you had never heard before. It made you nervous.

"I'm already at the sandwich place not that far and-" You were silenced when you rounded the corner, starring right into the barrel of a gun. The men in front of you, 3 in total were covered in black, guns ready to be used in their hands.

"Gimme the phone darling!" the one pointing his weapon at your face snapped. Fear took a hold of you and with shaking hands you did as told. Jeonghans paniked voice rang through the speaker, having heard what has been said on the other side.

"Not your night it seems like." One of the others cackled at your misery.

The third one grabbed your arm roughly, pulling you along into one of the alleyways while completely ignoring your struggles against his hold.

"No, please let me go! I didn't see anything and I-" you begged, voice wavering as you were pushed against a wall.

"Pull of your shirt."

No. No, this wasn't happening. Or was it?

Apparently you were taking to long.

"I said, take. It. Off!"

You whimpered and reached for the zipper of your jacket. The cold air making you shiver when you exposed yourself to the night and reached for the hem of your shirt. "Please don't do this. Let me go home and you can leave too and-" Pain shot through you as you got struck across the face by the gun.

"Shut up and lose the shirt, bitch."

“Now I do have to ask, is that a way to talk to a lady? Did your mother not teach you any respect!”

3 heads + yours flew around only to find…

Nothing.

“Up here, pabo-ya.”

The heads flew up and came face to face with Seouls very own friendly neighbor hood spider.

He was hanging of the side of the building, head tilted to the side and web attached to the building.

“Fuck off Spiderboy. This is our business and not your’s.” the one with the gun growled annoyed and you could hear the sound of dissatisfaction when the hero jumped down to land on the ground.

“We agree to disagree; is that the way to talk to a lady? Seriously guys, you are not exactly being gentlemen here.” The red masked guy taunted happily as he took two steps closer, causing the other 3 to build a barrier between you and him.

You frantically looked to the side, hoping to find something you could use to defend yourself while Spiderman distracted them enough for you to reach for the pipe laying not to far away. You probably would even have noticed if they weren’t busy trying to scare the uninvited guest off.

The 3 gangsters were pissed, you could hear that even with having heard only half of what was being said and just when the first gun shot rang through the alley, you reached for the pipe you had eyed before.

The sound the metal made when it collided with the mans head that was closest to you would have on a normal day made you sick, but not now you only heaved as you watched him sink to the ground.

Spiderman, having taken down the gunner and now busy fending of the last one webbed his hands together, earning him a loud roar of anger which you silenced with another swing of your own weapon of choice.

You came face to face with the friendly neighborhood spider and for a moment you just stood there in silence until you could hear the sound of sirens in the distance.

The groans of the 3 taken down idiots filled the night and spiderman made quick business webbing everyone to the ground before shooting one up in the air to get ready to swing off; the other holding out to you for you to take.

“Unless you want to stay here to make a police report that the police of Seoul is to stupid to follow through with anyway, I can swing us out of here?”

Hesitant but cold you took it and suddenly he had is arm wrapped around your waist and held onto him for dear life while swinging through the night.

The wind tugged at your hair and clothes and you prayed to everyone who would listen that Spiderman wouldn’t drop you. You weren’t particularly keen on ending as human pancake on the asphalt.

Your feet hit the ground or more like a roof top. The rooftop of your best friends apartment building to be exact. Having spend countless of nights up here with him to chase the nightmares away just trying to feel his presence in the last 5 years right on this roof, you knew exactly where you were.

The question was just- no… this had to be a coincidence, for sure…

“You really shouldn’t be out this late, it’s not safe for a lady like you.” Spiderman said and now that you had calmed a little after your adrenalin rush, something about the chiding tilt of his voice rang a bell in the back of your head.

“Yeah, my friend told me as much… I was on my way to his place when i– you know.”

The hero nodded knowingly. “Yeah about that…” he stated calmly before suddenly ripping the mask of his head and your best friend long black hair fall in front of his face. “What the hell, sunshine?!”

What. The. Fuck????

Mouth basically on the floor you stared in Jeonghans horrified face. It was funny. Shouldn’t you be the one to feel like that upon finding out that your best friend was fucking Spiderman???

“What are you doing outside this late? Were you trying to get yourself killed? Do you know how scared I was when you called?”

But it made sense. His late nights. The fact that he brought you here. His voice.

“You belong in bed! Not out on the streets at 3 fucking am!”

Jeonghan paced in front of you, hand furiously buried in his hair and tugging on it while you still stood frozen on the roof.

“God I think my heart stopped for a moment because of it! You’re going to be the reason I go bald early and I hope you know that I will make you pay for every single hair dye job I get because of it!”

Your mind slowly caught up with the situation even if it gave you a headache. You rubbed your temple with the tips of your fingers hoping to make the incoming pain go away before it really started while Jeonghan kept ranting to himself without looking at you.

“Jeonghan.”

“And not even that but what if I hadn’t come in time? Huh, what then?”

You tried again.

“Jeonghan!”

Failing.

“You could have been kidnapped, thrown in a ditch or what not!”

You inhaled deeply.

“Or, or you could–“

“JEONGHAN!”

“WHAT?”

He whirled around to finally face you. Realizing the situation you were in his stressed look changed into something akin to surprise.

“You–“ you stopped talking to gather your thoughts. “Are so lucky I love you or I might have killed you for keeping this from me!” you spit out, livid about the entire situation. You felt betrayed.

Spider man had been around for years, save for the years after the snap. Did that mean that Jeonghan had lied to you about this since the beginning? I had to be, there was no other explanation other then-

FUCK!

The words that had left your mouth came back to you.

You’re lucky I love you… You’re lucky I love you…

The words echoed back, taunting you like the kids on the playground.

“You-“

“NOT THE POINT, YOON JEONGHAN!” You yelled out in panic.

“We are talking about this!”

“Right after you tell me what all this is about?” You gestured wildly to his mask and suit.

The black webs on red of his spandex contrasted starkly even in the dark of the night and Jeonghan had the guts to look sheepish.

“y/n, I- it’s complicated okay. There was this incident a few years with a radioactive spider and now I’m your friendly neighborhood spider. Please don’t hit me?”

His words came out so fast that you had trouble following.

“Still considering on that.” You shrugged, hands crossed over your chest.

You always had a weakness for Jeonghans puppy eyes and this time, just like the countless times before, they made you melt like butter in the sun.

“I hate you so much right now.” You sighed and Jeonghan cracked a smile.

“No, you don’t. You looove-“

Glaring hard at his smug grin you stared at the ground when Jeonghan stepped closer. You shivered in the cold of the night and your best friend gently loosened the grip you had on upper arms, taking your hand into his.

“I’m sorry, sunshine. I should have told you. Maybe then things like tonight wouldn’t have happened” He raised his free hand to your face, fingers trailing down the side of it and sending shivers down your spine. This time not because of the cold.

“You were there, weren’t you? Just like always.” You swallowed with a lump forming in your throat.

“But I almost wasn’t.”

Whispering into the night quiet enough so a normal person wouldn’t have heard it. “Yet you were, and now get me inside. I’m still freezing and I’m tired.”

Jeonghan laughed loudly, hurrying to pull you towards the door to get inside you followed willingly. You would definitely make him tell you about everything in the morning and god better be with him when you do cause it will be the day Yoon Jeonghan will regret not doing so in the beginning.

But for now, all you wanted was get some much needed sleep.

“So you lo-“

“I will hit you!”

#the diamond life network #k-library #k-labels #k-vanity #seventeen #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x you #yoon jeonghan x y/n #yoon jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #divider by cafekitsune

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elysianightsss · 9 months ago

Note

I have a request: how would the Techno react if Reader dies but appears a few months later alive but very injured?

Now this inspired me.

Warnings: 18+, angst, suicide mentioned, hints at nsfw, blood, alternate timeline where she was never pregnant; adding Athena and Apollo into this would have made me cry so no.

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Techno was distraught, it was against his nature to love and be loved and yet you taught him how. You were his everything and more. From the moment you shot him in those woods all that time ago, when the voices went quiet when your face came into his eyesight, everything changed for him.

He loved you more than life itself, so when Phil broke the news to him that you were dead, he lost it. Standing in the living room of the home you had shared together, rage burned through him, his shaking hands ripping, shoving, destroying. By the time he was done, Phil had witnessed something he thought he’d never see.

Techno was weeping, sobbing, screaming for you. A broken man wanting the only thing he couldn’t have. For months Techno barely ate, barely slept, contemplated suicide daily. How could he live without you? Why would he even want to? Without you there was no meaning to his life. It was like a huge hole had been punched through his chest.

The absence of you was everywhere he looked, the little touches you had slowly added to the house over the years. Your perfume, oils and lotions on the white vanity in the corner of the room. Techno remembers vividly, when you had talked about wanting one and he worked for weeks to build and paint one you’d love. He sat for hours carving intricate designs onto the legs and around the mirror just for you.

The wardrobe filled with your clothes, the beautiful materials you covered your body with, he was always envious of them, they got to touch you all the time. Dresses hanging there that hugged your figure perfectly, that made his heart beat faster.

The bathroom filled with your sweet bath oils and bath salts, countless times he had come home from fighting and you drawn him a bath and washed him clean. Countless times had he taken you apart in the sweet smelling waters and steamy room.

The bed was the hardest to deal with, it reeked of you. The mouthwatering smell he wanted nothing more than to roll around in, it was always present when he slept. It was a slight comfort to him, but always left him distraught. He thought about sleeping downstairs but had to remind himself that he had destroyed the couch.

More time passed, around six months now since Phil had told him about your death. He was a hollow shell of himself, he had lost a lot of weight and always had dark bags under his eyes. He was surprised he was still breathing.

“Techno!” Phil had screamed, a dreaded, fear filled, confusion dripping scream. Techno sighed, it took so much energy out of him to simply stand. Feet practically dragging along the floor, he shuffled to the front door sparing a longing look to his axe of peace. Whatever was on the other side of his door was dangerous if Phil’s scream was anything to go by, and he was happy to let whatever it was kill him.

Opening the door and stepping out onto the wood panels just before the stairs that led down to the snow, red cloak and gold crown nowhere in sight, The Blood God isn’t who stepped out to fight, but a broken man ready to die.

That all changed the second he saw you. You who had been dead for six months, you who he had mourned for six months, you who was bruised and covered in cuts with blood dripping from them. You who looked just as starved and exhausted as Techno did, in fact you looked worse.

“Sweetheart?” Techno’s voice cracked as he uttered the term of endearment he hadn’t spoken in so long.

“Tec.” Your voice was small and fragile, your hand reaching for him. The clothes you wore were torn and certainly not enough to keep you warm in the freezing cold snow you had trekked in to get home.

He ran to you, feet moving quicker than they ever had before all so he could take you in his arms and hold you close. “I’ve got you darlin’, I’ve got you, hold on to me.” He used all his strength to help you into the house, Phil running to your aid too.

You took in the state of your home and honestly it was alot better than what you had expected. Glancing at your husband, he avoided eye contact sheepishly, normally it would have made you smile. You don’t even think you know how to do that anymore.

“Let’s uh, get you upstairs.” Phil said awkwardly, helping Techno carry you up into your bedroom, and onto the bed. You sighed in pure relief that you body didn’t have to hold itself up anymore, that you weren’t on a nasty cold stone floor too but the soft, Techno smelling, mattress you had been dreaming of for six months.

You were so happy you cried. You cried ugly, hard, loud. Letting all your emotions out. Techno was there stroking your filthy, greasy hair and holding your dirty, sore hand. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m just so happy, I thought this day would never come. I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t. And yet here I am. Home.” You sobbed out the words, looking at your husband through your tears blurred eyes, just about making out the crooked smile on his gorgeous face.

He wanted to ask what had happened, wanted to know who had done this to you. But just seeing your relief to being in a bed, to being home, he knew you’d need time.

Phil went home after Techno had asked him to, they agreed not to tell anyone you were back until they figured out what had happened to you and by who.

Techno ran you a bath and took extra time and care into washing you off, he had to pull you out of the disgustingly mucky water and run you a new bath. This one you could soak in, allow yourself to relax, even when the clear water did dirty again, only a little this time though.

You saw the look in Techno’s eyes as he washed you and you knew, remembering the vow he made to you all those years ago; “I love you, it took me a while to say it I know. But I need to know you understand—“

“Understand?” You asked.

“How much I love you. I’d destroy empires for you. Pillage country’s for you. Kill for you.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “If anyone ever even thought about hurting you, they’d be dead before they could finish that thought.” He growled, deep from within his chest. The ruby of his eyes shining brighter the more he talked about it.

“I understand.” Of course you did. You knew from the moment you said ‘I do’ exactly what that meant.

“You’re going to kill him aren’t you?” It was a question you knew the answer to but you still felt compelled to ask nonetheless.

“Yes.”

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sleepyparalysisdmon · 22 days ago

Text

I saw this and thought of you

An Ah! Love one shot in which Jeonghan gets a little gift for Y/N.

Requested? Yes!

Genre: just a massive amount of fluff. I am so soft for this couple.

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: You definitely don’t have to read Ah! Love to enjoy this, but if you would like the full context, you can find it here. Fair warning, the word count got away from me a bit...

Jeonghan is in the bathroom brushing his teeth when he hears Y/N huff. It’s loud enough to be heard over the scrubbing of the tooth brush in his mouth and he peeks his head out. He hasn’t live with Y/N officially for very long, but it also didn’t take long to do so once finally getting together. He’d kind of already lived a lifetime just trying to figure out how to get here and he felt a ton of relief in being able to say that he’s in a shared bathroom, next to a shared bedroom, in a shared apartment. He liked sharing things with Y/N. Loved it even.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He says through the tooth paste, careful not to dribble any on his shirt since he’s already dressed for work.

Y/N is digging through her side of the closet, tossing shoes around. “Can’t find any shoes to wear with this.”

He dips into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth before stepping out and giving Y/N a once over (or maybe a few times over) and finally says, “Boots? It’s getting kind of cold, after all.”

“Eh,” Y/N groans. “You're right, but I have to be on my feet a lot today. They won’t be very comfortable.”

“Oh. Well, then just wear your chucks. They’ll look fine with that,” he reassures. He thinks she could pull off a trash bag, much less sneakers and dress clothes.

“Can’t,” Y/N laments. “They ripped last week. Badly.” She pulls out another pair of sneakers, though far less loved than the aforementioned chucks that she's in mourning for. “Will this look okay?”

He nods, because really, what’s the difference between one pair of black sneakers over another at the end of the day? Her expression tells him there is most certainly a difference. “That’s tragic,” he says genuinely. “We’ll need to get you another pair.”

“Oh, yeah. But maybe next month,” Y/N says. Money is not exactly free-flowing for two grad students working entry level jobs and trying to afford an apartment in a major city. They’ve made it work, but he knows she’s aggressively penny pinching and will probably continue to for the foreseeable future. “Anyway, they were like ten years old. An incredibly long life for a pair of shoes I wore nearly every day.”

“Chan will be devastated. He puked on those. They were special.”

Y/N bursts into giggles, pelting a pair of socks at him. “You have no idea how gross that was! Wonwoo and I both almost threw up ourselves as a result of trying to clean that up.”

Jeonghan giggles too, returning the socks and kissing her. “Oh, I have no doubt. I had to take care of him that night, remember? I pretended he didn't exist for a week afterwards.” One more kiss to her lips and he finally sighs. “Don’t be late, I’ll see you later.”

“Love you!”

His heart still races a little hearing her say that so freely like it's an old habit, but he really, genuinely doesn’t have time to run back and kiss her again, so he yells, “Love you too!” on the way out of the room. He'll make up for it by smothering her with affection when he gets home later.

A few weeks later, he meets Seungcheol for lunch. They both work around the block from each other and regularly meet like this, mostly as a way to avoid the awkward lunch conversation with coworkers in their respective break rooms. It's also becoming harder to coordinate time to hang out now that their worlds center around a pesky little thing called full-time employment. Thankful as he is for it, he misses his friends.

They’re walking back from lunch when they pass a store and something catches his eye in the window. Jeonghan stalls out and Seungcheol raises an eyebrow.

“Are you shopping for you?”

Jeonghan elbows him in the ribs. “No, dumbass. Who do you think it would be for?”

“I know, I’m just messing with you,” he admits with a smile. “Her birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but… you know how she is about gifts,” Jeonghan trails off. Outside of a single gift exchange for Christmas last year, gifts are just not something that the two of them do. Some couples do all of the gifts - birthdays, major holidays, and just because. He doesn’t know if Y/N will ever be that kind of person, no matter how much he’d like to spoil her. It’s equally endearing and frustrating how non-materialistic she is.

Seungcheol’s shrugging. "You've mentioned it… but this one is functional. She’ll use the shit out of this.”

It’s like a lightbulb goes off above Jeonghan’s head. Seungcheol’s absolutely right and Jeonghan has no idea why he’s hesitated outside of this store for so long. “You won’t hear me say this often, but you’re right,” he tells his friend. “You can go on if you want, I’m going inside.”

Seungcheol waves him off, saying he needs to get back to the office anyway.

Y/N’s birthday dinner is chaotic. Somehow, everyone managed to make themselves available. Seokmin even came into town to visit specifically for this. This dinner is at the tail end of a particularly hellish week for Y/N in grad school - one filled with a few all-nighters and presentations - in addition to working her normal hours at her full-time job. Jeonghan can see she’s burnt the candle at both ends and she doesn’t want to say anything to ruin the celebration, but Jeonghan will. He makes an excuse that it’s his turn with the birthday girl and lets them take it however they want as he guides her out of the restaurant. He expects the group to go bar hopping anyway, something that he knows Y/N would bail on in a split second.

In the car, he buckles her in, patting her thigh lovingly. “You did good, baby,” he praises, knowing how reluctant she was to show up to her own birthday dinner. She loves her friends and would never dream of disappointing them, but loathes that kind of attention being on her.

Y/N gives him a weak smile, “Thanks. And thanks for the escape route, even if it was kind of suggestive.”

Jeonghan laughs. “It doesn’t have to be suggestive, but it could be. That’s up to the birthday girl.”

He helps her peel off her shoes at the door and they both change into pajamas, piling up on the couch. He knows this is how she really wanted to spend her birthday, so he puts on the show that they’ve been binging and lets her cuddle into his side.

“Hey,” he pats her thigh eventually to get her attention, but he ends up waking her. She blinks up at him sleepily. “I got you something, but you can’t be mad, okay?”

Y/N frowns. “Hannie, no. You know I don’t need anything.” Despite the protest, he’s getting up to pull a box from a hiding place in the hall closet.

“Open it. If you still think it’s unnecessary, I’ll return it,” he promises, placing the box in her lap. She sighs, resigned, and rips the wrapping paper, scoffing when she sees the logo on the box.

“Hannie, you didn’t have to do this. I would have gotten another pair myself eventually,” Y/N scolds, hands brushing across the top of the box of chucks.

“I know, but I beat you to it. Take a look,” Jeonghan gestures.

Y/N looks at him, perplexed. “Aren’t they just black?” She doesn’t really wait for an answer, curiosity getting the best of her. Her jaw drops and she pulls out a glittery pair of black chucks. “No way,” she starts in disbelief. “No way!” This one is a little choked and he watches as she tears up.

“I couldn’t help it. I saw it and thought of you. You know I’ll always feed both your chuck habit and your glitter habit.”

Y/N puts the shoe back in the box, hands covering her face as her shoulders shake a little bit. He wraps her up in a tight hug. “Is this a good cry or a bad cry?” He asks, mostly because this happens so rarely that he’s not sure. He can count on one hand the times that he’s seen her cry, and she’s usually quick about wiping her eyes and moving past it. He likes that she's tough like that, admires it even, but also likes that she'll let her guard down like this in front of him. Like he's a safe place.

“Good,” Y/N answers, voice jagged. “It’s nice. Thank you, Hannie. I like that you see me. Really see me, you know?”

Jeonghan does. He’s always felt that way about her. When he met her nearly a year and a half ago, he was totally unnerved by how she saw right through him, but now he loves it. He wants her to know that he’s trying to get her the same way she gets him.

“So, I don’t have to return them?” He asks with a hesitant smile, though he thinks he knows the answer already.

Y/N gives a watery laugh, wiping her eyes. “No, you don’t. I’ll keep these. You’ll never be able to take it from me.”

“At least not for another decade,” Jeonghan muses. “I’ll find you another pair then.” He hopes her heart is even half as full as his is.

#seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #jeonghan #Yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader

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arjwrites · 4 months ago

Note

— Good to know bc im here to request another Castiel x Winchester!reader (oldest sister) hehehehe...

Remember when Castiel became a human and that reaper April used him? I was thinking about the reader in her place, where she ACTUALLY likes Cas and takes care of him. The reader really loves him and doesn't care that he's a human now with no angel powers, he's still the man/angel she loves and care (I'm still mad that Dean kicked Cass out of the bunker)

It's his first time being human, he deserves some love 😞 (And I rlly need some comfort aughhh)

I think I wrote too much, sorry! It's just that I really love human Castiel, he deserved more ❤️‍🩹 — 👼 angel anon

Lessons on Humanity- Human!Castiel x Reader

Summary: Human!Cas arrives on your doorstep in need of a helping hand. Taking him under your wing, you offer him more than he bargained for.

Warnings: None (I don't think???) GN!Reader, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Well, this took forever. Idk why this gave me the WORST case of writer's block ever, but.... I think I just wanted it to be perfect for you, angel anon!!! I hope you enjoy hehehehehe <3333

Leaving hunting behind had been a tough decision, but leaving your brothers and Castiel behind had been even harder. But after all the years, your body screamed for rest, and your heart mourned the years of loss and trauma. It wasn’t like you had completely up and abandoned them- you still took their calls, visited the bunker from time to time, and took on many a research request (which had always been your specialty anyways). But you had grown so tired of the life. And as much as moving into the bunker had been a massive improvement from the endless series of motel rooms you’d grown up with, living in a concrete man-cave with your brothers had proven difficult. And you had always craved a home- somewhere that could be uniquely yours. This had led you to settle down into a sweet cottage, a bit off the beaten path in a quaint little town- not too far from the bunker, but far enough. It was cozy, nothing fancy by any means- two small bedrooms, a slightly outdated kitchen, and a snug little living room you had furnished with thrifted couches and a secondhand TV. What it lacked in elegance, it made up for in character. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

It was a Friday night. You had just gotten off work, ordered a pizza, popped your favorite playlist in your speakers, and were currently dancing around and vacuuming your living room. Ah, domesticities. It was always a nice feeling to be done for the weekend, to have a job you could hang up for a few days and not worry about until Monday morning rolled around. Not like hunting, with its worries that clung tight to you all hours of every day. After finishing your cleaning task, you flopped to the couch, clicking through the TV to find a suitable show to binge alongside your food.

Two crisp knocks at the door pulled you from your search. That was quick, you thought to yourself. You practically skipped to the kitchen to grab your purse, wanting to hand the delivery driver a few extra dollars for the particularly speedy service. But when you swung the door open, more than just the chilly evening air sent a wave of shock your way.

“Oh my God,” was about all you could whisper. In front of you stood Castiel, though he didn’t look much like his usual self. He wore a sweatshirt you didn’t recognize and had a slightly unkempt, unshaven look to him. But beyond his appearance, it didn’t feel like Cas. His shoulders were slumped over as if he was carrying the weight of them for the first time. He wore an expression so tired, so hurt, that your heart broke at the sight of it.

“Cas, honey. What happened?”

“I don’t have my grace. I… lost it. They told me I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to bother you, but… I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh, Cas. Come in, God, come in.” Your brow furrowed as you gestured for him to enter, concern filling your body. What had you missed? Why didn’t he have his grace? Why wasn’t he with Sam and Dean?

Cas gingerly stepped through your door, barely making it inside the threshold before turning to you, as if he was waiting to follow your lead.

“Come, come sit,” you beckoned him after you, leading him into the living room and patting a seat for him on the couch. He sat, glancing around your room before landing his gaze back to you. You could tell there was something different about him- it was like he was seeing everything around him for the first time.

“So tell me what happened, Cas,” you hummed, gathering every ounce of soothing calm you could muster in hopes you could offer him some comfort.

Cas jumped into his story, telling you all about Metatron, the angels, and him losing his grace- all the things you had missed out on since stepping back from hunting. You nodded along, listening intently, compassionately, quietly- that is, until he told you about the events that lead him to your doorstep.

“He kicked you OUT?” You rose to your feet as he said this, unable to contain your anger in your seated posture. You felt the rage bubble from the deepest part of your stomach, rising quickly to your chest. Poor, sweet Castiel, who tries so hard and deserves so much. Cast out like he was nothing. It was enough to drive you into a blind rampage. Cas, on the other hand, remained seated, eyes fixed to the carpet, dejected.

“I just don’t know what to do. I have all these… feelings I’m not used to.”

“Of course you don’t, honey. It’s all so new. I’ll help you figure things out, alright?” You thought for a moment about what may be most urgent. “Cas, how long have you been human for?”

“Well, a few days now.”

“And have you eaten? Drank water? Slept?”

“I had a candy bar.”

“Oh, you poor thing, Cas. Look… Sit tight, I’m going to get you a glass of water, and I have food on the way. Do you like pizza? No, you don’t know if you like pizza, do you…” You let your voice trail off as you hustled to the kitchen, fixing him a glass of water and returning it to him hastily.

Cas lifted the glass, inspecting it, before tipping it back and downing it in one go. You watched the water slide out of the cup, disappearing down his throat in record time. There was one basic need supported.

“Alright, Cas, why don’t you sit there and relax for a little? I’m going to go make up the guest bedroom for you. Is that alright?” You tilted your head to the side to better gauge his thoughts on the matter. Cas returned you a soft smile and nodded. You let out a subtle puff of breath in relief before retreating up the stairs.

As you grabbed bedding from the linen closet and began to stretch the fitted sheet over the mattress, you couldn’t help but allow your body to take over the menial routine, while your mind fluttered off elsewhere. The angry pit in your stomach persisted, a deepening disgust for the way the angel had been treated, including by your brothers, of all people. But nestled in your chest above your swirling stomach sat your heart, which swelled at the thought of Cas, here with you. In all honesty, he had always meant a lot to you. You had so much admiration, so much reverence for the angel- of course, now that he wasn’t exactly an angel, that didn’t change anything. That was never what it was about. You saw deeper than just Cas’s angelic power- you saw him. Grace or not, there was no changing that. This was still the same angel, the same man, the same being you had always known. Only now, he really needed someone to be there for him. And you intended to do that- slowly, surely, gently.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your name being called from down the stairs. Instantly, your mind snapped to the worst-case scenario- call it a lingering hunter’s instinct. You raced down the stairs, only to find Cas perched on the couch, exactly where you had left him.

“Someone knocked on the door,” he whispered wide-eyed, as if it was some sort of intruder behind the door, waiting politely to be let in so he could go about his business.

You breathed a sigh of relief, willing yourself not to get frustrated at the poor man- he had no idea. Scared, lost, confused Castiel.

“It’s just the pizza, sweetheart. Don’t worry,” you replied, giving him a soft smile of encouragement.

With the pizza paid for, food on your plates, and your favorite mindless comfort show on TV, you and Cas began to settle in for the night. You and Cas. It was insane to see the angel in such a domestic setting. The two of you were sat at opposite ends of the couch, nibbling pizza in silent unison. You weren’t sure what to do or say, overwhelmed by Cas’s newfound presence, heartbroken by the things he had experienced, and overall just worried for his wellbeing. But, out of fear of pushing his limits- he had already been through so much the last few days- you fell into a comfortable silence that padded the space between you.

That silence was broken by a yawn coming from the other end of the couch. Cas’s face contorted in a decidedly un-angelic expression, before drawing inwards in confusion. A giggle inched its way towards your lips, but you suppressed it.

“You must be tired, Cas. Let’s go up to bed,” you hummed. Quickly and efficiently, you snapped off the TV, balanced your drinking glasses and plates on top of the pizza box, and slid everything into its rightful place in the kitchen. Re-emerging to the living room, you extended a hand to Cas, pulling him up to his feet before turning to lead him up the stairs.

“This is your room, over here,” you pointed, ducking in the door to show him around. You snapped the bedside lamp on to illuminate the space. “The bathroom is just down the hall if you need to use it. And my room is just next door, if you need anything at all.”

Cas’s eyes scanned the room before settling back on you. He threw a tight-lipped smile, murmuring his thanks. He was bashful, certainly overwhelmed by the avalanche of human emotion and sensation he was experiencing. You really didn’t want to push it, but there was one more thing you wanted to offer him.

Crossing the room, you pulled Cas into a hug. You felt his hands hover for a moment before he rested them across the middle of your back.

“I’m sorry, Cas. You didn’t deserve any of this. But I’m here to help you, whatever you need, okay? You deserve to have someone be there for you.” It was a desperate plea for the man to recognize his self-worth, to provide him with a bit of comfort during this terrifying transition. Your words weighed heavy in the room, anticipating a response that never came. But, you could’ve sworn you felt Cas’s shoulders dip and the muscles of his back soften into the hug.

After a minute, you pulled away, snapping back to your lighthearted self. You wished the man a good night, retreating from the room and closing the door behind you. Crossing the hall and tucking yourself into bed, it wasn’t long before you drifted to sleep.

You rose early the next morning. Usually, you would stroll downstairs in your bathrobe or whatever mismatched pajamas you slept in, but this morning you hopped in the shower straight away, dressing and fixing your hair. Once you made your way down to the kitchen, you got to work pulling together a breakfast you thought Cas would enjoy- pancakes, bacon, and some fruit, all while brewing a pot of coffee. You weren’t sure he’d have much of a taste for it yet, but you certainly were in need of a cup.

As you neared the end of your preparation, you heard the guest bedroom door swing open. Cas descended the stairs into the kitchen, somehow looking slightly more disheveled than when he had arrived on your doorstep the night before.

“Good morning, sunshine!” You offered, hoping he would take it in jest.

“Hello,” he responded. His eyes were puffed with sleep, his hair stuck up in every possible direction, face dotted with yesterday’s stubble that was inching into scruffy beard territory. Looking at him was a clear reminder that you needed to help him figure out how to clean himself up today.

“How’d you sleep, hun?” In any other conversation, this would be a simple pleasantry, but in this case, it was an earnest inquiry.

“Not well. I think I had a dream. It was terrible,” he replied. His gaze remained vacant.

“A dream?” You thought for a moment- was it the sensation of dreaming that he wasn’t used to? Or was it a nightmare? “Tell me about it, Cas.”

“Well, I don’t remember a lot of it. I just remember I was running. And when I woke up, my heart was pounding and I was sweating and I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t actually run- just in the dream.”

“Oh, Cas, honey, you had a nightmare.” You approached him, reaching up a hand to run a thumb over his stubbled cheek. “If that ever happens again, you can always come into my room. I’m right next door.”

“How will that help?” He inquired.

“Well, sometimes it’s nice to talk about it, if you want. Or, sometimes it’s just nice to be around someone else, so you don’t feel like you’re facing it alone.”

His nod in response sent a surge of care through your body. Rather than sitting there, gushing over him, you figured you’d channel your worry into something productive- getting him fed.

“Well, I made some breakfast. Have a seat, I’ll make you a plate.”

You pulled out a chair for him at the table, gesturing for him to sit down, before scrambling to pull together a plate piled high with a stack of pancakes, a few slices of bacon, and some strawberries and bananas you had carefully sliced. You rested the plate in front of him, giving him a minute to inspect it, before returning to grab food for yourself.

“Well, what do you think? I figured chocolate chip pancakes would be a safe bet. Everyone likes chocolate chip pancakes.”

Castiel clumsily sliced another bite from the pancake, lifting it to his mouth. He chewed pensively, mulling over the question.

“How do I know if I like it?”

You thought for a moment.

“Good question. Does it make you feel happy?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

“Well, Cas, I think you’ll find that one of the great joys of humanity is the opportunity to figure out what makes you happy. We don’t get a lot of say in what goes on down here, but we do get to pick our favorite foods, favorite colors, favorite people, and fill our lives with those. It’s the small pleasures that make the difference.”

He considered your words for a moment, before spearing another bite with his fork. You giggled to yourself. It was adorable to watch him navigate the things you took for granted with so much fascination and uncertainty- something as small as taking a bite of food required all of his concentration and contemplation.

As you sipped your coffee, you considered the task that lay before you. It was your job to teach Cas how to be human- something you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself an expert on. With hunting dominating your upbringing and occupation thus far, you certainly hadn’t had the normal human experience. But you took the challenge in stride, knowing that Cas had much to learn.

Saturday had come and gone. You had spent the entire day teaching Cas a crash course in human life skills, covering important topics like brushing your teeth (which proved more difficult than you thought it would be), remembering to drink water (you struggled with this yourself most of the time), shopping (the two of you thrifted him a whole wardrobe), and anything else you could think of as you went about your usual routine.

As the day wound down, you and Cas sat on your back porch. The emerging twilight buzzed, and a warm breeze filtered through the trees and wrapped itself around the two bodies curled up in the lawn chairs. You were tired, he was tired, so another comfortable silence had settled into its now familiar place between the two of you. You could faintly hear the sound of children laughing and a mother calling after them, voices muffled by the distance that separated you from these neighbors down the street. You smiled to yourself, and Cas took notice.

“Thank you for helping me today,” he offered hesitantly, as if afraid to disturb your thoughts.

“Anytime, Cas.” You were still a bit lost in thought as you responded.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Hmm?”

“Why does being human feel so… Heavy?”

There was something about his tone of voice that snapped you out of your daze. Turning to him, you instantly recognized the worry that was weighing on him.

“I just… I used to be a soldier. I had divine purpose. I’ve always had something to work towards, and now… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Life is a complicated thing, Cas. Most people spend an entire lifetime figuring out their purpose. You may be thousands of years old, but you’ve only been doing the whole human thing for a few days. Be patient with yourself.”

“You seem to handle it all pretty well. Leaving hunting, making a life for yourself. You have it all figured out,” he frowned.

“Want to know a secret?”

He nodded, silently, eagerly.

“I��m not handling it well. And I don’t have it all figured out. Nobody does. That’s the whole game. That’s life. You take what you’re given and you do what you can with it. But the beauty is, you get to choose.”

“How do I know what to choose?”

You smiled in spite of yourself.

“That’s the big question. No one knows what’s right for you except you.”

Cas’s hand reached across to yours, giving it a squeeze that sent your heart aflutter. Fingers intertwined, you settled back into the evening, pensive.

Sleep that night hadn’t come easy by any means. What had started as worry had now spiraled into full-on anxiety, warding you away from slipping into sleep. Each time you closed your eyes, your mind drifted down the hall to Castiel, separated from you by nothing more than a dozen footsteps and couple pieces of drywall. It was as if you could feel his inner turmoil. And beyond that, your heart ached for the man. All you wanted to do was go to him, be with him, comfort him. But the fear that you were taking advantage of his newly human state still plagued you, so you lingered rigid and sleepless in your bed. Just as you rolled over to attempt comfort and hopefully find some sleep, there was the faintest knock at your door- so quiet, you barely registered it.

At first, you weren’t sure if you had actually heard the sound, but when the noise was followed by slow footsteps shuffling away, you snapped up in bed.

“Cas! Come in,” you called. After a second, the door swung open.

“I had another one. A nightmare.” Cas spoke matter of factly, and yet, very soft and reserved. He lingered in your doorway, timid, waiting for you to give your blessing on his entrance.

“Oh, come in, sweetheart. Come sit.” You patted the space beside you, the noise muffled by the thick, fluffy comforter. Cas made his way into a seated position on the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, hesitant to pry but insistent on providing support.

“No.” His response was tense and succinct without being rude- you knew he was processing a lot of feelings, and wanted to give him grace.

“That’s okay. Would you like some time to think through it? Or would you like to be distracted?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Take your time. I’m here.”

There was a beat of silence. Giving him space was your top priority, as much as you wanted to leap across the bed and into his arms.

“Maybe, distracted?”

“Sure thing. I’ll put on a movie, we can watch for a bit.” You snatched the remote from the table beside you, flipping through a few movies you thought Cas may enjoy, before settling on a lighthearted Disney movie. Your finger pressed play and adjusted the volume to a dull hum.

You watched for a while in silence. As the movie was picking up, breaking out into a cheerful musical number, your eyes darted to Cas. Expecting to see him enamored by the animated wonderland, you were taken aback when his eyes locked with yours instantly. It was like he had been looking at you the whole time.

“Hey, Cas.” He wouldn’t look away, and the eye contact was entrancing.

“Hi.” His voice was gruff, a mix of sleep and something else you weren’t entirely sure of, though you were starting to get an idea.

“How are you doing?”

“Better, now. Because I’m with you.” His words sent a wave of warmth through your body as you felt yourself inching closer to him, subconsciously. Clearly, he felt the same pull, as you both shifted to face each other directly.

“Can I ask you about another feeling?” He was usually bashful with his questions, but this time, his voice was steady. His eyes were fixed on you with an almost palpable intensity, a kind of focus that made you fidget, suddenly so aware of yourself.

“Of course,” you responded. He was now just inches away from your face.

“What is this feeling I get when I’m this close to you?” His words were slow and genuine, and yet in some ways, it seemed like he already knew.

“What do you mean?”

“It feels a lot like the nightmare. My heart beats fast and I can’t breathe. But it’s… Different. It’s good. I like it.” His eyes flickered as the words melted you.

He was so close to your face you could feel each breath tickle your nose and lips, as if pressing gentle precursors to tease you into taking the next step.

“Can I try something else you might like?” You could barely speak above a whisper.

He began to nod, lifting his head, but before he could complete the motion, all your defenses came crashing down, and you melted together- lips and limbs intertwining as one. And for the first time since becoming human, Castiel truly felt peace.

There’s something special about humanity. Sure, it has its ups and downs. There’s pain, fear, grief, death. Cas knew all those things already. They were what scared him most when he lost his grace. But he could have never known this, without experiencing it for himself.

The early hours of the morning crept into the bedroom. Everything about the room was warm and soft- a kind of heaven that rivaled even the real thing. Cas watched as the rays of sun slipped through the window to kiss your skin softer, sweeter, more intimately than he ever had. Yet.

There were many things about being human he hadn’t been prepared for. He had lost purpose, drive, direction. When he was first stripped of his grace, it had felt like his newfound heartbeat was mocking him with every pulse. But now? That heart served to pump more than just blood through his veins. His heart beat for you. His whole angelic life, he had been guided by divine word, but nothing had ever felt as holy as you, here, sleeping in his arms. You had taught him humanity, alright. And now, he finally had the chance to do something, to feel something, to experience something more beautiful than he could’ve ever imagined. He could love you.

Cas let the sounds of your breathing lull him back to sleep.

#castiel x reader #castiel x y/n #castiel x you #supernatural reader insert #castiel #castiel reader insert #castiel x gn!reader #supernatural gn!reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural x gn!reader #supernatural oneshot #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #castiel fanfiction #human!cas #human!castiel #human!cas x reader #cas x reader

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driaswrld · 1 year ago

Text

ultraviolence — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 3k

summary : suguru coming home was supposed to make things better. but, it's as if everything is going wrong again.

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : pls read this and this first ty!! LORE DUMP 🤭 mostly from sugu n toru's pov dealing with their new life and the twins along with jujutsu society. reader is trying to be the mediator as always and shoko is the best ofc. just the one where everyone has an existential crisis. (part one of two hopefully)

other : I PROMISE YOU'LL GET FLUFF SOON 😭 mentions of alcohol, blood, smoking obvi, idk why i named this ultraviolence lmao (shit hits the fan in the next tsr im js trying to be kind i promise!)

comment to be added to the tsr taglist!

current cassette : pretty when you cry - lana del rey

You come home to a house colder than you left it.

There’s a small comfort in the droplets of water that splatter against the wooden floor when you hang your jacket up, having remembered the way the girls beamed up at you only an hour ago as you walked them to school.

The twins were adamant to hold your hands, Mimiko blushing the whole time and Nanako poking fun at it, promising to hold your hand everyday until they became big girls.

Big girls that would only need you to hold their hand halfway — the same way Suguru only walks you and Satoru halfway to the school before heading back.

But the sliver of a chill that reverberates through your bones doesn’t resemble the comfort of a morning’s soft rain drizzle.

“You can’t just dismiss the issue like this, Satoru!”

“Where’s my own will, huh? Can’t I just do this?”

“This isn’t about you.”

You hear everything for a moment, muffled shouts and grumbles from the bathroom.

“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear, haven't you?”

Then you hear nothing at all.

The investigation launched on the ninth day in December.

Suguru had all but been home for a week and then some, settling into the shoddy apartment you and Satoru called home between missions and meetings with Yaga and the higher ups.

It took half a day to move his old things out of the dormitory building, most of what really mattered was already sitting in the hall closet untouched, kept the way Suguru would’ve wanted it.

It was after he rifled through the closet in search of a fresh set of clothes did he realize, he had been mourned.

You and Satoru had mourned him like a mother would a child, like a womb stretched to make space, only to bleed.

His clothes smelled more like the both of you than it did him.

The fourth day, Suguru spent the night hunched over the balcony, smoking a silver blue parliament with Shoko while you and Satoru attended a hearing with the higher ups.

A necessary audience, they defined over the cryptic email.

Shoko described it as a means to an end, Satoru was still the strongest and you were his voice. The meeting was all but a farce to keep you two in check — but Suguru read it clearly for what it was.

A threat.

“He’ll be clan head,” Suguru murmured between plumes of smoke. “They won’t let him turn it down any longer, especially with me around.”

At this, Shoko chuckled, sucking in a sharp breath.

“You think he’ll do it this time?” She asked, somewhere between knowing and not knowing.

The higher ups want Satoru under their thumbs — not that you’d so much as let them come close — that much is evident. But it’s become a lose to win situation.

The guarantee that Suguru and the girls would remain untouched and hidden under the condition that he follows their rules, does it their way, doesn’t ask, doesn’t so much as breathe a word or commit an action using his own strength outside their command—

“Satoru as a lap dog?” Suguru laughs a little.

He just can’t picture it.

What he can picture though is the Six Eyes user backed into a corner, with no other choice but to concede. Then again, Satoru’s never been submissive to authority, no matter the setting.

A beat of silence passes over him and Shoko, and she knows what he’s thinking before he says it, yet she doesn’t caution him otherwise nor does she blame the nicotine.

“He could kill them.” Suguru says, “It wouldn’t take him long.”

The seventh day, Suguru stands in the middle of one of the many engawa corridors of Jujutsu High, dressed like a teenage dropout, teeth sinking into the inside of his cheeks until crimson stains his tongue.

You told him last night while cuddled into his side, Satoru’s head on his chest, “Walk away from it the right way, Suguru.”

And admittedly, he was going to laugh a little, kiss your cheek and maybe lull you back to sleep and ease your worries.

I don’t resent you,

for the path you chose.

As long as you swear,

yours and ours will converge.

“Geto, what is this?”

Suguru looks down at the sealed envelope he passed to Yaga seconds ago, the word resignation printed in bold atop the sealed flaps.

If he intends to kill himself, he should at least do it the way you asked him to.

He owes you that much.

Suguru never thought of himself to have been in a position where he could live past twenty ; he thought he was lucky Satoru even let him live to see the first snow, even if it was from the bittersweet solitude of the bed you three shared.

“I’ll graduate first,” Suguru says, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets.

For the sake of saving face he took a total of ten missions after his sentence was pardoned.

Five to prove he wasn't a liability to the Jujutsu world, two to hover by your side – he hadn't realized post traumatic stress could manifest in the need for more physical attachment – and three to see up close just how much Satoru had on his shoulders now.

To see just how different Satoru had become because of him.

“And then?” Yaga asks it like a cruel joke that only he and Suguru know.

People are talking. People have been talking.

Suguru Geto the defect. Suguru Geto the cancer of the strongest. Suguru Geto the curse. Suguru Geto—

“Maybe I’ll die of old age.”

I pray death finds me

under you two

in our bed.

If not,

kill me yourselves.

There’s meaning in that too.

That same afternoon, brandished with what should be newfound freedom – Suguru Geto. Not the sorcerer, not the curse, not the man – he drinks himself sick until he blacks out on the sofa.

Alcohol is cheap at Shinanoya, it’s been that way since he was sixteen and idle in the summer of ‘06, coaxed by Satoru into printing fake IDs, blacking out on the floor of your dorm room and waking up to throw up, just to blackout again.

Suguru took the train back and passed his stop two times.

Two times he thought of two different outcomes and two different destinations.

First, he’d go back to Jujutsu High and take the resignation back from Yaga before he signed it.

He’d call your cellphone, tell you how he's had a change of heart, whisper into the line : “We should celebrate. Me, you and Satoru.”

But you’d know it was a lie.

He still has twisted dreams of waking up in a gas station bathroom in a pool of blood that isn't his own.

Dreams that don't frighten him at all.

Second, it came to him the moment he considered actually getting off at his stop and going back to the apartment.

He’d let the train take him to Shibuya, stand in the middle of the crossing and scream.

People would look at him weird, others would walk by.

And the first monkey to reach out and offer him help, he’d—

“Suguru?”

He wakes with a startle, eyes bloodshot and half lidded.

“Name—” he opens his mouth, half empty vodka bottle tilted over and soaking the carpet. Satoru comes through the door a moment later, leading the twins to the kitchen to set their half eaten bentos down.

A shiver runs down his spine when he glances at the clock above the mantle. 12:53pm.

“School ended half day,” you say to him. Satoru doesn't so much as glance at Suguru when he steps back in to take the plastic bags of takeout from your hands. “They called but you didn't—”

Suguru's already sitting up, fishing through his pockets for his phone and clicking at the buttons.

Two missed calls from Mimiko and Nanako’s school.

Two missed calls from their homeroom teacher, Ms. Aiko.

Four missed calls from you.

One voicemail from Satoru.

“I'm so— shit,” Suguru sets the bottle of alcohol upright, pressing a palm to the carpet to find it damp.

His skin is hot, he feels like a mess, no doubt he looks like a mess with the way you're already kneeling beside him to screw the bottle shut. “I’m so sorry, I didn't— everything with the letter and then the train got delayed—”

“Suguru.” Satoru speaks for the first time, looks at him for the first time – behind bandaged eyes. “Sober up by tomorrow, yeah?”

Your head flits around to give Satoru a stare, as if to ask if that's all he has to say right now. But Suguru’s fingers enclose around your wrist, it’s okay, I was the one at fault.

“Satoru—”

“Just do this one thing right, please.”

The twins’ school dismissed half day due to heavy snow this early in the month. Suguru, listed as the girls’ primary guardian, gets the calls first.

He doesn't pick up.

Your work line rings next, and it goes to voicemail.

In between exorcising a special grade in Shinjuku, you don't hear it ring.

As the devil would have it made and done, Satoru’s line rings while he's at the school. Loud.

“Gojo-san!” The lady from the admin office knocks on the door twice, and is met with silence. The phone rings again, but this time it's the main line. The office extension.

The one he’s been using since he put in his teaching application.

The phone clatters against the desk in robust vibrations, Limitless almost bending the coily cord to nothingness.

The meeting room of four higher ups and two members of the Gojo clan watch him intently, scrutinizing him, waiting.

Beyond his better judgment, Satoru tells himself it's just you, calling to ask if you should bring back kikufuku or just the udon.

Or it's Suguru, who’s confused and can't find one of his things in the apartment and needs some guidance.

Satoru's not a pious person. But he wishes he’d have prayed the moment the call went to the answer machine.

“Good day, Mr. Gojo! I’m calling regarding the girls. School’s been dismissed half day today on account of the weather but Mr. Geto nor Ms. Name are picking up.”

“I’m hoping this reaches you soon so the girls can have a ride home. Thankyou! Stay warm!”

The eighth day, you wake to the smell of jasmine and hot oil. Four messages from Yaga, one email attached, forwarded to Satoru : Adoption fraud.

“—he hates me.” Suguru mumbles, shirtless and damn near cowering from your gaze, flipping the omelet in the frying pan, two steps away to avoid the oil splatter.

“Don't say that so casually,” you shake your head, shutting the fridge door, setting a carton of milk on the counter. “It's not like you believe that.”

Suguru flips the omelet with one hand on the pan handle, the other flicking the carton open and turning it to his head in a quick gulp.

He doesn't confirm it.

“Suguru—” you smack his arm and take the milk, turning away to rummage through the pantry for the pancake mix.

“I know.”

No, Suguru.

You don't know.

"I try to be patient," Suguru says quietly, shaking his head. "I know we're not sixteen and that this and then are two different things—” He turns the flame down, refusing to look over at you.

“Nobody's asking you to be perfect,” you cut him off, pancake mix forgotten on the counter. “You made a mistake, it happens—”

The higher ups are already breathing down Satoru’s neck about the twins now that they've been found out. It's an uphill battle in the Jujutsu world, your phone won't stop ringing.

Whether it's Yaga proposing damage control to have you and Satoru set apart on missions or another higher up waiting for you to slip up and beg for help, beg to be in their debt.

“I owe you better,” Suguru whispers, more to himself than to you.

He’s never been the type to ask for help or beg for forgiveness or cower at someone's heels. But you saved him — by putting your life on the line and in turn making Satoru cover it up — and he hates himself for it.

I wish

you would've

just let me stay dead.

“Because that's what I deserve? Better?”

Suguru gets the call from Shoko the next day.

December 9, 2007.

A formal investigation is announced into the involvement of [name] [name] in the case of Suguru Geto’s defection and pardon — alleged charge : fabrication of evidence.

Satoru makes his mind up the same day, sends the twins to stay at the dorms with Shoko for the weekend and brings you and Suguru with him to the Gojo estate.

“I can feel your eyes,” you whisper, seated cross legged on the tatami floor, nursing a cup of tea in your cupped palm.

You've never liked the Gojo estate. Not in winter at least, not when it's like this.

Satoru has his back turned to you, fingering the loose cloth of white bandages covering his eyes, almost hesitant. He recalls his mother's words to him from a few hours ago.

You look tired, Satoru. You're never tired.

There’s an unspoken thing residing here between both your energies and it becomes unbearably evident.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, slipping the baby blue haori off his shoulders, draping it over the edge of the bed. “Just the cold getting to me 's all.”

Loose and darkened strands of hair lay on the silk sheets where Suguru sat moments ago. Satoru holds his breath.

My lover’s hair is splitting at the ends, tearing apart at the seams just like me.

I pray you don’t notice.

“Is he okay?”

You set the ceramic cup down on the table, turning your head to glance over at Satoru, who despite himself, wears his emotions like a cardigan knit tight between his brows.

“Why won’t you just ask him, ‘toru?”

He thinks he hates you. He hates not being more like you.

With the way you say these things so easily.

Maybe it’s the deep rooted thrum of Suguru’s cursed energy in his veins, or the bitter taste on his tongue when he wakes in the middle of the night just to see if he’s still here—

Maybe it’s that voice in the back of his head, the instinct pounding on the walls of his heart, telling him this is only for a while, it won’t last.

“You can’t lie to me.” Satoru reasons, bending his knees and folding his body next to yours, wrapping and unwrapping the length of cloth around his fingers over and over again. “But he can.”

Or maybe it’s the way he knows even if Suguru lied to him again, said it was okay, said that he’d stay, said that he’d let you and Satoru be selfish for once and keep him here, keep him tethered to this existence he loathes so much—

“Satoru…”

—he’d believe him.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” He sighs, near breathless.

You lift your hands to cup either side of his face, hooking your thumbs under the pale cloth, unraveling and unraveling and unraveling.

How many more layers?

How many more walls?

How many—

“His energy is restless.” Satoru could find other words to describe it, the aura, the shape of Suguru’s soul, his scent, his being, his whole existence. Something only you could understand.

“It’s pouring into me, and I can’t— I pretend I don’t feel it, that I don’t know that he’s…”

Different.

Suguru is different now, he wants to say.

Suguru’s unhappy with me, unhappy with us.

I can’t give him what he needs.

I was too selfish to have asked him to stay. You were too selfish in saving him.

We were too selfish. Do you think he hates me for it? Do you think he wishes he were—

“He loves you.” You tug on the cloth, let it fall and pool in endless strands around his neck. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

Satoru’s eyes are dim, bleaky sapphire and cerulean staring back at you.

Don’t look at them, look at me, look inside me, my eyes are lying, that’s not how I feel—

“He loves you too,” he says it like a confession, a secret. Love can’t be enough, can it?

Love never stopped Suguru from leaving the first two times.

Love never stopped Satoru from waking up so many nights with tears running down his neck, from where you cried for Suguru in your dreams.

Love never stopped Satoru from not being strong enough to bend the world and stretch it to fit Suguru inside.

Why should you love him whom hates the world so?

Satoru lets his head fall into the crook of your neck, body slumped over yours and breath shaky.

Loving Suguru came as easy as breathing if not easier.

He’d spend nights curled in his bed at the dorms, clicking through photos he’d taken of you three, back then, when it wasn’t anything yet but still everything to him.

“Yaga-sensei, please pair me with someone else!”

“Hah!? We not good enough for you anymore, name?”

“Satoru, name, don’t yell so early in the morning…”

And even from the first mission, when Suguru’s hair was shorter and you hadn’t quite figured out how to control your technique.

When Satoru had to save you from plummeting to your death after you sliced a curse open just for grabbing Suguru and yanking him by his hair.

Satoru thinks, maybe, he came into this world loving you two.

Because he loves me more than all the world.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispers into your neck, full of conviction.

He’s never not the strongest, except maybe when he’s here, in these moments. “I’ll protect the both of you.”

Let me do this one thing,

just this once.

Let me be the one

who holds us together.

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

tsr taglist :

@wishmemel @draecys @pearlvalley @cookielovesbook-akie @astral-hydromancy @celestair @/midnightbluehorizons @plaggi @blue-blossomss

#★ DRIASWRLD #tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen #satosugu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #satoru gojo #suguru geto #gojo x geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #satoru x reader #suguru x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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separatist-apologist · 2 months ago

Text

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

It was Elain’s ticket to the continent, shoved in his hands with such hatred, such force, that Lucien nearly ripped it into pieces. Surely some of her fury had transferred into the little slip of parchment and would curse him should he attempt to use it.

And yet, death at sea didn’t sound so bad to him right then. When she stormed off, tears streaking down her face, Lucien hadn’t felt anything for her at all beyond irritation. He didn’t believe anyone had ever tried to hold her accountable for even a moment in her life. It wasn’t entirely Elain’s fault she was spoiled—no one saw anything of value in her and viewed her as little more than porcelain. Fragile, broken easily, in need of constant protection.

Lucien hoped she took a tumble from the shelf she’d been placed on. Maybe, if nothing else, it would make her a little more interesting.

She had a first class ticket, as it turned out, and her cabin was spacious. “Thanks, darling,” he muttered sarcastically before flopping himself down on the bed. He dozed off again, his dreams too bright and loud to be remembered when he lurched awake. It had been the stress, he realized, that had prompted this spontaneous, poorly considered plan.

When he peered out the rounded window, all he saw was blue water in every direction. Oh, Feyre was going to be so angry with him. Lucien considered, for a moment, turning himself around when he got to the continent.

His mind was cruel. Stretching over decades, he imagined himself finding Velaris a new home, making friends. Growing closer with Feyre, whom he genuinely loved and adored the way he might have loved a younger sister. It was a soft, easy sort of life. He and Feyre up to their same shenanigans. She could show him all the best places, they could gossip without someone hanging over their shoulder disapprovingly.

And just when he’d gotten comfortable and believed it was forever, he knew Elain would come crawling back, tail between her legs. Still bitter, but now stricken with grief, she’d want her family to care for her while she mourned. And Feyre, with her too soft, forgiving heart, would take her back without question.

She’d meddle. Feyre simply couldn’t help herself. He didn’t blame her for it, but Lucien knew in a century, Feyre would be trying to shove Elain back into his life now that Graysen was dead and she had no other options. Feyre was incandescently happy with her own mate—she’d want the same for her sisters.

But Lucien…oh. He couldn’t forgive Elain for this. He didn’t care if she didn’t understand and was hurt and angry. They were mates and that meant something. Jesminda had died for it. And Elain didn’t even have the courage to tell him she didn’t want him without him forcing her hand. What kind of life was it, always playing second best to a ghost, besides?

Maybe leaving was for the best. He’d write to Feyre—they could keep in touch—but he could start over. Prythian had never been his home, anyway. He’d only ever felt like it could be when Jes had been alive. After her death, he’d been merely existing. Everything reminded him of her.

Now there was Elain, complicating everything. What if he lost his mind one day—what if something slipped down the bond that shredded the last remnants of his sanity? Or what if merely became curious and went to see her, only to find her surrounded by children and happiness and love? What if she got everything he didn’t? It was better to have an ocean separating them. Better to just try and start over. Who cared if he was a High Lord son anymore? He could just be Lucien, for once. Maybe he wouldn’t work in courts or be involved in the inner workings, guiding policies and keeping rulers from being beheaded, and maybe, just this once, he wanted that.

Lucien spent a week on that ship, mingling casually with others who, like him, were looking to start over. Some were visiting family or returning home and others had struck out in Prythian, their homes destroyed, and were hoping to get further away from the wars the suspected would keep coming.

He talked to some of them casually, but mostly kept to himself. Lucien regretted, if nothing else, not bringing a change of clothes. He did his best, but by the time they arrived on the shores of Vallahan, Lucien’s clothes had a very particular smell to them.

The smell of salty air was a balm for his still wounded soul. Lucien drank it in as he stumbled from the rocking ship onto solid, unmovable ground. He swayed for a moment, arms thrown out to regain his balance, and when he took those first confident steps, he leaned to one side like a drunk. There was simply no helping it, and so he tried not to let himself feel too self-conscious about it.

Lucien drank in the small port city he’d been dropped in. Already, he knew he wanted to move further into the interior—whatever the city was called was a little too small for his liking. He wanted to lose himself somewhere. Just be Lucien. He’d drop his last name if he had to, or invent one entirely.

He was charmed, all the same, by the architecture that surrounded him. Everything was constantly being torn down and rebuilt in Prythian, their own styles often declared to be outdated. You’d find homes dated three centuries before in a particular style just down the road from palatial estates remade in the newest fashion.

Here, everything had a more cohesive feel, which lent to an overall sense of community. Buildings were two or three stories made of red or sometimes white bright and typically steepled rooftops. Temples were taller, ominous buildings that loomed light over the rest of the city with spires that stretched like spindling fingers towards the heavens.

Lucien was entranced, walking down streets of smoothly laid cobblestone. Brightly painted doors were thrown open, inviting people to come inside shops to browse. Patrons at local eating establishments sat beneath awnings, drinking and eating and talking with cheerful enthusiasm. Children played a loud game of ball nearby, kicking it around with their feet and yelling foul if someone used their hands.

“Looking for work, mister?” A voice cut through his wonder. Lucien turned to find a rather dirty looking man wearing a bloodstained apron. The local butcher, then, he surmised based on the smell and the large cleaver held loosely in one hand.

His father would die to see one of his sons engaging in peasant work and yet… “I am,” Lucien decided. “Though, I have no skill in butchery.”

The burly man, no older than four hundred if Lucien had to guess, eyed Lucien up and down. “You look like you swing a sword well enough. You’ll pick it up. Do you want work or not?”

Lucien glanced up at the building shrewdly. “Does it come with lodging?”

“You can have the top apartment to yourself. Pay is whatever you can sell after everything else is square—a fifty fifty split.”

That was far more generous than Lucien expected. Besides, work was work he told himself with an incline of his head. He had plenty of money, of course—he could have paid for somewhere outright and lived a more casual existence.

Working in the community would make it easier to live among them. They’d learn to trust him while he learned the customs and culture. He could fit himself in better before moving on. Lucien had time, he reminded himself. There was no rush. He’d live a dozen centuries more before his thread was cut. Why not, he decided? He followed the burly male in doors where the pristine shop awaited.

“Since my wife died, I’ve been doing this all by myself,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his beefy neck. He was a solidly built man with a barrel chest and a thick, black beard. Piercing blue eyes took him in, as if reading the measure of Lucien and finding him worthy.

“Tell me what you need,” Lucien replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m a quick study.”

In retrospect, after a day of trailing Bernard the Butcher, a name that made him chuckle just loud enough to earn a scowl, Lucien found he’d been well primed for this kind of work by his older brother, no less. Eris, who had never cared much for him, had occasionally taken him out of the house when their father was in one of his rages.

In the forest of Autumn, Lucien had learned to skin fish and deer. He’d learned how to cleanly get meat off the bone and which pieces were the best. He’d learned to render tallow from the fat and sharpen animal bones into tools or instruments or, when he was really young, little toys he buried outside the Forest House so Beron wouldn’t take them from him.

Here, at least, the animals were already dead. Bernard contracted with a farm just outside of town that belonged to his sister-in-law and her husband. They came twice a week with hogs and beef mostly, and on fridays they brought chicken. On the weekends there might be fish, though Bernard said he left that to the fishmongers unless he had something particularly valuable, if only because he hated the smell.

Lucien thought that was fair.

He spent the evening cleaning the back, scrubbing up blood with a long handled brush and then, when he wasn’t quite satisfied, on his hands and knees with a little scrub brush. Bernard was impressed.

“I’ve never seen this place look so clean,” he admitted. Lucien was a little disturbed by that given the stained, wooden counter and the lingering smell of rotting blood in the air. There was nothing that could be done for some of it, though in other places he found that a little injection of gold might make things just a little nicer.

He’d worry about that later.

Lucien was given the keys to the apartment on the third floor, which he could access directly from the shop. He simply locked up for the day and walked the five steps to another door, slid the key into the lock and tramped his way up. Bernard was on the floor beneath him which Lucien half liked, though he supposed if they ever had a quarrel, it would make his down time deeply uncomfortable.

The apartment was empty save for a lopsided certain hanging from the living room window, once white but stained brown from dust. It was good, though, he decided. It had solid, sturdy bones. It struck him, right then, that this was home. The enormity of his decision suddenly settled in his stomach, filling Lucien with a mix of panic and excitement. He’d left. After years of thinking about it but never having the courage, Lucien was gone. His past was nothing more than a ghost haunting the edges of his memory rather than a monster with vicious teeth always hovering just behind him.

Lucien took a breath before making his way back down the steps. It was mid-day, closer to dinner than the evening, which meant just enough places were still open. He made purchases, having drawn a promissory note on the gold back in Prythian. He’d need it all transferred which would take time, but most stores allowed him to purchase items on credit. That was a relief because he needed a whole new wardrobe, though perhaps not as fine as he was accustomed to. Lucien purchased one nice outfit, just in case, and left everything else for the everyday wear. He made orders for furniture to be made and cosigned himself to sleeping on the hard floor until it could all be delivered.

And as he walked, he noticed an empty store front at the corner of the block with peeling white letters that read The Fox and The Fawn. Peering through the dirty window, he saw it had once been a pub of some sort before it closed.

A strange yearning surged through him. He wanted it, though he couldn’t say why. While Lucien had experience with butchering, he had none with operating his own business. Standing there, nose nearly pressed to the glass, Lucien promised himself if he were still around in six months, he’d damn it all and take on the lease.

It was too soon, though. Lucien decided to put it in the hands of fate—though fate had never been terribly kind of him. If someone else scooped it up, well, that was his answer that he wasn’t meant to stay and continue on with his original plan.

Lucien slept on the floor that evening after cleaning the interior of his apartment. He woke well before dawn, exhausted and aching, and made his way down just as Bernard did.

“Ready?” the man asked, looking as well-groomed as he ever was. Lucien rolled the sleeves of his black shirt and took a leather apron from the hook in the back once they were inside. They worked before they opened, cutting the meat they’d hung the day before now blessedly drained and ready to go.

Some of Lucien’s cuts were sloppy—too much fat or too slim—and it took him the better part of that early morning to get good at it. He learned that in Vallahan, tea was more of an evening drink and here, everyone drank coffee grown in the warmer parts of Rask. It could be sweetened much like tea with milk, sugar, and cream, and a whole industry had sprung up around it. Lucien learned the bakery a block down sold coffee in every form imaginable, with flavored syrups to match the seasons.

Lucien found himself obsessed with it. Every morning he’d wake up twenty minutes early and make his way down before the lines got too long. He ordered everything, one at a time, so he could try a variety of drinks before settling on his favorite. He learned he liked it a little darker, though still sweet, and hot even if the weather was warm.

He also liked the lemon and coconut muffin they sold, and by the time Lucien had been there a month, the pretty, red haired barista had his order waiting for him before he got to the counter.

“Good morning, Lucien,” she said, flashing him a lovely grin.

He’d wink back. “Good morning, Odessa,” he’d say in response. He liked her—he wanted to take her out.

And he didn’t want anything serious. Lucien couldn’t offer any female anything because he knew the moment they learned he had a mating bond, they’d scurry off. They’d assume that the female was going to come back eventually and he’d leave. No matter how Lucien argued that Elain was never coming to claim him, he knew, all the same, that they’d prefer a male without as much baggage as he was dragging around.

He’d always wanted a wife and children. That was, perhaps, the most cruel part of Lucien’s reality. He’d dreamed of it as a boy—how he’d do it all differently. How his children wouldn’t cower when he walked through a door, how his wife would smile brightly, unbruised and in love. All he’d ever get were the fleeting moments in between. Casual, and little more. When he closed his eyes, he used to picture Jes in that role of wife and mother. It seemed a betrayal of her sacrifice to choose another female.

Now, though, his mind betrayed him. When he closed his eyes at night, he saw Elain in that role. Smiling as children tugged at her skirts, watching him with a bemused expression while he chased after a newly toddling babe ambling toward the street.

He hated her for that. Hated her even more than he’d hated her after her cruel words because she’d be someone's mother, certainly, just as she’d be someone else’s wife. Not his, though. Never his.

And despite everything, instinct made him want her. Some nights his teeth ached from it, mouth flooded with blood as he bit down to keep himself from roaring like an animal. His nails would bite against his palms, legs shaking from the urge to rectify what was happening between them. Sometimes he played out vivid fantasies in which he kidnapped her and took her to some secluded cottage where no one would ever find her.

By the time Lucien had been in Nidraos for six months, the impulse had lessened. Sometimes it still pulled him from sleep, but it wasn’t such a battle to get himself back into bed. He simply forced himself to relive her final words before he went back to sleep.

After a while, he stopped thinking about her day to day at all. He no longer cared how she spent her time or what the human lord did to her. Lucien had slipped back to a place in his mind where he could simply be. He found himself in a place with true seasons not dependent on the kings magic. The whole system seemed to function much like the solar courts in Prythain, though those here seemed to pass the magic along via their very lineage and not the chaos of the land. There was no Calanmai—though a host of other holidays often delighted Lucien. So many were centered around the joy of children and family, which should have made him miserable.

Bernard, who must have known Lucien didn’t intend to stick around forever, brought him to his family’s Solstice Gathering where everyone had a gift for him. Lucien hadn’t expected that and, upon realizing there were gifts for him, wrapped in pretty gold paper, had caused him to choke up though he thought he did a decent job swallowing his emotion.

Lucien couldn’t remember the last time someone had given him a gift.

The empty storefront remained empty for six months, and then a year. Lucien had hesitated at the six month mark. He was comfortable. Happy, even. He should have known, then, that someone from his old life would come calling.

And call she did in the form of Feyre Archeron. He saw her one morning on his way out of the bakery, steaming cup in his hands. Snow had begun to fall gently from overhead as another winter came to the small, seaside city. He’d bundled himself in a warm coat and hat and was thinking about the chickens waiting for him when he saw her, looking strange and out of place in the middle of the city square. Lucien was certain Feyre hadn’t come alone, though it certainly looked as if she had.

That meant Azriel was lurking somewhere, just out of sight to give Feyre the illusion of privacy but close enough that he could slaughter anyone who threatened to harm her. Nevermind that in his year living in Niadros, the worst crime he’d seen had been a child stealing a neighbor's cat and refusing to return it. The local mayor had been forced to step in, providing the girl with a new kitten in exchange for the grumpy looking thing.

It struck him right then at how militaristic Prythian was.

Lucien didn’t miss it.

Feyre saw him, face splitting in a blinding, beautiful smile. Lucien’s chest ached at the sight. “Fey?”

“There you are,” she said, jogging over as her blue cloak trailed in a puddle of water. “I was starting to think I’d never find you.” She threw herself against him, typical Feyre-style, for a bruising hug. Lucien didn’t mind, burying his face in her hair. “Missed you,” he grunted out, the words not beginning to cover it.

“I got your letter…and the request for your gold to be sent over. Rhys did all that,” she told him, slipping her arm through his. A few folks watched curiously, and he knew there’d be rumors about yet another female. He’d have to explain Feyre was truly just a sister—he couldn’t let those sorts of rumors swirl around, even if they bolstered his reputation as an unapologetic rake.

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s the same,” she replied, which eased some of his worry. “I saw your mother just the other day.”

Lucien had done his best not to think of her in the last year. “Is she well?”

“As well as she ever is,” Feyre murmured gently. “I told her you were happy, and that seemed to lighten her mood.”

Some of the grief he felt eased. “Good.”

“Will you tell me what happened?” Feyre asked suddenly, pausing in front of a frozen statue of a mermaid. In the summer, water poured upward from her fingertips, causing it to rain against her bronzed hair. Local children would dart away from their parents to splash inside while others tossed in coins hoping a wish might be granted.

“Ask her.”

“I tried, but she and her husband,” Feyre sneered the word, unaware of how the word stabbed Lucien right through the stomach with jealousy, “have forbidden all faeries on pain of death.”

“They could try,” Lucien mumbled, wishing they would, if only so Rhys might mist the bastard laying with his mate.

“She’d decided to play out some fantasy in which she’s still human, I suppose. She was apologetic in her letter, true to form, but she won’t go against him. What happened?”

Lucien desperately did not want to rehash it, so he shrugged his shoulders. “We exchanged some words. They were unpleasant.”

“And then you left.”

“And then I left.”

“Lucien, if she said something—”

“It was more than just her words,” Lucien told Feyre with a sigh. Snowflakes had begun to gather on her lashes, sparkling softly in the early morning light. “One day she’ll come crawling back and you won’t have it in you to hold this grudge.”

“I hold grudges just fine,” Feyre disagreed. “She never had to love you to stay with us but she chose…I don’t know what she chose, honestly. But it hurts me.”

“I know it does,” Lucien replied, not needing to tell Feyre it hurt him, too. What more could he say on the subject? Elain was selfish, he’d told her to her face—he was certain she’d framed it as some revolutionary act of putting herself first without acknowledging that her whole life, Elain had always come first.

“I wanted you to stay. I was hoping for a friend who was only mine. Things…” Feyre took a breath, looking around.

“Feyre,” Lucien all but whispered as he stepped closer, “did something happen?”

She bit her bottom lip before smoothing out her expression. Liar. She was such a liar. Lucien knew it because he was a liar, too. “No, nothing happened. I just miss being able to talk to you, that’s all. Everyone else—I love them, of course, I love them so much, but…they’re Rhys’s friends and family first. And every once and a while I remember that.”

“What happened?” Lucien asked her, holding her by the tops of her arm.

She wasn’t going to tell him. Whatever had happened that had brought her to him, she was remembering that he’d left her, too, and only sent a letter as an afterthought.

“Nothing,” his sweet liar told him, as if Lucien hadn’t spent a year living with her while she practiced lying to his face. “I just miss you, that's all.”

“It’s driving me crazy,” Lucien confessed, still holding her still. “I can’t…I can’t be that close to her. Some nights, an ocean doesn’t feel far enough. She made her choice and I’m trying to live with it.”

“He’s going to die—”

“Could you forgive Rhys?” Lucien asked, catching how Feyre winced. Maybe Feyre could. Maybe she’d overlook it, but Lucien didn’t think he could.

“Are you happy?”

“I am,” he admitted, looking around him. “I didn’t mean to stay, but I like it here. I have friends, a life, I…I’m happier than I was before.”

Feyre took a breath. It was clearly the opposite of what she’d wanted to hear.

“I’ll go back if you ask me to,” Lucien added, because he would. “If you need me, just ask.”

She shook her head. Selfless to the very end—no matter how badly she missed him, Feyre wouldn’t make him go. “Stay. You deserve something good, Lucien, even if it means I don’t get to see you every day.”

She flung her arms around him, squeezing so tightly his ribs groaned in protest. “Don’t come back.”

“You have a place here anytime you want it. High Lady be damned.”

She laughed, and Lucien swore a shadow slithered over those clear, blue eyes. He doubted governing was what Feyre truly wanted in life, though he wasn’t going to say it to her. She was young and, perhaps more tragically, a people pleaser. Her mate wanted her to be his equal in all things and so she would be—without complaint, even if it made her miserable.

Lucien had seen it all before. How long before she was here with him and they were running away again? Never, likely—she’d make it work. Still, Lucien wondered what Rhys could have possibly done to bring her all the way out to him hoping he’d come back.

“Whatever it is you’re waiting for?” Feyre said as she untangled herself from his arms, her expression resolute. “Don’t wait.”

Lucien pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Tell that mate of yours I’m watching him.”

She smiled, well aware it was an empty threat. Still, he knew it made her feel a little better. He promised to write more often, and maybe visit the next Solstice, if only to see her for her birthday. And Feyre wished him well again before she vanished into the crowd.

And Lucien turned to that still empty storefront.

He signed the lease that day.

#elucien #sorry for the delay- idk why i was so nervous to upload this

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thejagermeister · 6 months ago

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because i will probably never have the time/energy to write a full fic about it: here are my thoughts on max, steph, friendship, and their mothers winning honey queen.

[content warnings for abuse and death]

the summer before fourth grade, max's mom competed in the honey queen pageant and won by a landslide. she was a lovely woman, adored by everyone she met. of course she won. what her family wasn't expecting was for her to run away with the prize money.

she was never seen again. max's dad, joseph, was always the stricter parent, always quicker to anger than his wife. but after she disappeared he got worse. and worse. over the course of the summer he went from verbally berating max for his mistakes to screaming at him over invented ones.

max saw school as a safe haven. but when he returned to it after that summer, he found himself wanting to hurt his peers. no, it wasn't a want. it was a need. every night his father abused him and every day he'd pass it on to a classmate. he relished in the control it gave.

at first he was scared his dad would get worse when he found out about the bullying, but joe encouraged it. told him "good, keep them in line. be the highest on the food chain, maxwell." eventually the district gave up trying to punish him.

in fourth grade, he mostly bullied the kids that were already outcasts, like pete, richie, and ruth. so he was still close with his best friend, steph.

the summer before fifth grade, steph's mom won the honey queen pageant. this was a total surprise, because she'd never expressed interest in competing before the contestants were announced. but she did great, and she won, and she ran away with the prize money just as max's mom did the year before.

max and steph were nearly inseparable for the rest of the summer. he stuck around to protect her— if his dad started abusing him after his mom ran off, what was stopping her dad from doing the same? she clung to him because she didn't know anyone else who shared the same trauma, who knew exactly what she was going through.

solomon didn't get worse like joe had. he was always pretty cold towards his daughter. in fact, he didn't seem to hold very much grief for his wife at all. he won his first mayoral election that fall.

steph never figured it out— how could she make the connection, when she doesn't know what goes on behind closed doors at the honey festival? she couldn't have known that solomon traded his wife for wealth and power. she couldn't have known that's why nibblinephim takes a special interest in her when she summons the lords in black, years down the line.

max and steph entered middle school, joined at the hip. but year after year they grew apart, as max descended further into the unrelenting bully he became in high school. steph started hanging out with other people. max joined the football team and made strategically chosen friends to keep his status.

sometimes they saw each other at parties. once, when they both were drunk enough to start spilling secrets, they sat outside and reminisced about their mothers.

in the timelines where max dies and becomes a vengeful ghost, steph mourns that he never got away from his awful home life. when he grabs her at the waylon place and says "get behind me, i'll protect you!" for a moment she's nine years old again, nestled into max's side while her father has a campaign meeting in the other room.

in the timelines where he doesn't die, she's the leader of the nerds' quest to "teach max how to be nice." she knows him better than anyone at school, after all. not many people remember the loud, distracted, but caring and protective kid that he used to be.

#hatchetfield #starkid #nerdy prudes must die #honey queen #max jagerman #steph lauter #stephanie lauter #solomon lauter #joe jagerman #headcanons

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strongheartneteyam · 2 years ago

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I wet you like water but she stained you like blood.

Chapter 2

Pairing: widowed!dilf!Jake Sully x younger!female!human reader

CW: angsty as hell, Neytiri is dead in this AU, unrequited love, older man & younger woman relationship (y/n is in her 20's), feeling like you're only there to fill in the gap someone else left (Neytiri, in this case), mentions of death and being a widow, complex feelings, talks of trauma, CAN BE TRIGGERING TO SOME, mentions of sex, mentions of sexual fluids, reader feeling guilty about being with Jake not long after Neytiri's death

Not proofread. And I can't even read what I just wrote, without even correcting it, because I have to feed my cat and take care of dinner right now. I'm just praying this stuff makes sense. I'll correct any mistakes as soon as I can. Sorry in advance lol This amateur writer here never has enough time on her hands...... 🥲

Chapter 1 𓆩♡𓆪

You're so much older and wiser

And I wait by the door like I'm just a kid

Use my best colors for your portrait

Lay the table with the fancy shit

And watch you tolerate it

If it's all in my head tell me now

Tell me I've got it wrong somehow

tolerate it (Taylor Swift)

𓆩♡𓆪

Jake was a widowed father of 4, he was an attractive, responsible, charming, older man. And he was also funny when he was just chilling, hanging around his friends or his family. Last but not least: he had a delicious "dad bod", a word people came up with to describe older men who are still toned but have some cute fat here and there.

You were a girl in your 20's, a young xenobotanist living in Pandora, who used to spend her nights alone, eating cup noodles, watching and rewatching old TV shows from when the planet Earth was still a place where humans could actually live in, and feeling lonely. So, when Jake Sully got his eye on you, you fell head over heels for him.

You knew well you could never replace Neytiri. Even after her death, she still had a place in Jake's heart that nobody, not even you, would ever be able to claim as yours.

Still, you could not let Jake go. Still, you insisted in staying. Still, you didn't seem to love yourself enough to say to yourself "I deserve better" and wait for a guy who actually loves you, not one that seemed to only love your company and well... your body most of all, as it seemed.

Okay, maybe you shouldn't think this bad of Jake. You knew he felt really connected to you, in a deep level. You two would talk late at night and he would always be vulnerable and tell you about real personal and deep stuff about his life - the one in the human body and the one in the na'vi body -, while the both of you would eat roasted meat and fungi, up in some tree in the middle of the Pandoran forests. But you knew he did not love you. Even if you could feel his heart beating fast through his chest when he kissed and touched you, away from everyone, never in front of anybody, because you two were adults and knew damn well that situation, him seeming like he was so happy and living his best life with another woman, a much younger human girl, who was at an age where she could actually be his daughter, wouldn't sit right with anybody, not human, not na'vi - given that he had children that were still mourning the death of their mother (one of them being a little girl, Tuktirey).

That sacred feeling, love, was saved inside of Jake's heart for Neytiri, his deceased mate, even after death. He bonded with her through tsaheylu. You, as only a human, no neuro queue to connect with his in sight, knew you could never compare to that primal bond he had experienced with her. But worst of all (you felt horrible saying "worst of all" but you knew you didn't mean it like that, like you didn't care about other people's feelings), Neytiri was the mother of his children. She might be with Eywa now but you knew Jake would always remember her looking all beautiful and incredibly feminine carrying his first born, Neteyam Sully, and his other two biological children in her belly (Kiri was adopted after her biological mom died, a dear friend of the couple, Grace Augustine. Kiri was a miracle kid. Her mother was bearing her inside of her body after her own death, inside the lab. That was crazy stuff your human mind would never understand, you thought. Only the na'vi could understand the magnitude of Eywa's power. You yourself knew she was strong and respected her but didn't love and worship her like they did.)

Thinking about the way Jake must still adore the memory of Neytiri and think about her and even cry missing her gave you a big lump in your throat and made you wanna throw up. You felt like the worst being in the Universe thinking like that, but you swore, truly, that feeling that way was not you being a petty selfish girl, jealous of the man you were currently in a situationship with and not even considering to have some respect for his grief and the grief of his children - who had just lost their mother -, but it was actually the love you felt for Jake manifesting in your body, in a psychosomatic way. The pain and desperation you felt thinking about the possibility of him never getting over Neytiri made you sick to your stomach, it made the bones inside of your flesh ache.

The first time you saw him talking to Norm one day at the lab, his tall, large frame in all its glory, his blue skin so beautiful, his dark blue stripes adorning his whole body in intricate patterns, his long brown hair falling on his toned back, his tail looking so cute, reminding you of a kitty cat.... "I'm fucked" You thought to yourself. "Am I really catching feelings for this older na'vi man who will probably never want me in this way?! Damn, he's still mourning his dead mate.... Neytiri died not even a whole year ago... I must be evil to be thinking about him this way at this moment. Stop that, you crazy stupid heartless girl."

You looked at him again and he was smiling, his fangs touching his lower lip. He had such a cheerful, precious smile, even though you knew he had been through a whole lot of pain and trauma in his life. "He must be really strong and resilient. That's beautiful." You thought to yourself

Jake Sully had the right amount of muscles but still had soft flesh in all the right places, his tummy just perfect enough for you to be able to squeeze it if you wanted to, his thighs thick but the muscles were balanced with sweet softness. He made you feel a raw kind of heat in your lower belly and think about him just before sleep, like you were a damn schoolgirl. Sometimes (okay, many times...) he made your panties slick with your own juices when you imagined him taking you in his arms and kissing you hard, dominating you like you were his. Which you wished you were. Until one day that wish was fulfilled. You were in cloud nine when that happened.

Jake had been in the marines back when he was human and lost the movement of his legs, being left needing a wheelchair to move himself around and do day to day activities. He lost his twin brother back on Earth, too, after he - Tommy - had been mugged. And now, he had just lost his wife to death too and was left alone to take care of his 4 children. Poor thing must have PTSD, if the na'vi brains were able to have the same disorders as humans brains had. You didn't know, to be honest. You were a xenobotanist. Your area of expertise was the biology of extraterrestrial plants, not the biology of extraterrestrial bodies.

The fact that he still was capable of irradiating happiness through his eyes, smile, voice and overall presence made you weak with admiration. And love, you must say. Because thats what you were: weak and in love, all for and with Jake Sully.

Too bad his feeling were not even close to being the same as yours. He loved you as a friend and he lusted over your body. He wanted to protect you from any harm anyone could ever do to you. The bitter part of it all is: he could never protect you from the harm he himself did to you. The harm being giving you pieces of what could be his love, but it wasn't. That was the worst crime he could ever commit against you. At least that's what the pungent pain deep inside the arteries of your heart told you. Every night. Every time you remembered he didn't love you, but he loved Neytiri. Everytime you got reminded of the fact that you were alive and she was dead but you still were not his favorite.

Goddammit. How did you end up competing with a dead na'vi woman over a na'vi man's love? You sure were losing your mind.

But falling in love with Jake Sully proved to you that you were not the nerdy science girl who used to always put reason first and feelings last, that you always thought you were. Not when it came to love, at least. Or not when it came to this relationship.

𓆩♡𓆪

If any of you wanna be in the taglist for this fanfic, just leave a comment 🤍 ily n hope you're having a nice day/night 💓⚘

#jake sully x reader #jake sully #jake sully avatar #dilf jake sully #avatar twow #avatar 2009 #avatar james cameron #avatar the way of water #avatar pandora #jake sully x you #jake sully x human!reader #jake avatar #avatar fanfiction #avatar fanfic #avatar fandom #dilf jake sully x reader #avatar au #kxamtxomaw writes

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nerdanel01 · 6 months ago

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Annum

Emmrich Volkarin/F!Rook 2k+ wc | SFW Agnes Gallatus, a newly initiated member of the Mourn Watch, grows into her new role under the guidance of her mentor, Emmrich Volkarin. Set 21 yeas before the start of DA:TV.

___________ EXCERPT: One year. Had it been that long? Somehow this twelve-month stretch in the Necropolis felt at once like it had gone on for ages, and at the same time as though it had all gone by in the blink of an eye. The dark distorted and dilated time, made it pass strangely.

“It has made me so proud,” Volkarin added, the unexpected tenderness in his voice catching Agnes entirely off guard, “to watch you as you grow into your full strength, as one of the Mortalitasi. As a Watcher in your own right.”

Full piece under the cut.

9:31 Dragon

Watcher Initiate Agnes was alone in the study, and she was bored.

It had been over a week past since her mentor, Ser Emmrich Volkarin, had been summoned to the surface—out of the living quarters the Mourn Watch shared in the upper levels of the Necropolis, into the light of the city above—to advise one noble family on some political matter or another. Agnes had always thought it was the priests among the Mortalitasi who wielded the most power, but that was only partially true. As it had turned out, Watcher involved far more political maneuvering than Agnes had expected… though as one of its most junior members, those responsibilities were largely left to her seniors. That suited Agnes just fine. Though it might have been nice to surface, her calendar told her it was winter, the only way to tell the season in the windowless Necropolis. Above, Nevarra City would be cloudy, cold and dry—no better than the Grand Necropolis itself, really.

But without Volkarin around, there was little for her to do. It was strongly discouraged for anyone to descend into the Grand Necropolis alone unless under the most dire of circumstances—and initiates were forbidden from solitary visits entirely. Thus, Agnes was confined to its upper levels: the dormitories and common areas where the Mourn Watch ate and slept. While arguably she could have socialized among the other Watchers in the dining hall, the idea did not appeal; Agnes had a tendency to introversion, and had not yet become well acquainted with many of the other Watchers. Indeed, she still had trouble remembering some of their names.

Instead, she had spent most of the week in Volkarin’s study. His absence gave her the opportunity to undertake the cleaning her fingers had been itching for since she arrived. She fetched a ladder to carefully dust and wax all of the skulls hanging from the high ceiling; of the flasks and alembics that were not currently in use, she immersed them in scalding hot water and scrubbed them til the shone. Errant books and scrolls were returned to their appropriate place on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the corner, near the hearth—the hearth itself swept clean of ashes and washed thoroughly. Herbs (both culinary and medicinal) were ordered, alphabetized and organized in the small wooden drawers. In the spirit of absolute thoroughness, she even tucked the hem of her skirts up into her waistband and got onto her knees with brush and bucket, to scrub the ancient dust off the study floor.

By the end of the third day, every surface had been left gleamingly clean. Agnes attempted to make the best of her time by studying. Practicing her ancient Nevarran; reviewing handwritten accounts and schematics of the most ancient levels of the Necropolis; even trying to brush up a little on her unimpressive, but passable, necromancy. When the appeal of those tasks waned, she had curled up in the armchair by the hearth and read for pleasure—reviews of the latest operas being produced in Orlais and Antiva—but even then, her thoughts kept straying.

For her presence in the laboratory today of all days was no coincidence: by her measure, Ser Volkarin was meant to return today. And yet hour by hour she had watched the water clock in the corner slowly drain, and still he had not come back.

And so, she was alone in the study. And she was bored. And a little bit anxious.

It was not necessarily a bad sign, she reminded herself. Volkarin might have decided to stop at his personal chambers first, to rest or refresh. Or, any number of delightful distractions (none of them perilous) might have waylaid him in the city above. Surely, there was no reason to fear—?

A low moaning issued forth from the halls outside the study, and then the door was thrust open, slamming against the opposite wall with a bang. And there, in the doorway, stood the sorriest looking skeleton Agnes had ever laid eyes upon, trying, and failing, most clumsily, to manage a load of parcels balanced in his arms, against the cage of his ribs.

“Merciful Andraste,” Agnes whispered under her breath, before leaping out of the armchair, racing to the doorway to intercept the packages from the thrall before they were dropped to the floor. “Nevermind, Alfred, give them here, there you are.” But even as she stooped to collect a few errant brown parcels—each of them fragrant of spices and herbs and preserved fruits—she was not mad or frustrated, not really, nor really frustrated. Because she knew that Alfred (imperfect thrall that he was) was incapable of making it all the way back to the laboratory on his own, without his master.

And yes, not a heartbeat later, Alfred was shambling out of the doorway to make room so that Ser Emmrich Volkarin might enter the study behind him. The necromancer was managing twice as many packages as Alfred had been, and he was grinning from ear to ear, his smile outlined in the striking inky line of his pencil mustache.

“Agnes!” he cried, “how fortunate! Just the person I was hoping to see!” He set his own bundle of packages down on one of the nearby tables (cleared, fortunately, of the dusty flasks that usually were left scattered across it) then bent and grabbed Agnes by her elbows, lifting her off the floor and back onto her feet, Alfred’s packages and all. His palms were cool against her elbows. Volkarin gave her his most devilishly charming smile. “Did you miss me?”

Small, unwelcome flip of her stomach. ‘Of course.’ “Not at all,” Agnes told him matter-of-factly, pulling away from his touch to place the remaining packages down upon the table. “It gave me a chance to tidy. On top of that, I got plenty of reading done.” But that she was not as immune to that smile as she would like to pretend. For the excuse not to look him in the face, she set about organizing the packages on the table. “How was your visit to the City?”

“Mostly as expected. But I have a surprise for you.”

Agnes turned—and it was like a gaudy, cheap trick of street magic; there had been no sign of it in the parcels; he produced it seemingly from nowhere—to find Volkarin, arms outstretched, offering her a gargantuan bouquet of dahlias. Rashvine-In-Snow—her mother’s favorites—bright crimson flowers with tight little white faces. The flowers were so fragrant that just the scent of them conjured spring: the birds singing, flowers in bloom, berries bursting on silver-green and ruby colored canes. Between the dahlia’s petals sparkled the last gems of morning dew.

“Do you like them?”

A slight hint of concern on her mentor’s long face, and in his question. Agnes realized she’d been staring at the flowers, reactionless, silent, probably longer than common courtesy allowed. The truth was her heart was hammering in her chest and the thunder of it was difficult to speak around.

“I love them,” Agnes answered, at last. She came out of her rigor mortis to take the bouquet from Volkarin’s hands, taking great care not to brush his fingertips with her own as she did so. “I am… I’m speechless, really. They are beautiful. Thank you.” ‘But why did you give them to me?’

All at once the concern dropped from Ser Volkarin’s face, and he beamed. “I am glad to hear it. It has officially been one year since you joined the Mourn Watch. I thought someone ought to commemorate the occasion, even if you did not find it worth celebrating, yourself.”

One year. Had it been that long? Somehow this twelve-month stretch in the Necropolis felt at once like it had gone on for ages, and at the same time as though it had all gone by in the blink of an eye. The dark distorted and dilated time, made it pass strangely.

Entirely too much warmth and tenderness in his voice. Agnes knew she did not deserve it—was not capable, really, of receiving it properly. Appropriately. The blush in her neck had returned with a vengeance and would, if not stopped, soon spread to her cheeks. She could not bear it: the too-pleased-with-himself look in his eye, the windswept, disheveled mop of his typically orderly midnight hair; the dirt on the knees of his trousers…. the warmth in her face…

And outside, she reminded herself—in the city above—it was winter.

“Wait a moment,” Agnes said, the realization dawning upon her. Brow knit together as she looked, troubled, at the flowers. “Where did you get these?”

Volkarin only blinked at her, failing to comprehend the edge in her tone. “In the Eternal Garden, naturally. Where else would I get them this time of year?”

Slowly, carefully, Agnes set the bouquet upon the table amongst the packages, the better to resist the urge to strike Volkarin with it.

“You descended into the Necropolis, alone?”

“Not alone,” Volkarin replied cheerily, grinning from ear to ear. “Alfred accompanied me.”

Agnes fought very hard to keep her voice level, rather than rising to a screech. “Alfred?” she repeated. As far as she was concerned, Alfred was more of a liability than an asset.

“You worry too much; it was fine,” Volkarin reassured her, reading too well the signs of barely-repressed frustration in her features. “We encountered practically no obstacles on our way in and out.”

She did not like the sound of ‘practically,’ but knew pushing on the matter would do nothing to help her keep calm. “Ser Volkarin,” she began, keeping her voice measured, “Alfred is a remarkable thrall,” she lied through her teeth, “but he cannot protect you like I can.”

Volkarin quirked one elegant, black eyebrow above the other.

“And yet, if my aim is to surprise you, I cannot exactly have you accompany me, can I?”

He had her, there. But Agnes was no fool. Though she was still only an initiate Watcher, a year had been long enough for her to learn that a good deal of the trouble Ser Volkarin got himself into in the Necropolis was a consequence of his own insatiable curiosity. He was over-besotted with the mysteries of the tombs and crypts; if anyone shouldn’t be down there unaccompanied, it was him.

All the same… he had offered her a very sweet gesture. And here she was, berating him for it.

At last, Agnes sighed, then gave Volkarin a disapproving shake of her head. “Take Johanna with you next time, at least, if you must for some reason go down into the Necropolis without me.”

“In addition to Alfred,” Volkarin replied, with an affection cant to his head as he cast his eyes across the room to look upon his thrall with affection. “Not in place of.”

Such warmth on his face, in his smile. This time, not for her. ‘ Get yourself together, Agnes. He loves that animated stack of bones more than he will ever love you.’

“Oh, and one more thing,” Volkarin continued, and Agnes’ eyes snapped to his, trying her best not to look as though she had just been staring at his mouth. “As it has officially been a year since you have joined the Mourn Watch…” and here his expression softened. Gentle, amused, but exasperated nonetheless, he added, “That means I have also spent a full year imploring you, politely, repeatedly, to call me simply Emmrich.”

That, Agnes could not do. In fact, it was almost too much to hear Emmrich call himself by his own birth name. The formality between them—that little line that “Ser” drew between mentor and initiate—she needed it, to protect herself, to wall off her heart. To remind herself that Volkarin had brought these flowers to her to mark, essentially, a career milestone—not for any other reason she might dream of.

Agnes offered him a shadow of a smile, not-quite-contrite.

“I am afraid you will have to keep asking, Ser Volkarin, for at least another year yet.”

Volkarin narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips like he was taking the measure of her somehow. Heat in her core rising under his scrutiny. “Very well,” he said at last, corners of his mouth curling in a mischievous grin. “But you will find I can be both persistent, and persuasive. I will wear you down yet, Agnes Gallatus.”

That was precisely what she was afraid of.

#emmrich volkarin #dragon age emmrich #emmrich the necromancer #data #da:tv #da4 #agnes gallatus #i am romancing the gentleman necromancer and neither kotaku nor god himself can stop me

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whereserpentswalk · 7 months ago

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You were accidently infected with a device meant to turn someone into a cyborg. It's not anyone's fault, it was an artifact from a civilization several star systems away, (though like yourse, the civilization is human) left in a drawer at your university, you didn't know what it was when you touched it. None of the countries on your planet make technology at all similar to this so your doctors don't know what to do. They say they can try to remove it while it's still early on in the process, but that might hurt you more badly, mabye even cost you your life, alternatively you can just let it take its course. You say you'd rather live as a cyborg than die, it's a decision not everyone in your society would make, sometimes you consider yourself a coward for giving up on removal.

It's not a big problem at first. Your freinds, your girlfriend, family all say they're accepting of cyborgs. And people kind of downplay it at first, they can't see the changes. Your skin becomes deathly pale, and you lose almost all your body fat at an alarmingly rapid pace, but it doesn't worry people as much as it worries you.

Your skeleton changes before anything else. Nobody else can see it but you can feel it, your bones turning to metal, twisting their shape. How every movement you make feels diffrent, how even getting out of bed changes. People don't understand why your upset, someone even said you have internalized cyberphobia, they don't understand how everything feels so diffrent. Your girlfriend complimented you on how strong you were, she didn't realize just how strong you are now, that you have to be careful when you embrace her not to hurt her.

Things start getting worse. You can feel unnecessary parts of your body leaving you. The first thing to really cause you grief is realizing that the transformation took your reproductive organs, that you'll never have a child of your own. People don't understand how painful it is. You feel like your own body is alien to you. One of your freinds hugs you to try to comfort you but it doesn't feel right, not in a body like this.

Your teeth fall out one night. It all happens at once. You worry you'll never have teeth again, but over the next few hours new ones grow in their place, metal ones, sharp ones like a shark's teeth meant to rip things apart. Your eyes are taken next, the new ones are shaped the same but they're pitch black, when you look closely you can see the camera inside, you can see so much better and you don't like it, colors that are alien to your mind, there aren't imperfections and that makes the entire world seem so weird. You can't ignore what you are, you can't even see yourself in the mirror without wanting to cry, but your eyes don't cry now.

Your appearance changes more and more. The skin in strpped from your limbs and replaced with metal. Bits of machinery can be seen sticking out of you. Your body hair falls out, until all that's left is long silky hair on your head, even your eyebrows are gone. And the skin you do have is a diffrent texture now, it doesn't feel alive. You don't feel like yourself, people treat you differently, you can't feel like you're you when you remember what you look like.

People go from ignoring the issue to treating you like an issue. Your family mourns you as if you were dead, it's like it would have been more convenient for everyone if you weren't around. People are way more likely to assume you're dangerous or suspicious, you don't feel safe around cops anymore, people find things you do inappropriate that weren't inappropriate when you were human. It's weirder with well meaning people, for the first time you've been complimented on "how good you are at feeling emotions", people will be polite to you but weirdly uncomfortable around you, or try so hard to be inclusive and show that they care about you that it makes you feel like a prize animal. You start hanging out more and more with freinds you have who are also cyborgs or robots, even aliens feel more like you than humans, and you make more and more cyborg freinds because they treat you like a person. But still most cyborgs chose to become what they are, so it's hard to relate to that aspect of it. You'll here other cyborgs talk about how great their bodies are, how much they prefer their new selves to being human, and it just makes you want to cry.

Not to mention how much you start to change as a person. Your eyes have a hud now, it's not even like you can see it but like it's another sense, you can get it to go away. You used to leave the city every few months to see the forest, but now nature seems weird and separate from you, and machines feel familiar and comforting. There are weapons inside you, they were the last thing to come in, you're not even allowed in a few places because of it, you can always feels these blades inside your body that want to come out and strike. You don't sleep, you miss dreaming, you don't eat either, and sexual pleasure is impossible in your new body. Food itself is weirdly gross to you. And when you see your girlfriend laying in bed you don't feel lust anymore, you don't want to play with her breasts or rub her penis, your instinct is to attack her, you see that soft vulnerable body as an easy target, like a predator seeing prey. You don't know what she sees in your to still stay. And even among them you're considered a low functioning or low humanity cyborg, whatever that means.

It's weird, it feels like your story should have ended. Like you should have become a monster for someone else to fight by now. But you didn't, you live in the same apartment, go to the same college, you're still you even after all that's changed what being you means. There's people who make you feel better, it's always awkward when people try to comfort you, but when people talk to you just about normal things, and when they're nice to you the way they'd be nice to anyone else, you're experiencing that more now that you only really interact with people who accept you, and now that people you know have adjusted to your new movements and mannerisms. You don't like most physical affection anymore, but being pet gently with two fingers, like a snake, that's weirdly nice. Daytime is overwhelming, but you enjoy the night more with how your eyes work, and feeling the cool night air, on your metal skinless limbs, and your hairless flesh, it makes thing seem strangely peaceful.

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axailslink · 1 year ago

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Love Someone Else

꧁༒☬𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖊 𝕺𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊 𝖝 𝕱𝕰𝕸 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗☬༒꧂

Summary: The death of your husband brings you to Rosalie to remind her of what was once and what could possibly still be if given the chance.

╰•★★ 𝓢𝓷𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓽 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓬: ★★•╯

“ "you haven't been this dressed up since the funeral Y/n please don't tell me this is all for me?" Stuck between the kiss her soft voice and warm hands you don't know how to respond but it's not as if she was looking for one. ”

I ain't saying smut but I ain't saying fluff either

✦•·················• 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜 •·················•✦

Rosalie stares at the plate in your hand for only a moment before quickly inviting you in from the dark and chillness of the night. "What brings you at this hour Mrs. Y/l/n?" You place the dish on the table and smile before you ask her a daring question that you know she doesn't know the answer to "why do I not love him?" Rose hesitates to move and to answer "I'm sorry?" "I do not love him. Surely I mourn for him and get upset because he's no longer around but I didn't like anything about him. Rose did you like the touch of your husband?" Rosalie gently takes your coat from you and hangs it up "of course but he was dead before we made it anywhere close to the altar you know." You had forgotten Rose never married she had plans to but due to the murder of her fianceé she never did. "I'm sorry" Rose accepts your apology with a nod "it's fine it was... A long time ago. I hate to give you this advice but it's easier to move on. To love someone else." You shake your head watching Rosalie walk away from you "Rose do you remember when we were school girls?" her face lights up at the reminder "that depends babies or fresh out the pack of lites?" You smile shakily as you answer "when we were teenagers you nineteen me just turning eighte-" "Y/n" "we were learning about our bodies and you touched m-" "Y/n!" You want to stop out of respect for her but you can't "Rose please why did you do it? Why'd you confuse me?" Rosalie sits on the couch "I didn't mean to Y/n if I had known you hadn't thought of me in that way I would have never let my hand slide underneath your gown that night. I asked multiple times if you wanted me to stop you never said no never shook your head. So I'm sorry you cannot fault me because you are unsure of what your body wants." She's right you're confused when it comes to what your body wants but you're well aware of what your mind wants. "Rosalie" "what Y/n?" You grab her hand and pull her to you planting a soft kiss on her lips "we didn't do that. That night. You lips grazed mine multiple times as I... neither of us has the confidence to kiss. Now I do." Rosalie closes her eyes before deciding on her next move. "Leave" her words hurt but that's an appropriate response so you turn on your heel and grab your coat but before you can touch the door she sighs "why couldn't you have realized all of this when we were younger? You never loved that man you threw yourself into loving him because you knew you loved me."

"I was scared, Rose. I was so fucking scared" Rosalie sighs and kicks off her heels before approaching you and grabbing you by your face making you lean in and she kisses you a lot better than you did her moments ago. Rosalie first pecks your parted lips before slipping her tongue in your mouth and sucking on yours. Her hands roam your body dragging your dress up your thighs now that she's close it's kind of short "you haven't been this dressed up since the funeral Y/n please don't tell me this is all for me?" Stuck between the kiss her soft voice and warm hands you don't know how to respond but it's not as if she was looking for one. "Rose" Rosalie looks at you with fear of you telling her to stop "do you want me to stop?" It's like a repeat of that night everything seems the exact same her question, those full eyes, and her hands movements but this time you're sure. "No it's just you've been focusing on everything but..." You hesitate with your words but Rose knows she drops to her knees with a hard thump you're sure she's scratched but she doesn't seem worried about it as she pushes you against the front door and guides your gown up your body but she stops seeing the all too familiar night gown draped underneath. "You're wearing the same one" you nod Rosalie gets up immediately turning you around and unzipping the day gown letting it fall around your feet and revealing the white buttoned gown beneath. "So what is this? To tease me or remind me?" You don't know how to reply or what to say "because if this is a reminder trust I can do so much more than you experienced that night."

Her hands glide beneath your gown crawling up your skin as she kisses your inner thighs uncomfortable with your current position you prop one of your legs upon her shoulder immediately pulling her in the gown's draped over her head. You're not sure what to expect first you can't see her frowning face when she's thinking you're not sure what she's going to do next. Her tongue glides against your already wet folds and you're weak you can feel the smile on her face seeing your body's reaction. She grabs hold of the propped leg as she toys with your clit sucking and nibbling doing the complete opposite of neglecting but giving it all of her attention her hands no longer wander your skin or touch anything else for that matter Rosalie's other hand is tucked in her lap. Mumbles of her name are heard rolling off your lips as your body shakes only motivating her to continue. You push her head away from it being too much but she continues now sliding her thumb across your slit letting it get soaked in your juices which are coming down your leg. She gently pushes her thumb against your slit letting it breach that barrier just a little bit to tease you. "Rose for fucks sake" Rose laughs and kisses your clit as she finally breaches the barrier fully gently fucking you with that one finger but seeing as it does nothing to stop the aching building in your lower stomach she switches to her pointer finger and middle finger gently fucking that pretty soaked pussy of yours. The curl of her fingers almost brings you sliding down the door but that hand on your thigh gently taps you "uh-uh stand up" you want to cry she's asking for too much right now your body is throbbing around just those two fingers and she needs you to stand up after she's toyed with you and tired you out. You want to bring this climax to an end so you rut against her fingers you can't see Rosalie but she smiles almost proud of you "awn why are you rushing I thought you wanted this?" You pull the gown up and Rosalie smiles at you "yes baby?" You feel her fingers start to come to a slow place and you want to get up and walk off "no no no no please baby let m-" "no."

"No?"

"No."

"What the fu-" Rosalie pulls her fingers from you and stuffs them in your mouth silencing you immediately. "Do you still taste as good?" You nod and Rose slowly removes her fingers watching as a trail of saliva leaves your mouth too "lemme see" Rosalie licks into your open mouth and you smile. "Go home" you spare her a confused glance "and come back with your things tomorrow I'll have a drawer ready and my closet cleared. I wouldn't dare let you have such a beautiful release right here against this door like some street walker you deserve a bed. You'll get that tomorrow." Rosalie grabs your coat from your balled fist that you truthfully forgot you were holding and carefully pulls it over your night gown she pecks your cheek and opens the door. Rosalie watches you leave thinking about you wearing nothing but a night gown under that pretty black coat of yours as she picks up the day gown and folds it.

✦•·················•✦

A/n: leaving y'all with another quick fic before I go to basic. Enjoy some Rosalie angst and smut. Unedited of course.

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unhinged-summer-fun · 3 days ago

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the foolish heart's guide to not repeating history - chapter 2

Pairing: Dream of the Endless "Morpheus" x F!Reader

series masterlist

chapter 2: the fourth free house

Destruction sits back in his seat to watch you. There’s something too similar to how Destiny looked at you not a day ago, too-knowing.

“What.”

“You are confounding. It’s why I like you and what rankles me to no end.”

“Rankle,” you snort.

“It’s a good word.” He rolls his eyes at you, but he’s smiling. It takes him a few moments to think of what to say next, so you look around at the Worlds’ End.

It had been several hours since you arrived and less than one since you finished your tale. The reliable, dull roar of the tavern drowns out the Hum just enough for you to relax in the relative silence. Destruction shakes his head, abandoning the troubling thought that wishes to be spoken in favor of a tangent.

“I think that… hm. I don’t have gifts of foresight like Destiny and Delirium, but there’s something I think neither of them have quite gotten the hang of in this or any other universe.”

“What’s that?”

“Belief. And optimism.”

“I don’t doubt it.” You smile wryly at him and reach out a hand to squeeze his arm. An ex-agent of Fate and an out-of-office Endless, both of you blessed and cursed with the simple ability to change. “You look happy. Happier than the last time I saw you.”

You’d seen him leaving the Dreaming, walking away from his brother’s wake sporting the same supposed ease with which he’d walked away from his family three hundred years before. He’d seen you on your way into the castle and had given you a strange look. It wasn’t pity; it was a very complicated kind of grief, as if it had been you who died and not—

“I am happier,” he nods. He does not elaborate but seems to come to a separate conclusion, for his resolve is steady when he looks up at you again. “I know you covered my fare, but I have a story to tell. Just for you.”

In the fourth Free House, I was told a story. It’s not as common there as it is here, of course, but Lady Siduri told me I should know. I believe she wanted to inform management. I haven’t been anything resembling management in over three hundred years, but she didn’t care. She told me that not too long ago, or not too long from now, a person she couldn’t remember came in but did not pay the tab.

The fourth House is woeful, a heavy place that does not skate on the seas of the universe but instead one that sinks beneath the weight of its own sadness. It requires a heavy heart to pay for passage and shelter, but that’s not all. Payment in full involves the lifting of burdens borne by grief. Anyone can stay as long as they need, until they hear the right bit of advice, until they cry enough tears, or until they pass enough seconds in silence. At that point, their hearts should be light enough to leave.

Very rarely did Lady Siduri forget a face. Even rarer did she forget the face of one who walked out on their tab.

She remembered them being dressed in a standard garb within the walls of the fourth House: mourning black, as if they’d just come from a funeral… or a wake. They drank red wine and told her they’d just had their heart broken again.

“Have you been here before?” Siduri asked them.

They told her something like, “Since it was first made.”

“I hope our House has helped,” said Siduri, ever the hostess.

Siduri thought the traveler said, “More often than not, yes.”

Siduri did not remember precisely why she gave the advice she did. Still, she remembered the advice itself, which could indicate who the traveler was—as I am a traveler and walk the worlds often and may have some insight.

The advice was something like: Don’t make a cult of suffering. Live in the now (or at least the soon). Courage is an acquired taste. Trust all joy.

“How did this wanderer take the advice?” I asked.

“The floor shook with whatever they decided to do. They stood from the bar, thanked me, and left without paying.”

“Did you see where they were going after they left?”

Of course, she had not.

Since hearing this tale, I have wondered about the nature of travel and the delicate balance of running toward and running away. My travels have inspired this kind of introspection, though never to be seen from the outside. I have come to no conclusion here or there about the definition of divinity, but it seems that for all who move, be they humans or gods, planets or stars, there are always things they want to put behind them and always things to look forward to. To look elsewhere for.

There was still the matter of their tab to settle. I felt a kinship with the heavy heart that left the fourth House, and I, too, had just come from a funeral… or a wake. And some souls need to speak of the dead—no, that’s not it. Speaking of the past most often means speaking of the living. And that’s what I did.

In a tucked-away corner of a kitchen that looked like any other kitchen in the world, two brothers, in the most technical sense, were having a conversation.

“D’you know me?” the older-younger brother said.

Eyes as black and starry as their mother’s, which never failed to meet another’s before, slid away in awkward contemplation. “…I believe so. You are… my brother…?”

A smile. “More or less.” He did the kind thing and didn’t acknowledge the new Dream’s shyness. “I wasn’t going to come. And then I thought, sod it. I’ll stop by, give him a little advice. You’ve never been inclined to listen to my advice, but well: things change, don’t they?”

The younger-older brother touched the gleaming emerald on the chain around his neck, conflicting naïveté and enduring wisdom. “Yes. They do.”

“Wise lad. Walk with me a spell.”

“You won’t stay?”

“No. You know I won’t.”

The boy’s face fell. His brother was reminded that this boy was incredibly young, and he remembered a tale he’d been told once of the children they’d once been allowed to be, a universe away. He’d never been allowed a childhood of protection or idyll, and the idea of them being this young and upset turned his heart into knots. Even when his younger sisters had either died or gone through enough torment to be lost, it had hurt to see. But this brother, once an unchanging monolith of clashing ideal and order, had been a beacon for guidance until he’d gotten the hang of the universe. To see him so ill at ease was disconcerting, disorienting, like a compass had finally shattered and revealed itself to be a clock all along.

They walked over a river that had not yet revealed its purpose. “You know you could leave all this. It’ll carry on all right without you. Come out with me and walk the stars.” He already knew the answer, for Dream was Dream in each universe, or so he believed. “It’s astonishing how much trouble one can get oneself into if one works at it.” It was not a jab meant just for the boy before him but for the echo of the stoic being he’d been and is and would be. “It’s also astonishing how much trouble one can get oneself out of if one simply assumes that everything will, somehow or other, work out for the best.”

The inevitable came.

“I have no wish to leave, my brother. But I thank you for your counsel; it is well-meant. And for your other advice, I thank you also. All will be well.” Stars, he sounds just like him, the younger-older brother thought.

They made their goodbyes awkwardly, and though he knew that Dream would not take his advice, he’d at least received it, which was change enough to note.

“Will… will I meet you again?” the boy called.

He’d just been about to leave, and his steps stuttered some on the path beneath him. A surge of protectiveness and grief filled the man’s soul, and he had only a moment to fix his face before he threw a smile over his shoulder. He thought of his friend who told him of the universes, her weeping, her broken hearts, and the dogged fondness that possessed her each time she returned to Dream.

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

He lifted his foot to step into the stars when a short gasp made him stop and turn.

Beside the boy, barely visible, a dark-draped form stood. Flickers of reality sparked off him like embers floating above a bonfire. Pieces of him fell away and away and away even as he was here.

“You—?”

“I would have been better, to love her better. How she deserved and deserves.”

“Regrets are for the living, Dream,” he told his older-older brother, pale with heartache. “And so is change.”

His head bowed, black hair covering his expression, and he faded away for good as a bright star bloomed into existence in the sky.

He had no more words for the new Dream but needed a few minutes of walking to absorb it. He walked along the river, even as the paths faded back into raw creation. He recognized his siblings’ work and, in a way, could feel where they were in the castle. If there was ever a moment where he wanted to bow and return, it was this.

As if Fate had intervened, the great regret of his brother’s life saw him as he went. He waved to her but could do little else besides that.

The lady seemed to appreciate my tale, as did the sadness on my shoulders. Afterward, a sort of understanding glimmered in her eyes, like many things suddenly seemed to make sense. She thanked me for paying my tab so thoroughly and considered the mystery wanderer’s debt paid off. Not long after that, I left and made my way here.

You flag down another glass of wine, your third of this stay, for yet another world of yours has come crashing down around your ears. You’re surprisingly composed even through the tears on your face, and your voice does not shake when you say, “Why would you tell me that?”

“You deserve to know all the parts in play before you begin this game again.”

“You’re still trying to convince me not to do this?” you ask, dashing your tears and holding your hand out for your wine. Though the barkeep had not heard the tale, he knew the bill had been paid in full.

“I am not,” your friend tells you, shaking his head. “I am telling you so you do not make the same moves that would hurt you. You are coming into this universe at a peculiar time.”

“I am coming into this universe at the perfectly correct time for my purposes.”

Curiosity sparks in his eyes, wondering what game you’re playing. Still, he’d chosen many, many years ago, in another time and space entirely, to never sit at this table again. “I shall offer no other advice, for as much as I told you so is a delight to say, I would rather believe you know what you’re doing.”

“Then please do. That’d make one of us.”

“Permutations still running against you?” He knows something of the horrible murmuring of Fate ever in the back of your mind, the noise you call the Hum. Your three counterparts did not suffer from the droning what-ifs and could-be’s, perhaps because they shared its weight among themselves. The indecision and second-guessing inherent to your being always left you with a low note of regret in every choice you made.

“You know it.” You drain your wine and sigh, rubbing your forehead and closing your eyes. “I think so long as someone believes in me, I can do it.”

“You truly do belong with him, don’t you?” He laughs, loud as a bomb going off. “I think I may stick around for this one. I’d like to see what you do. And besides, you’ve never been to this universe, and you’ll need someone to show you the ropes.”

“Don’t patronize me,” you say—rolling your eyes but smiling. “It’s good to see you again… friend.”

You polish off the rest, and when you set the cup down, you know it’s time to get to work.

CHAPTER 3

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