#fiery wall of protection

[messiah10chi]

Fiery wall of protection and fortune candle. I dressed the candles in corresponding oils and wax. Cant wait to use them!

[aspelladay]

Justice Spell

This doll-spell represents a plea to the universe for justice and protection from one’s adversaries. Obviously, doll-magic may be taken in many directions: it is the plea for justice that prevents this spell from being considered a hex. If indeed, your plea for justice is undeserved, the spell will benefit the adversary instead. Adjust the spell as needed to suit your situation.

On the night prior to the court date, personalize a doll to represent your adversary. (A separate doll is required for each adversary you may have.)

Place the doll atop a clean white cloth.

Dress the doll with a series of condition oils: Command and Compel, Courtcase, Fiery Wall of Protection, and/or San Cipriano Oils. Theoretically at least, the more oils, the more powerful the spell.

Sprinkle crushed vervain over the doll.

Tie a white cotton thread or string around the doll’s waist.

Burn frankincense and myrrh.

Recite Psalm 7 nine times.

Wrap the doll up inside the cloth and hide it in the dark in a discreet and private place.

This is a popular spell. Sometimes reciting the psalm is omitted. Other options for disposing of the doll exist, too: for instance, bury the doll in the ground, far from your home, or bury the doll in the cemetery, or burn the doll and scatter the ashes in the wind.

(from The Element Encyclopedia of 5,000 Spells by Judika Illes)

[redvdress]

IF YOU WAKE HER UP, YOU’RE DEAD

A/N: oooook since anon have been asking for some relationship bakugo stuff, here’s my version for it. it’s my first time ever writing for him but i tried my best to picture him canon, soo enjoy!! you fell asleep on your boyfriend’s shoulder and you got caught too, what did he do?

The night was quiet, and the halls of U.A were empty. It was late—later than Bakugo usually stayed up, especially with a brutal training session awaiting him in the morning.

Still, here he was, sprawled on the common room couch with textbooks and notebooks scattered on the coffee table in front of him. He wasn’t one to study in the dorm’s common area, much preferring the solitude of his room. But tonight was different.

You were there with him.

He hadn’t planned it this way. Bakugo had been cramming, prepping for an upcoming test that Aizawa had threatened them all with. Normally, he would’ve told everyone else to stay the hell out of his way, barking at any idiot who dared to disturb him. But when you suggested studying together earlier, something in him gave.

He wouldn’t admit it, but the thought of you by his side made it tolerable—maybe even enjoyable.

The two of you had spent hours working in a comfortable silence. Well, comfortable for you. Bakugo had his usual scowl, occasionally muttering about the idiots in the class or cursing out loud when a particular formula or hero law didn’t make sense immediately. Despite his fiery demeanor, you could tell he was laser-focused, determined to come out on top. That was just who he was—always aiming for the number one spot. It was one of the many things you admired about him.

At some point, though, the exhaustion caught up with you. Katsuki had noticed you rubbing your eyes, trying to keep yourself awake as you scrawled down notes. He’d been keeping a sideways eye on you ever since, but said nothing, too proud to outright suggest you stop and go to bed. But deep down, he could see you were tired.

It had been a long day, and between morning classes and the intense afternoon training led by All Might, you were wiped. The sofa was comfortable, and the rhythmic sound of Bakugo flipping through pages and scribbling notes was strangely soothing.

Before you knew it, your eyelids grew heavy, and your body leaned unconsciously towards him. Your head found its way onto his shoulder, and before either of you realized, you had drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Bakugo stiffened at first, feeling the weight of your head gently resting against him. The sudden warmth of your body against his side sent a jolt through his system. His first instinct was to wake you up with a sharp nudge—he wasn’t exactly used to people being this close to him, much less while he was supposed to be studying.

But for some reason, Bakugo couldn’t bring himself to do it. His eyes flicked down to your face, now completely relaxed in sleep. The furrow between your brows that had been there during studying was gone, replaced by a soft, peaceful expression. Your breathing was steady, slow.

“Damn,” Bakugo muttered under his breath, careful not to disturb you. You looked so calm, so vulnerable like this.

He wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling creeping up in his chest.

It wasn’t something he was used to—a strange mix of protectiveness and warmth, a side of him that he hadn’t fully come to terms with yet.

He shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position without moving you too much. He glanced around the empty common room, the soft glow of the single lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The dim lighting, paired with the quiet ticking of the wall clock, made the atmosphere feel almost intimate. His usual instinct to keep people at arm’s length was quieted by the sheer peace of the moment.

Still, he couldn’t help himself.

He muttered low under his breath, “Tch, idiot. You’re drooling on my shoulder…”

But there was no real heat in his voice. In fact, there was a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, though he’d never admit it. He reached out, grabbing the throw blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch, and carefully pulled it over you. His movements were slow and deliberate, making sure not to wake you. Normally, the thought of someone leaning on him, invading his space like this, would piss him off. But somehow, with you, it was different.

His red eyes softened as he watched your chest rise and fall, lost in your dreams. You trusted him—enough to fall asleep on him, enough to let your guard down entirely.

Katsuki knew what trust meant in this line of work. It was something you built through blood, sweat, and tears. It wasn’t something he gave away freely, either. But somehow, you had managed to crack through that thick, explosive shell of his.

Not that he’d admit that to anyone. Ever.

“Damn extras would never let me live this down,” he muttered to himself, feeling the slightest flush of embarrassment. His pride wouldn’t survive the onslaught of teasing that would surely follow if anyone saw him like this. Soft. Vulnerable.

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, and Bakugo tensed. His eyes snapped towards the door just as it opened, revealing none other than Kirishima. Of course, it had to be him. The red-haired idiot had a knack for showing up at the worst times.

Kirishima’s eyes widened the second he took in the sight before him—Bakugo sitting stiffly on the couch, you curled up next to him, sound asleep. And there was a blanket.

Bakugo had covered you with a blanket.

A wide grin spread across Kirishima’s face, and Bakugo could already see the teasing coming a mile away. “Whoa, man, this is too cute!” Kirishima’s voice was loud, his words brimming with amusement. He took a step closer, clearly ready to capitalize on the rare sight.

Bakugo’s glare could’ve melted steel. His hand curled into a fist, and he raised a single, deadly finger to Kirishima. “Oi. If you wake her up, I swear on everything, you’re dead.”

Kirishima froze in place, hands raised in surrender, though his grin only widened. “Whoa, whoa! Chill, dude. I’m not gonna wake her. But come on, Bakugo, this is a side of you I never expected to see.”

Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly. “Shut it, Shitty Hair. Get lost before I blow your dumbass to pieces,” he growled, keeping his voice low enough not to disturb you.

But Kirishima wasn’t backing down. He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he shot Bakugo a knowing look. “Man, you’ve changed. You know that, right? I mean, I didn’t think I’d ever see the day you’d let someone fall asleep on you without, you know, blowing up half the room.” He gave Bakugo a thumbs-up, his smile genuine, despite the teasing. “She’s good for you, man.”

Bakugo’s eyes flashed dangerously, and for a moment, it looked like he might actually follow through with his threat. His hand twitched, tiny pops of sparks dancing at his fingertips, but he held himself back. Barely.

“You got three seconds to get out of here before I wipe that dumb grin off your face,” he hissed, his voice a low growl.

Kirishima laughed again, clearly enjoying how riled up Bakugo was getting. “Alright, alright! I’m going. Don’t get all fired up.” He took a step back, still grinning. “But seriously, Bakugo, it’s nice to see you like this. You should let it show more often.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed to slits, but before he could retort, Kirishima had already slipped out of the room, leaving Bakugo to seethe in silence.

“Tch. Stupid idiot…” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the door where Kirishima had been standing. His hands unclenched, and he leaned back against the couch, letting out a long breath. The tension that had built up in his shoulders slowly melted away as the room fell silent again. He glanced down at you, still fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the brief interaction.

The scowl softened on his face. He wasn’t one to express his feelings easily—or at all, really. His love was shown through action, through the way he looked out for you during training, or the way he pushed you to be better, stronger. But moments like this, where he allowed himself to be close, to let down his guard, were still foreign territory for him.

Carefully, Bakugo shifted his arm, resting it along the back of the couch behind you. He glanced at the clock. It was later than he thought, and the weariness in his own muscles was starting to catch up with him. He hadn’t planned on falling asleep out here, but with you curled up beside him, warm and steady, he could feel his eyelids growing heavier.

His eyes flicked back to you one last time. For all the hell you went through at UA, for all the chaos and danger they faced in their training and in the field, this was one moment of quiet he wasn’t going to take for granted.

Bakugo let out a quiet sigh, his body finally relaxing against the cushions.

His hand, still resting on the back of the couch, slowly found its way to yours under the blanket.

He laced his fingers with yours, feeling the warmth of your skin against his.

He closed his eyes, letting the steady rhythm of your breathing lull him into a rare state of peace.

Before he knew it, he had drifted off too, his head leaning back against the couch, his breathing evening out into soft, steady inhales and exhales.

When Bakugo woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight creeping through the common room window, casting long, golden beams across the floor. He blinked, his mind still foggy with sleep, before realizing he was still on the couch. And you were still nestled up beside him.

His heart gave a brief, surprised lurch before he quickly masked the feeling with a grunt. He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you, but the movement must have been enough because you stirred, your head lifting slowly from his shoulder.

“Mmm… morning,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes as you blinked awake.

Bakugo turned his head slightly, trying to sound casual. “Morning,” he grunted, his voice still rough with sleep. He felt you pull away a bit, and immediately, the cold air hit where your warmth had been. His first instinct was to grumble about it, but instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets, standing up quickly. “You drooled on me, idiot,” he said, his tone sharp, but not biting. It was more teasing than anything else.

Your face flushed with embarrassment, a small, sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “Sorry…”

Bakugo rolled his eyes, turning away as he stretched, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness. “Tch. Just don’t make a habit of it,” he muttered, though the usual harsh edge in his voice was absent. There was something softer, more subdued, as if last night’s vulnerability had lingered in the air.

As you stood up and stretched, Bakugo glanced towards the door, half-expecting Kirishima or another one of the extras to barge in with more teasing remarks. He wasn’t in the mood for any of that right now. But the common room was still empty, the rest of the dorms quiet in the early morning.

Bakugo walked towards the door, glancing back over his shoulder at you. “C’mon,” he said, his voice back to its usual gruffness. “Let’s grab some breakfast before the damn extras wake up. And don’t expect me to wait for you,” he added, though there was no real bite in his words.

But as you fell in step beside him, your hand brushing against his briefly, Katsuki felt that familiar warmth bloom in his chest again.

[rainy-day-gracie]

wedding night (1)

pairing: general marcus acacius x virgin!wife!reader

content warning(s); dual pov, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, period typical misogyny (Ancient Rome), mentions of violence/warfare, mention (1) of sexual violence (not against reader), mentions of pregnancy, attempted bedding ceremony, reader has hair that can be pinned back, steamy kisses, crazy amounts of sexual tension, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, virgin!reader, SOFTTTTT marcus acacius, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: this has been living in my head for weeks now, along with every new photo we get of general marcus acacius because of course. this can be read as a prequel to bloodlust, or read entirely on its own. the reader insert is written as the same character in each fic.

this will be part 1 of the wedding night, and part 2 will include smut :)

---

You considered bolting as the sun rose on the morning of your wedding day. Stealing one of the nobleman's horses, putting as many miles as you could between yourself and the General's country house.

But, from what you've heard about the General, there would not be a corner of the earth that he would not find you in.

Your palms were clammy with sweat as the handmaidens pinned your hair back into a style of a bride. You wondered how they couldn't possibly hear the quick, panicky beating of your heart as each moment brought you closer to what you considered a life sentence.

General Marcus Acacius is venerated like a god in Rome, and anywhere else. Men boast about his wartime accomplishments as if they were their own, and ladies whisper about his scarred face like they would a demon within the walls.

So many rumors swirling around the Emperor's most esteemed general.

His hands were permanently stained red with blood, he burns the heads of his enemies in sacrifice to the gods, he kills men with icy calculation, takes women with fiery passion.

You could only imagine what kind of monster was waiting for you at the altar.

---

Marcus was in no good spirits on the day of his wedding, the marriage forced on him almost as much as it was forced on his...

Gods above, his bride.

The idea of having a bride was almost as foreign as you yourself were, since never once had Marcus even considered marrying anyone. With all the bloodshed and near-death experiences, he never exactly considered himself a man that was meant to be a husband. Or a father, for that matter.

Marcus tried not to shudder at the end of the aisle as the chorus began singing, sounding all to close to a death march.

At the sound of the choir, you entered into the wedding hall, for all gods and men to see.

His bride.

The world seemed to be brighter, the flowers bloomed more beautiful, and Marcus' vision turned clearer as you stepped into his sight.

For a moment, he forgot all about the blood of men on his hands. The shame that burdened him was cast off. Maybe he wasn't completely condemned to the Underworld.

The very possibility of you being his bringing him more relief than any wine or fine lady. The possibility of you being in his life was... redeeming. Redefining. Remaking.

One look, and he made a vow, but not to you. To himself.

If any harm were to come to you, he would unleash the fury of the gods upon them. He would protect you to the end of his days. Honor you, and serve you, however you may wish.

---

Fear coated your every nerve as you beheld your soon-to-be husband.

Nothing could have prepared you for just how mighty General Acacius was. Tan, broad, and mighty, dressed in fine white robes similar to yours. His bare hands were strong, made for swinging axes, throwing punches, and taking what he wanted. At the altar, he seemed to be near brooding, speaking his vows quietly, his voice like a roll of thunder.

You managed to keep your voice steady while you spoke your vows, but there was nothing you could do to keep your hands from shaking as the priest brought out the rings.

The general reached for your hand, and you were unable to keep from trembling.

His touch was warm on your skin, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he slid the gold wedding band onto your finger. You found the nerve to meet his brown eyes, finding something utterly unreadable as he held your gaze. Could it be... fondness?

Gods, he was beautiful.

His touch steadied you, though you still exchanged rings with a thundering heart.

"In the sight of Gods and men, you are now Husband and Wife. You may kiss your bride, General."

The priest's words echoed in your head.

Husband and Wife.

The general leaned forward, an unspoken question in his warm eyes.

Swallowing, you gave a near imperceptible nod.

For such a harsh man, such a dominating man, his kiss was utterly... soft. Tender. Almost coaxing.

After a moment, he pulled away first, and you could've sworn he lingered, cherishing the air between you... before turned to the cheering wedding party.

In an instant, he changed, switching from the gentle kiss of a lover to a commanding force, a man that drinks in praise like fine wine.

A mighty man, indeed.

---

Marcus tried his best to not feel too wounded that his new wife was completely terrified of him.

He felt the thundering pulse in your hand as he slid that ring on, and he wondered if you saw the wedding band as a chain, a set of shackles. It's all too true for other women in Rome.

You barely spoke to him during the wedding feast, only giving small nods and forced smiles in between sips of wine. He had a good feeling you were resisting the urge to swallow it down in one gulp.

Marcus couldn’t help but study you— at first innocently, taking in the curve of your lips, the shine of your eyes, the polite smile you gave when someone offered congratulations.

Damn his dirty mind. As the night went on, and the celebrations continued beyond what he would’ve liked, he tried, and failed, not to eye your body as a means of distraction from the rowdy feast.

It started with your neck. He traced the slope of it with his eyes, marking every freckle and curve. He prayed to all the gods that you would want him to leave his marks on you.

Downward, he peeked slightly at your breasts whilst cursing himself. Of course, they appeared perfect beneath your wedding stola, and he wondered what manner of sounds you would make when he took them into his hands, into his mouth.

And then… Gods, those hips—

“Time for the bedding ceremony!” Emperor Geta jeered, pulling you from your seat with a firm jerk of your elbow. His eyes were greedy, scheming. “Let us see what is underneath that—“

Your face flushed with either embarrassment or fear or both. And that was all Marcus needed to see.

“There will be no bedding ceremony.”

Marcus lowered his voice to a deep warning, the kind that has sent men running for their lives.

Geta scoffed, still holding to your elbow. “It’s a wedding, Acacius, it’s your wedding. Don’t you want to show off the prize of your latest conquest? Distribute the winnings? Strip down that—“

Marcus stood, towering several inches over Geta’s slimy face. “I said… there will be no bedding ceremony.”

Geta kept his hands on you, and Marcus’s vision tinged with red hot fury.

His voice was a rumble, a threat in itself. “It’s my wedding, is it not? And I say there will be no bedding ceremony.”

People were watching now, the feast gone silent at this standoff.

Marcus knew how to pick his battles, cut his losses. But when staring down Geta, the most powerful man in the empire, he realized that for you, he would pick every single one if it meant he kept you safe.

The moments that passed were crackling, the tension between the two men sucking all the air from the celebratory hall.

Geta saw something in Marcus’s unyielding gaze, something that told him he would not win this fight, and decided the bedding ceremony wasn’t worth the scrutiny.

As the Emperor walked away, Marcus took your hand, and led you to your marriage bed.

—

You couldn’t find the words.

The general nearly trembled in rage on the walk to the bedchambers, but still, he maintained that odd gentleness, holding your hand as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

Servants opened the grand doors as you entered, showing a large room with a massive four poster bed and elegant tapestries lining the walls—

Then the doors shut. And you were left alone with the legendary, bloodletting general.

And you still couldn’t find the damn words.

You knew what came next. The husband will take what is now his.

In this case, you expected your husband to take you in the same way he took lands for the empire— violently, mercilessly, with the intention of forging new legacy, through a son of Rome.

“Before you ask, my General, I wish to assure you that I am untouched,” you blurted, quoting what your mother taught you to say before you were to be… intimate. “I am pure, though I can only hope to be worthy—“

“Darling wife,” the general said quietly, so different from the commanding force from the feast. He held your hands in his, leaning down and kissing your knuckles in reverence.

You went silent, shocked at the soft fondness in his tone.

He peered at you with curiosity, and almost amusement. “The only thing I wish from you is for you to call me by my name, not title. No general, no lord, but my name. I hear it so little nowadays that I will look forward to hearing it from your lips.”

“As you wish… Marcus,” you breathed, eyes locked on his.

Marcus let out a little sigh, like he was relieved. “It’s much prettier when you say it.”

You drop your head in bashfulness, more confused by the moment. The way he spoke so kindly, so fondly.

“You know what is meant to happen tonight?” Marcus asked, almost hesitantly. You nod, undeniable fear curling in your stomach. “I need you to understand something, my darling, so listen very carefully.”

He pulled you toward the bed, sitting you both down on the silken sheets. His eyes on yours were discerning, and intent, like he was searching for something within your stare.

“I will never, ever, force myself upon you. Not in this life, or the next, or the next. I know what you might’ve heard about me, and much of it is true, but never would I take a woman without her permission. You belong to yourself, and if you never should like me in your bed, I will honor that to the end of my days."

You blinked at him in confusion. "So, you do not... you do not want me?"

Marcus exhaled sharply, looking down at your intwined hands. "That... that does not matter."

"Why not? A husband has the right to take what is his--"

"No man has any right to take a woman's body for himself, husband or not. What... what do you think is to happen tonight?"

Heat rises to your face, embarrassed at the question. By the look on his face, he was embarrassed, too.

"I don't... I don't know how it works, but some of the other wives at court say that the consummation of marriage is one of the more... painful duties of a wife. What you are meant to do to me... it's painful," you murmured, and quickly begin stammering. "B-but is it a great honor to serve you, my--"

"May I kiss you, darling?"

Some candles had been left burning, illuminating him in a warm glow. Marcus's eyes were soft, a rich, chocolate brown in the light of your bedroom, and something about them made your core flutter like one of the candles.

"Yes... yes, please."

Marcus smiled softly, and moved his hands to the sides of your neck. They were scarred, and calloused... and so warm.

His lips met yours almost hesitantly, like he was holding himself back. They were tender, tasting of sweet wine. Fingers curled lightly into your pinned hair, pulling you closer as his chest pressed against yours.

You moved your mouth with his, suddenly feeling the need for... more. You didn't know what, but you just knew you needed it.

His tongue slipped against yours, and the groan that left his throat left your pussy throbbing.

"Marcus--" you gasped, losing your breath as his lips traveled down to your neck. You could've sworn he moaned in response, sucking at your pulse point, leaving it a delicious shade of red--

"Do you want me to keep going?" He gruffed, trailing light kisses along your throat.

Oh, gods, how you wanted him to. "Yes, but..."

Marcus withdrew instantly at your seemed hesitation, pulling his mouth away but keeping his hands in your hair.

"I'm fearful," you admitted, holding his tunic to keep your hands from shaking with both desire and nerves. "Not of you, but... the rest of it."

Marcus nodded, swallowing. "We could continue kissing, if you like."

You laughed lightly, the nerves mellowing for a moment. "I'm not sure I'm prepared to have you in that way, but I know that I want to. I know that I... I want you."

Marcus's soft eyes shone with fondness, but had a wicked edge to them, like he was plotting something.

"I know I want you as well, darling. I promise, I will make sure you are prepared to have me... perhaps even over-prepared."

Your brows furrowed with confusion. "What do you mean?"

The general smiled. "I'll show you what I mean."

Part 2 here!

[myfamilycrestisthedemonofdeath]

I'm thinking of how the 141 men react to you cracking your joints, either purposefully in Price's case, or accidentally on the others. Suggestive towards the end , MDNI

~~~

Like with John, you do that trend where you put pretzel sticks inside your mouth and ask him to pop your back and then bite down into the pretzels as you act limp. He'll immediately pick you up and start rushing you out of the door to bring you to an ER, panic evident in his face, jaw clenched, but his eyes are focused. He looks at you sternly when you explain to him what happened before bringing you back inside the room, still in his arms, and you can still feel his heart racing, muscles still tense but calming down as you soothe him, feeling bad about your prank.

You're laying on your stomach on the floor in Simon's case, just being in the way of where he wants to move, maybe with various objects around you as you are occupied with your phone. He'll ask you to relocate your activities, but you refuse to get up, and so he warns he'll just walk over you. He nudges your side with his foot, and when you just grunt at him, he places his foot on your lower back and exerts slight pressure, eliciting a groan from you until you both hear a loud pop from your back. He'll drop immediately to his knees, not minding if some of your stuff is digging into his legs as he worriedly checks on you, checking multiple times that he didn't hurt you. You just tell him how good that felt as you lay limply, assuring him that you are okay, that was a good pop. He'll then carefully pick you up and move you to your bed even with you protesting, and then comes back with all your stuff and rearranging them around you.

Maybe in Johnny's case, you two are sparring, he's got you in between him and the ground mat. Both of you sweaty as he tries to subdue you while you are doing your best to fight him off. He gets you into a headlock with his (strong, meaty) biceps, and you twist your head a little. Both of you froze as you hear your neck joints pop, and he quickly loosens his hold on you, cradling your neck with utmost gentleness, worriedly asking if you are okay and if you can still feel your limbs. He'll lay you down gently and refuse to let you get up until you assure him multiple times that your neck just popped, it didn't hurt and you are fine. He'll beam his worried blue eyes over you and refuse to continue sparring, opting to just hug you protectively into his chest after, leaving you with no choice but to be sticky with both of your sweat cooling off.

Or you are making out with Kyle, his big, warm hands roaming over your body, your curves, as you grab at his slender neck, both consumed in fiery passion. You gently push him off you, away from the wall where you both heatedly started when your simmering gazes and coy words weren't enough to dampen the heat in between, and you guide him towards the sofa, him falling back on it with your nudge, his brown eyes roaming over you appreciatively. You slot your lips with him again, trying to clamber over and straddle him, when you hear not just one but both of your knees pop as you try to settle. He pries his mouth off you urgently, moving you to relieve pressure off your knees by sitting you sideways in his lap, inspecting and checking over as you laughingly told him it was just your joints cracking. Oh you best believe he will be the only one on his knees when he picks you up and brings you to your bedroom.

~~~

Power is out in my house since last night due to thunderstorm, which is apparently when my creative juices start flowing. I'm glad I'm a prepper who has a powerbank for my phone as well as a battery-powered fan, a bunch of flashlights, and a hand-crank emergency radio/flashlight/charger

[this-mind-of-mine-ahh]

The Rotted Man

When I was a child of only three The Rotted man came for me late one night from my open door he slowly crept across the floor he took me by the hand and said I’ll save you from this life of dread we left the house in the early morn and took his carriage of blackened thorn we rode for hours through thick dense fog to a darkened unlit swamp filled bog where top-less trees with hanging moss were shields from the unseen winter frost the thick wet heat from the dense cool air crept up your back and through your hair he took me to his house of bones on a path laid with cobble stones upon his door hung a head of a child with hair of fiery red his hall was bathed in blood red tile the walls were stacks of flesh in piles He told me of his protective view and begged that I should join him too He smiled and through his rotted lips I saw a thousand children’s fingertips He promised me the world would pay and told me that I could stay Then we entered a smaller room and the rotted man gave me a red balloon Then I saw my mom through tinted glass The man with her was talking fast The tears were pouring from her eyes The man then held her while she cried Then the Rotted man did the strangest thing, He sat down with me and began to sing. A soft nice tune that filled my head With puppy dogs and fresh baked bread It was then I notice that the rotted man Was simply old and had a tan, And then my mom burst in the room The feel of warmth, her sweet perfume She hugged me tight and swore to me From here on out, Dad would let us be. No more bruises no more fights, No more screaming in the night, The rotted man had saved our lives, By taking those who beat their wives, And children that cry when they’re dropped, And are beaten senseless until they stop, I thank the Rotted man a lot, And never have I forgot, That the thing I feared, saved my life, They had found my father with a knife, There are real horrors on this earth, Some are subjected to them at birth, We were saved by a man made of rot, I was lucky, but many are not.

by thelirivalley

[torikuna]

i promise i won't hurt you again

synopsis: your boyfriend Sukuna accidentally hit you

you immediately realized something was wrong when the door to your apartment slammed shut with a sharp sound and an uncomfortably loud silence echoed throughout the entire apartment. instead of the usual “woman, i’m home” you were greeted by heavy and fast steps past your room. you heard Sukuna walk into the kitchen, swearing loudly and throwing his things on the couch

you slowly opened the door and walked into the kitchen where Sukuna stood with his back to you in the dim light of the kitchen lamps. the dim light alighted his large figure, permeating under his unbuttoned shirt, through which the curves of his toned body were visible. his shoulders were rising at an unusually rapid pace, his breathing was heavy, causing the air to narrow around you, bringing you anxiety. it felt like the heavy air was going to crush you, you were ready to literally suffocate, not knowing where to start

“Sukuna?” you asked quietly, moving closer to him, but he murmuring something under his breath, hitting the wall. his unpredictable action made you flinch and stop a few meters away from him. you realized that he was far from reality and the level of his anger was uncontrollable. but you decided to try again, reaching for his hand, gently touching his fingers. but he suddenly grabs your hand, squeezes it with a burning pain and and forcefully pushes you aside

you fall to the floor, holding your hand. a bright red mark instantly appears from his action. the mark begins to acquire more saturated and varied shades with bloody stains. all you could do was hold your hand and look at Sukuna with confusing eyes that were slowly gathering tears

“don't you see i'm in a bad mood? stupid woman” Sukuna says, looking at you over his shoulder with his blood-crimson eyes, burning with a fiery fire and rage towards all living things. he takes his jacket and walks past you, walking out of the apartment and onto the street, leaving you alone

about 30 minutes had passed since Sukuna had left the apartment. you had time to revive, get the medicine and start treating the bruise. holding a cold compress on the hand, you heard the front door open again. it was Sukuna. he looked calmer than before. his breathing had evened out, and the hostile look had disappeared from his face, replacing it with his usual frowning and emotionless expression

he looked at you standing by the kitchen unit with the medicine on it and walked over. he grabbed your sore wrist, looking at the extent of the damage he had done to you. he decided to take care of the rest of the bruise himself, his thoughtful expression screaming too loudly that he felt too guilty

an unfamiliar feeling arose inside his chest, stemming from guilt. something was tormenting him deeply and he found he was mad at himself. feelings he was pushing into the background were beyond his control. he couldn't control his anger, he couldn't protect you from himself, hurting you

“…i promise i won't hurt you again” Sukuna said huskily, breaking the silence between you two and he makes sure to keep his promise because you are the most precious thing he has.

[diejager]

More Wolfie plz🥺? Idk what you’d right but I love the universe you built up with it and would love more of it, even if it’s just a sliver

Training Cw: smut, training, collar, ring gag, doggy style, creampie, unprotected sex, PinV, fingering, tell me if I missed any.

“What did I tell you about growling, pup?” He sounded so demeaning, his hand laid heavy on your nape, holding your face down and away from the two men in the room with you.

Ghost had pulled you to Price’s office under the guise of this being training, wanting to work through your aggression you’d thrived on while living in the wild. You were jerky and a biter, baring your teeth after a low growl, threatening to sink into someone’s hand or arm as retaliation. They were getting a lot of complaints from people who would approach you and attempt to pet your ears and tail, wanting to touch the softness of your washed fur and disregarding your personal space and boundaries.

“None of that,” his grip tightened around your neck when your throat rumbled, a growl slipping through your gagged mouth, drool rolling down your cheek.

They gave you a pretty, black ring gag, placed behind your teeth to keep your mouth open from biting them and showing off your sweet and fiery mouth. The black leather looped behind your head, a thin strap connecting it to your collar, a smooth, black leather that sat comfortably around your neck without irritating it, but thin enough for you to feel everything. They had you wear it as a sign of possession, the silver insignia of their Task Force hanging from the front, a skull and winged sword proudly gleaming under the light wherever you go.

You mellowed down, growls quieting to loud pants, exhausted from your skirmish with Ghost, doing your best ignore your Captain’s rough handling, his calloused fingers kneading the flesh of your hips and stomach, his hands smoothing over the arch of your back to your tail. Your fur was matted and wet, dirtied with slick that - prior to being forced into this position - pooled down your rim and wetting your soft fur. You’d long given up in fighting Price, he was much stronger than you and smelled of power and strength —like alpha. He was the leader of your little pack, a fiercely protective leader who had every intent of putting his group first, but it was his scent that made you stop. He smelled of strong musk, a heady scent of cigar and cedar, less smoky and sweet than your Lieutenant’s sandalwood that kept flooding your sensitive nose.

“Good pup, you’re doing so well,” Price cooed, running his fingers through your hair, scratching the reactive nerve behind your ears. It made you whine, a high sound that had both of them shush you, “That’s it, you’re all right, pup.”

Your panting grew louder, mewls slipping out as a final sign of submission, letting them bend your body to their pleasure. You arched your back, bucking against the bearded man that was ploughing into you, driving his hard cock into your wet cunt, slick squelching out of you with every snap of his hips, his balls slapping your twitching clit. You couldn’t deny how good it felt to give up all autonomy after having taken care of yourself on your own for years, letting another care for you and manhandle you in the best way. His veined girth laid heavy in your cunt, your gummy walls wrapped round him in a tight hold, just a hair away from coming.

Canting his hips and leaning forward, your world exploded in bright lights when Price’s head tapped your cervix, punching the air out of your body with every thrust. He was guiding you through your orgasm just as he had his, his cock throbbing and veins pulsing before the tip spurted ropes of cum, painting your walls white with his tangy lad, hot and thick. Price groaned lowly, palms holding your hips flushed to his, giving a few jerky thrusts before he hilted inside of you, unmoving but grounding you with the smooth touch of his thumb and Ghost’s grip on your scruff.

When he pulled out, his cum oozed out of you, dripping down your mound and landing on the old couch in his office. He admired the gift with a slight twitch of his cock, it leaked out of you like an unending fall. Wasteful, truly. His fingers slid down your thighs, gathering his cum and pushed it back in, fingering his load with a few wet sounds.

“Stay good for Ghost, pup. Can you do that?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

[trulyumai]

befitting for an emperor

pairing: emperor geta / wife! reader

synopsis: you were Geta’s, and he was yours.

warnings: pure smut. Geta secretly loves soft moments, pulling, kissing, reader gets manhandled.

enjoy!

18+ mdni

A laugh sprung out from the man’s chest, it bubbled in his throat for only a moment before escaping and making its way around the room. it made blood seep to your face, in embarrassment your hands tried to cover your cheeks.

“my wife,” Geta teased, his own calloused and rough hands bumping into yours, making sure to remove them entirely from your pinked face. “how can one be so worked up over mere skin? skin you’ve seen before, no less.”

“I’m— im not. It was just startling, husband.” your eyes met his briefly before they took interest in the stone wall behind his naked figure. He had just gotten out of his bath, and instead of calling the servants in— like he usually did, he was silent, slowly making his way to your distracted form.

you were enjoying a light reading, marking the pages with your inked pen until the man suddenly interrupted, grabbing at your frame with wanted impulsion.

his fingers gripped onto your chin, urging you once more to look up at him—always up.

you granted such a wish, and met his fiery brown orbs with a softness. his fingers were light against your smooth skin, but there was an implication there, a show of force to be applied.

“my wife,” the words were so low, barely leaving his lips as he inched closer with a caution. “you’ll sleep with me?”

your eyes widened.

“sleep… or make love?”

Another mean laugh left his mouth.

“Make love?” Geta chuckled so close to you, that you swore the vibration could be felt within your throat. “It’s fuck, silly wife. we will fuck.”

Violent, angry eyes met with your calm and soft ones. And a hand came between the two of you, reaching for the back of your gown to slip it off entirely.

It came undone quickly, sweeping off your form in one solid movement before bunching down at your feet. Your figure stood in front of him, now as bare as his own.

The fingers made there way up, to the swell of your breasts, slowly caressing and gripping with newfound addiction. Pushing forward, Geta made sure your body fell upon the mattress, his palms came crashing beside you, each on the side of your head in a protective display.

Leaning down, the emperor kissed and sucked around your neck, making sure to leave pink and purple bite marks in every direction. soft gasps escaped you, along with little mewls of pain and pleasure— to which the man ate up generously.

“please,” you begged, already hooking your smaller legs against his backside, opening yourself up for him once more.

“please what, pretty wife?” Geta growled, meticulously digging his fingers in your hair before pulling back, showing off the slobbery marks he left behind.

“M—ah Geta—” the emperor smiled, his hips lowered teasingly onto yours, pressing his member so close to your warmth.

“please—” to embarrassed to say the full sentence, your arm covered the top portion of your face and your chest bucked up, only pressing further and further to the drooling man above you.

“if you want me to make ‘love’ to you, little wife, you have to beg.” tears began to wet at your lashes in desperation. seconds— or maybe minutes passed before your arm moved from your face. with pink cheeks and pouting lips you kissed Geta.

slowly at first, making sure both of your mouths synched before the movement sped up, before your tongue sped up and before your words fell upon his ears.

breaking apart, a trail of saliva followed both your beings. It made Geta quiver; ever the impatient man he was already holding his wet tip in his hand, moving it until it kissed your oozing entrance.

your watery eyes were so squinty, so love filled and tired at the same time.

you knew what he was waiting for. what he wanted you to say.

so, with a tight grip on his waist, your legs hooked around your ankles before the man could blink. a doting, messy smile graced your features as you spoke.

“please fuck me, my emperor. until you can’t anymore. until I birth you an heir, until auh—!” He didn’t even let you finish before entering you in one go.

He was so big. Too big. Stretching you painfully without any warning.

“If that’s what you, ugh, want— pretty wife, I’ll give.. it to you.” Stomach tensing, his arms hooked around your waist, pulling your entire lower body off the bed as his hips rocked back and forth.

Arms now entirely behind your head, your vision doubled. his pace was so fast— so rough.

The sound of skin slapping emitted through the chambers, his cock slammed into you over and over, making the tears overflow your lashes for the second time that night.

“—mmh!” high pitched moans left you, they sounded clipped and interrupted as his movements knocked the breath out of you with every push his dick made in your soft mound.

Geta’s brows furrowed, biting down a scowl he slapped at your chest, wobbling your tits in front of him. He was getting close already, and could you blame him?

To have your drooling, submissive body on display, gods, it was torture.

He had to get you to cum first. His pride wouldn’t allow it another way.

“—auh, cum for me. cum for me sweetheart, cmon.” sweat inched its way down his chest and met with the other liquids upon his crotch. The slapping only got louder from how dripping you had came to be. It ran down your thighs, drowned his manhood and dribbled onto the sheets with ease.

You felt the coil in your stomach tighten, it felt so hot, so warm. You thought you might pass out from the sheer heat of it all.

His hands brought you back. They found their way under your armpits, and with a jerk, lifted you in the air, dangling off the emperors lap as he still rutted into you like some wild animal with your legs flopping around with every shove he made inside.

Suspended in the air, your thighs opened up more, fully allowing the man to pummel and bully his way into your slippery mound, hitting that spot over, over and over.

That was all you could take.

A sharp cry left you as your back arched into the pale man’s hold. His grip tightened, you swallowed him so tightly he nearly stopped such harsh movements.

You came in a quick, violent flash. It tingled around your belly before delving down to your toes, making them tense and separate with how the orgasm invaded your senses.

Geta couldn’t last after that.

He came too, sheathing his pulsing cock into your folds, spilling his seed as deep as it would go.

You didn’t remember much after that. Only that everything was so warm, and that your body felt too heavy to manage.

Geta was the one to clean you up, sneakily pushing the drops of white back into your warmth with silent touches. He was the one to wrap you up, bundle you in so many blankets that none were left to be spared.

And he was the one to kiss and stare at you for most the night; never straying too far from your crumpled form.

[helen-with-an-a]

could you possibly do r who's always cold and is always seen or found hugging alessia?

Hiiiiiiii - I hope you enjoy <3<3<3. I know that this is being posted on a Saturday rather than the usual Friday night, but that's because of the Lionesses playing yesterday and yeah.

Body Temperature

Alessia Russo x Reader

Description: R is always cold; good thing Alessia is her personal heater

You and Alessia were polar opposites. You were brunette, with dark, unruly curls that framed your face, often falling into your eyes during an intense game. She was blonde, her straight, golden hair always perfectly tucked behind her ears, never a strand out of place. You were short and muscular, your compact frame built for strength and resilience, the kind of defender who could hold your ground against anyone. She was tall and lanky, her long legs giving her an advantage in speed and reach, allowing her to glide across the field with a grace that seemed effortless.

You were a defender, always on the lookout, analysing every play, ready to intercept and protect your team from any threat. Alessia was a striker, always pushing forward, with a hunger for goals that was insatiable. You were the wall; she was the arrow. Your styles clashed, yet they complemented each other, like two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly on the field.

Off the field, the differences were just as stark. You preferred quiet nights in, curled up with a book or watching a movie, while she thrived in social settings, always surrounded by friends, her laughter the loudest in the room. She was often described as the nicest person you would ever meet, a ray of sunshine that brightened even the gloomiest of days. Her kindness was effortless, her smile contagious, drawing people to her like moths to a flame. You were a little prickly around the edges, often sporting your signature frown, a protective layer that kept the world at bay. You weren’t unfriendly, but you had a way of keeping people at arm’s length, your guarded nature making you seem distant at times. Where Alessia opened her heart freely, you held yours close, only letting a select few see past the exterior. You were permanently cold, always bundling up in layers, seeking out the warmth of a blanket or a hot drink. She was perpetually warm, often walking around in just a T-shirt, her skin always radiating heat like a personal furnace.

You shouldn’t have worked. But you did. She helped guide you out of your comfort zone, coaxing you into experiences you might have otherwise avoided. Alessia had a way of pulling you into her world, where things were bright, vibrant, and full of life. She’d drag you to social gatherings, your hand in hers, reassuring you with a smile that everything would be fine. And somehow, it always was. When you were with her, the noise and chaos of the world felt manageable, even enjoyable. You found yourself laughing more, relaxing into the spontaneity that she brought to your life.

She, in turn, found a quiet refuge in you. Alessia loved how you grounded her, your steady presence a balm to her often hectic life. When the world got too loud, too overwhelming, she would come to you, seeking the comfort of your quiet nights in. You became her safe space, the person she could be completely herself with, without any pretence. In those moments, when it was just the two of you, she didn’t need to be the life of the party. She could be Lessi – not Alessia Russo, just Lessi, your Lessi – cuddled up on the couch with you, your head resting on her shoulder as you both watched a movie in comfortable silence.

Your relationship was a balance of contrasts. She was your warmth, melting the iciness of your reserve, and you were her calm, tempering the fiery energy she carried with her. There was a beautiful synchronicity in how you fit together, your differences creating a bond that was stronger because of them. You would catch her looking at you with that soft, knowing smile of hers, the one that said she saw past your tough exterior to the heart you kept hidden, and it made your chest tighten with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.

She had a way of knocking down your walls, bit by bit, with a patience that was as unwavering as her bright smile. It wasn’t that she forced her way in – no, Alessia had a gentler touch than that. It was more like she quietly dismantled your defences, one soft word or teasing joke at a time. She would catch you off guard with a playful nudge, or an unexpected compliment, and before you knew it, those walls you’d spent years building up were crumbling, leaving you exposed in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The fans had grown to love their broody defender. Your harsh lines and intense stares, once intimidating, had become rather endearing to them. They saw the fire in your eyes, the way you commanded the back line with an unwavering focus that bordered on obsession. But they also saw the softer moments, the way your expression would soften when Alessia was near, how the corners of your mouth would twitch upward in what could almost be called a smile when she whispered something in your ear before a match. It was these glimpses of the real you – the you beneath the tough exterior – that made the fans adore you even more.

You had always been the one they looked to in those tense moments when the game was on the line. Your no-nonsense attitude, your fierce determination, and your refusal to back down from any challenge had made you a fan favourite, even if you didn’t show much emotion on the field. But Alessia brought out something different in you, something softer that only those who paid close attention could see. The way you would glance over at her after a particularly hard tackle, checking to see her reaction, or the way your shoulders would relax just a fraction when she flashed you that bright, reassuring smile from across the pitch.

She was your opposite in so many ways, and yet, in her presence, you found a sense of ease you hadn’t known you needed. The fans noticed it too – how you seemed less broody, less distant, when Alessia was by your side. They loved the dynamic between you, the contrast of her sunshine to your storm, the way she seemed to bring out the best in you without even trying.

Off the pitch, the fans had started to notice the little things – the way you would stand just a bit closer to her during interviews, or how you would share a look that spoke volumes without a single word being said. Social media was full of clips of those moments: Alessia playfully bumping into you, trying to get you to crack a smile, and your eventual, reluctant grin that always seemed to light up your entire face, even if just for a second.

They saw how, despite your tough exterior, you had a soft spot for her. Whether it was the way you held her hand when you thought no one was looking, or how you’d let her drag you into fan interactions that you normally would have avoided, the fans ate it up. They loved seeing this side of you, the side that Alessia had uncovered, and it only made them root for you both even harder.

Alessia had this incredible ability to draw out the warmth in you, to make you feel like it was okay to let your guard down, even in front of the cameras and the fans. And in doing so, she didn’t just knock down your walls – she showed you that it was okay to be seen, to be known, and to be loved for exactly who you were, broody demeanour and all. The fans could see that transformation, and they adored you for it, seeing not just a fierce defender, but a person who had found something, or rather someone, worth opening up for.

And perhaps the most surprising part was how much you had come to appreciate it too. Alessia’s relentless warmth, her light that seemed to shine even in your darkest moments, had done more than just knock down your walls – it had made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you were deserving of all the love that was now coming your way. And that, more than anything, was something you would be eternally grateful for.

It wasn’t until a cold December day when they saw just how different you were since Alessia had entered your life. It was an open training session – the final one before a spell of Champions League and international commitments – fans had come in their droves to see the Arsenal practice, braving the frigid temperatures to catch a glimpse of their favourite players.

You were perpetually cold. It was something you had learned to live with – always bundled up in layers, your hands tucked deep into your pockets, your breath visible in the frigid air. The cold had never really bothered you, or at least, that’s what you told yourself. It was just another discomfort, like an old injury that ached in bad weather, something you endured without complaint.

That day, however, something shifted. The winter chill had settled in, the kind that made your bones ache and your breath hitch in your chest. You were dressed in your usual layers, wrapped up tight against the cold, but somehow, it wasn’t enough. The biting wind cut through you, leaving you shivering on the sidelines as you watched the team’s practice. Normally, you would have toughed it out, gritted your teeth, and pushed through, but Alessia noticed the way you were tensing up, saw the faint blue tinge to your lips.

Without a word, she jogged over to where you stood, her breath forming little puffs of steam in the cold air. She was only in a long-sleeve shirt and shorts, as usual, somehow unaffected by the biting cold. Before you could protest, she peeled off her jacket and draped it over your shoulders, wrapping you up in the warmth she seemed to carry with her everywhere she went.

"Lessi, you’re going to freeze," you protested, trying to shrug off the jacket, but she just shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I’m fine," she said, her voice soft but firm. "You need it more than I do."

There was a stubbornness in her eyes that you knew all too well, the same look she got when she decided she was going to score no matter what. It was pointless to argue, so you reluctantly pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, feeling the warmth seep into your skin. But it wasn’t just the jacket that made the cold bearable – it was the gesture itself, the way Alessia always seemed to know exactly what you needed, even when you didn’t realise it yourself.

The fans watching from the stands saw the whole exchange, their eyes widening in surprise. They were used to seeing you as the tough, broody defender, the one who never let anything get to you, not even the cold. But here you were, accepting help, letting someone take care of you, and that someone was Alessia. It was such a simple moment, but it spoke volumes about how much you had changed, how much you had softened in her presence

Small interactions like that continued throughout the season. It wasn’t unusual for people to see you wrapping your arms around Alessia prior to warm-ups before matches. It had become almost a ritual – a moment of quiet connection before the chaos of the game. At first, the team teased you both about it, calling it your “pre-game cuddle,” but eventually, it just became part of the routine, another thing that made you and Alessia who you were.

Before the whistles blew and the warmups officially began, you’d find her, no matter where she was on the field. She’d turn toward you, a knowing smile already on her lips, and you’d wrap your arms around her, pulling her close. The warmth of her body against yours was a comfort, a reassurance that, no matter what happened on the pitch, you had each other’s backs. It wasn’t just about the physical warmth anymore – it was about the unspoken bond that had grown between you, the way she calmed the storm that always seemed to be brewing inside you.

The fans loved it. Social media was flooded with pictures and videos of your pre-game embraces, fans commenting on how your relationship had become one of the highlights of the season. They’d post about how your once-intimidating presence had softened, how Alessia’s light seemed to have melted the ice that surrounded you. There were even memes of you two, your broody demeanour contrasted with her sunny disposition, the captions celebrating the way opposites had truly attracted.

And it wasn’t just the fans who noticed. Your teammates did too. They’d smile when they saw you two together, the way you’d linger just a bit longer in each other’s embrace before breaking apart and getting down to business. They saw how Alessia had become your anchor, how her presence made you more focused, more at ease. Even your coach, who was known for being all business, couldn’t help but comment on how your partnership on and off the field had made you a stronger player, a stronger person.

But it wasn’t just about the games or the practices. Those small interactions carried over into your everyday lives. Whether it was Alessia slipping her hand into yours as you walked down the street, or you tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear when you thought no one was watching, there was a quiet intimacy that had become second nature to you both. You’d find yourself waiting for her after training, holding her water bottle or her bag, just so you could walk out together. And she, in turn, made sure you never had to face the cold alone, always finding a way to share her warmth with you, whether it was a quick hug or a gentle squeeze of your hand.

As the season progressed, your bond only grew stronger. You started to see Alessia as more than just your girlfriend; she was your partner in every sense of the word. She was there for you after tough matches, when the weight of a loss threatened to pull you under, her voice soothing you, reminding you that you were never alone. And you were there for her, cheering her on after every goal, celebrating her victories as if they were your own, because in a way, they were.

The team had come to rely on your connection too. They saw how you two balanced each other, how your differences made you a better unit, both on and off the field. You weren’t just the broody defender anymore – you were part of something bigger, something that made you proud in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Alessia had shown you that vulnerability wasn’t a weakness, and you, in turn, had given her a sense of stability, a grounding force that she hadn’t realised she needed.

By the end of the season, it was clear to everyone that you and Alessia were more than just a couple. You were a team within the team, a partnership that had strengthened not just your bond, but the bond of everyone around you. And as you looked forward to what the future held, you knew one thing for sure: no matter where life took you, as long as you had Alessia by your side, you could face anything. Together, you had found something rare and beautiful, a love that was as strong as it was gentle, and that, more than anything, was what made you truly unstoppable.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3

[astrolovecosmos]

❤️‍🔥Venus & Mars❤️‍🔥

Written from the perspective of Venus representing femininity and Mars masculinity. Please take this with a grain of salt.

Aries Venus: Warrior Queen, hellfire eyes, won't take no for an answer, upfront, hungry for action, red petals and lips, all eyes on her, can leave a burn or scar.

Aries Mars: Ardent eyes and lips, fiery protector, a good competitor, rescuer, conquering libido, always at 100, hot days and unforgettable nights.

Taurus Venus: Irresistible charm or look, low-key seductive, enduring and magnetic, slow burn, dream weddings or dates, romantic touch, comforting and content, careful with hearts.

Taurus Mars: Caring hands, hedonistic attitudes, down-to-earth until they're not, things are always on their time, level-headed or stable assertiveness, smells good, shares with those they love their soft spot.

Gemini Venus: Shapeshifting enchantress, leading you astray or into ecstasy or both, bright feathers and dazzling wings, sharp talons and a sharper tongue, curious creature, get lost in her eyes, movements, or storms.

Gemini Mars: Lightning-fast energy but airy to be around, wins you over with humor, takes pride in his intellect, upbeat and always around a crowd or working one, bewitches with ease and passion.

Cancer Venus: Mysterious and soft glows, gentle and kind, a protective force of nature, messy and engulfing feelings, hard to fall but when they do they fall hard, can be others safety, gets her way.

Cancer Mars: Silent and strong type or insightful and tenderhearted, deep and sensitive, trustworthy vibes, that moody artist or introverted mystery, a wall or door people are tempted to investigate, a powerful guardian, never gives up.

Leo Venus: Strength and beauty of a goddess, instant connections and passion, object of adoration or desire, demands your attention, worship and heart, romance in their veins, she is the sun - center of your universe.

Leo Mars: Draws you in with his performance, wins, or adventures, brave in the bedroom, will risk it all, life of the party, maybe vain or selfish but always on top, a king, lust and power, feverish and flirty, are you his muse, trophy, or queen?

Virgo Venus: The answer to all your prayers or questions, devoted blood, sensuous and erotic, always has it together, earthy vibes and quiet affection, thoughtful, but may bite, will you grow with her or will she outgrow you?

Virgo Mars: Innocent eyes with a mischievous or know-it-all smirk, reliable arms, secret vitality but not-so secret intellect and wit, observational, appreciative, discerning in preferences and partners, will work hard for you but what will you do for them?

Libra Venus: You can't miss her when she walks into a room, candlelight and wine, charm, beauty, and brains, falls easily, likely has a line of admirers, elegance and grace, now you know why lust and love are seen as ✨magic✨.

Libra Mars: Knows how to make you happy or calm, secretly a hunting hound, hard to resist, if you're with him you're BEAUTIFUL, affectionate and chivalrous, charismatic one minute and introverted the next, can you figure him out?

Scorpio Venus: THE seductress, passionate and dramatic temptation and lust, says forever and means it, rapacious lover, deep and hypnotic, a heart-stopping and mystic medusa, jealous and unforgiving but will give you everything.

Scorpio Mars: Eyes that look into your soul, the dark and edgy type, sex-appeal is their weapon along with mystery or secrecy, an intense enigma, sensitive yet powerfully assertive, an unstoppable force, may be obsessive or easily misunderstood but knows you more intimately than anyone else.

Sagittarius Venus: For true adventurers only, free spirit and a rebellious heart, more independent than you, the most fun you've ever had, a huntress, lucky in love, desire + lust + companionship, can you handle her honesty?

Sagittarius Mars: Always taking their shot, will explore and challenge you, a wild ride, infectious and attractive optimism, humor, or even clumsiness or awkwardness, chronically adaptable and energetic - can you keep up?

Capricorn Venus: Ice you want to melt, respect or admiration are the only options, reliable and grounded, always in control, you know when she's approaching, true faithfulness, hard to satisfy, she's the authority.

Capricorn Mars: Relentless and calculated pursuit, private and cool-headed, #relationshipgoals, provider vibes, an underrated smooth talker, powerful influence and drive, all about longevity...

Aquarius Venus: Magnetic sorceress, intellectual babe, sparkling and different, always keeping you on your toes, can do it all on her own but likes your company, unconventional relationships, falling in slow motion or fast-forwarding into love at high speed.

Aquarius Mars: Visionary wizard with enticing charisma, pushing boundaries, special aurora and bedroom moves, erratic and strong-willed, sees the best in you, channeling passion into each other's minds and bodies.

Pisces Venus: Sensational siren, dreamy and karmic, elusive moments, drowning in feeling, flip a coin for love or lust - throw it in the fountain for both, making your dreams and/or nightmares come true.

Pisces Mars: That hopeless romantic, sweet and sensitive, imaginative moves and touch, will give you their heart and soul, captivating and addicting, your fantasy lover.

[shdysders]

what we were

pairing: tara carpenter & reader

summary: in which you would’ve married tara, if she had stuck around.

word count: 4.9k

author’s note: just bare with me.

You had never planned on getting married.

It wasn't a conscious decision, just something that slowly etched itself into the back of your mind as the years passed.

Growing up, you'd watched your mother pick up the pieces after your father left, her quiet strength masking the pain that you knew lingered beneath the surface.

There was no bitter divorce or fiery arguments to signal his departure—just the gradual fading of a man who was once the center of your world.

One day, he was gone, leaving only the hollow echo of promises that were never meant to be kept.

Your mother never talked much about it, but you could see the toll it took on her.

How she would stare out of the kitchen window a little too long, lost in memories that were best left untouched.

You learned early on that love, in its most idealized form, was fragile—something that could shatter without warning, leaving you to pick up the shards.

So, you built walls, fortified them with indifference, and told yourself that you didn't need anyone to complete you.

Marriage was a fairy tale, one that you had long since stopped believing in.

That was, until you met Tara.

Tara, was everything you never knew you needed; sharp-witted, fiercely independent, with a heart bigger than she'd ever admit.

The first time you met her, you were caught off guard by how effortlessly she seemed to break through the walls you'd spent years constructing.

It wasn't just her smile, though that alone could've disarmed you; it was the way she looked at you, like she saw past the armor you wore and straight into the core of who you were.

You tried to keep your distance at first, reminding yourself that you didn't believe in forever. But Tara wasn't the kind of person you could easily push away.

She had this way of showing up when you least expected it, making you laugh when you wanted to be serious, and staying when you needed someone most—even when you couldn't admit it.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the idea of a life without her became more terrifying than the fear of losing her.

It wasn't that the old wounds from your past magically healed, or that the doubts you harbored suddenly disappeared.

But with Tara, the possibility of something lasting felt less like a fairy tale and more like something real—something you could hold onto, despite the uncertainties that lingered in the corners of your mind.

You found yourself imagining a future, not in the abstract way you used to, where it was always just you—alone and self-reliant—but a future that included her.

The thought scared you, but it also made you feel something you hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

It wasn't long before Tara started talking about you to her friends, and soon after, you found yourself meeting the people who meant the most to her.

A few months into your relationship, Tara built up the courage to allow you to meet Sam.

From everything Tara had told you about her sister, you quickly learned that Sam was hard to please.

She was fiercely protective, always scrutinizing anyone who got close to Tara, and you figured you'd be just another name on her list of disapprovals.

However, that was never the case.

Tara later explained how surprised she was when Sam actually warmed up to you.

She had told you how Sam had admitted that, for the first time, she didn't feel the need to interrogate or push you away.

Sam had seen something in you that made her feel comfortable, something that made her believe you were different from the others who had come before. It was an unspoken approval, one that Tara knew was rare and precious.

The approval was more than just a stamp of acceptance; it was a sign that maybe, just maybe, you were capable of the kind of love you'd always doubted existed—at least for you.

But even then, despite the closeness you and Tara shared, you never thought you'd be the kind of person who'd want to settle down, to make that ultimate commitment.

Marriage was still an abstract concept, one that other people did, but never you.

You had convinced yourself that you didn't need a ring or a ceremony to validate what you and Tara had.

But as the months turned into years, you started to realize that it wasn't about the validation. It was about wanting to build something with her—something lasting and undeniable.

You found yourself imagining a future where Tara was by your side, not just in an abstract sense, but in every way that mattered.

The thought of proposing crept into your mind one day, completely unbidden, and you immediately tried to push it away. You weren't the type to get down on one knee, to promise forever when you knew how easily forever could be taken away.

Yet, the idea persisted, lingering at the edge of your thoughts, especially during the quiet moments when Tara was asleep beside you, her hand resting gently on your chest, as if she was anchoring you to her.

You'd never imagined yourself as the kind of person who would propose to anyone. The very idea felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else's story. But with Tara, you started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you'd been wrong all along.

It wasn't that you suddenly believed in marriage as a concept, but rather, you believed in what you had with Tara.

Maybe this was exactly the kind of story you wanted to write—a story where you weren't afraid to say, "I choose you," not just today, but every day for the rest of your life.

Two years into your relationship, you made the decision to propose.

Surprisingly, you had even gotten Sam's permission, something you never thought you'd need but found yourself seeking anyway, wanting her blessing before taking such a significant step.

The idea had been slowly taking shape in your mind, and now it felt like the right time. You wanted it to be perfect, not flashy or over-the-top, but something that felt true to both of you.

One of your usual date nights seemed like the perfect setting—familiar, yet with the potential to become something unforgettable.

You decided to make the night extra special. When you suggested going to a more expensive restaurant than your usual spots, Tara was visibly surprised.

She had raised an eyebrow and teased you about suddenly getting fancy, almost saying no because of the high prices.

But when you offered to cover everything, her smile had softened, and she had agreed.

You knew that Tara wasn't one for grand gestures or extravagant displays, which is why you kept the details simple yet meaningful.

The restaurant was intimate, with dim lighting and a cozy atmosphere, the kind of place where you could easily lose yourselves in conversation.

You had made sure to pick a spot that you knew Tara would love—somewhere that felt like the two of you, but elevated just enough to mark the occasion.

As the evening approached, you could feel the anticipation building, but there was also a sense of calm.

This wasn't about proving anything or trying to impress her; it was about sharing a moment that would forever change the course of your lives together, for the better.

You had planned every detail carefully, but more than anything, you just wanted to tell Tara exactly what you'd been feeling for so long—that you couldn't imagine a future without her, and that you didn't want to.

When the time finally came, you chose to wear the sundress that Tara had once told you she loved on you. It was a soft, flowing dress in a shade of pale blue that always made you feel both comfortable and confident.

You wore your hair half up, half down, just the way Tara liked it, with a few loose strands framing your face. You wanted to look your best, but more importantly, you wanted to look like yourself—the person Tara fell in love with.

Tara arrived in a sleek, black blouse paired with dark jeans, an outfit that was effortlessly chic and perfectly her.

The way she carried herself always took your breath away, and tonight was no different. But as you sat across from each other at the candle-lit table, you noticed that she seemed a bit off.

Tara was looking around nervously, her eyes darting from the menu to the other diners, then back to you, as if she had something else on her mind.

Your own nerves were starting to bubble up, the weight of what you were about to do making your heart race.

You couldn't shake the anxious thoughts running through your head—what if you didn't find the right words, or if the moment didn't go as planned?

But every time Tara's eyes met yours, you found yourself smiling. It was impossible not to. Even with the nerves, even with the uncertainty of how she might react, you knew that this was the right decision.

As you both settled into the evening, your food arrived, and you began eating, trying to keep the conversation flowing naturally despite the butterflies in your stomach.

You had it all planned out. The proposal was going to happen after you both had finished your meal.

You knew Tara's appreciation for surprises and had arranged something special with the restaurant staff. When the time came, a waitress would bring out a beautifully wrapped box, something you had requested to make the moment even more memorable.

It was a small gesture, but one that you knew Tara would appreciate—a carefully wrapped box with a heartfelt message inside that symbolized the depth of your feelings.

The idea was for Tara to open the box and discover a note or memento that would lead into the proposal.

The plan was for Tara to see the message first, giving you just enough time to reach for the ring and get down on one knee before she fully realized what was happening.

You imagined the look of surprise and joy on her face as she opened the box, unaware that this was just the beginning of the moment you had carefully orchestrated.

You kept up the conversation, trying to keep things light and natural despite the nervous energy building inside you.

Tara seemed a little distracted, still glancing around the room every now and then, but you didn't press her on it. You wanted everything to feel as normal as possible until the big reveal.

Every bite was a mix of anticipation and excitement, your heart pounding as you mentally rehearsed what you were going to say.

Tara, on the other hand, seemed to be in her own world, picking at her food more than usual and occasionally glancing around the room, almost as if she had something else on her mind.

You couldn't help but feel a bit of nervousness from her too.

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that soon, you'd be asking the most important question of your life.

As you were both eating in comfortable silence, Tara suddenly set down her fork and shifted in her seat. She looked like she was trying to gather her thoughts, and then she spoke up, her voice soft but uncertain.

"So..." she began, her eyes filled with nervous energy as she looked up at you. You immediately sensed that whatever she was about to say was important, so you paused, giving her your full attention.

"I've been thinking about something," she continued, her words tentative, as if she was unsure how to start.

For a brief moment, a thought flashed through your mind—was she planning to propose too?

But that idea was quickly replaced by a gnawing feeling of concern as you noticed the hesitation in her voice, the way she avoided your gaze for just a moment too long.

"I'm not really sure how to say this," she finally said, her voice wavering slightly. "But... I've been having some doubts lately. Not about us, exactly, but about... where we're headed. About the future."

Her words hit you like a cold splash of water, and suddenly the nervousness you'd been feeling took on a different edge. You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep listening as she continued.

"It's not that I don't love you," she said quickly, as if she could see the worry in your eyes. "I do, so much. But I've been wondering if we're moving too fast, or if maybe... we're not moving in the same direction anymore. I've thought a lot about it, and I keep coming back to the same thing. I don't know if I can keep going like this, if this is what's best for either of us."

Tara's voice cracked slightly as she continued, her words coming out in a rush, as if saying them faster would somehow make them hurt less.

"I've been thinking about this for a while, and I didn't know how to bring it up because the last thing I want is to hurt you. But the more I've thought about it, the more I realized that maybe this is the right thing, for both of us. I don't want you to think that this is about you, or that you did something wrong, because you haven't. You've been nothing but amazing, but I just... I think maybe we've grown in different directions, or maybe I'm just not in the right place to be in a relationship right now."

"I think... I think we need to take a step back. Maybe a break, or maybe... we need to stop this altogether."

She paused only briefly before continuing, her words stumbling over each other as she tried to justify what she was saying.

"I mean, I don't even know if I'm making sense right now, and I'm probably messing this up completely. But I just don't want us to keep going down this path if it's not the right one, you know? I care about you so much, and that's why this is so hard. I wish I could just... make this easier somehow."

You felt your heart shatter with each word, your entire body going cold as the reality of what she was saying set in. Your face must have betrayed the sheer disbelief and devastation you felt because Tara's eyes softened, but it did nothing to ease the pain ripping through you.

Your hands, which had been steady on the table, began to tremble uncontrollably. You quickly pulled them into your lap, trying to hide the shaking but finding it impossible to stop.

The fork you had been holding clattered against your plate as you set it down, your fingers no longer able to maintain their grip.

It felt like your mind was racing and shutting down all at once. You couldn't focus on her words, the constant stream of explanations and apologies blending into a blur of noise that only amplified the void growing in your chest.

It was as though the ground had disappeared beneath your feet, leaving you suspended in a moment of pure, paralyzing disbelief.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it only seemed to grow, making it hard to breathe.

The sting of tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall, not here, not now.

Your lips parted, as if to say something, but no words came out. How could they, when everything you wanted to say felt too small, too insignificant compared to the enormity of what was happening?

The silence between you was suffocating, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat a painful reminder of the reality you were struggling to accept.

Tara's eyes were fixed on you, wide and pleading, as if she desperately wanted you to understand, to say something that would make this easier, but there was nothing you could offer her.

Your hands, now hidden beneath the table, clenched into fists so tightly that your nails dug into your palms, the pain barely registering against the overwhelming numbness that had settled in.

You could feel the warmth of the room closing in on you, the walls seeming to press closer as you fought to keep your composure.

Tara's voice broke the silence again, softer this time, almost a whisper. "I'm so sorry," she said, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I didn't want it to be like this. I wish I could take it all back, but I can't. I just... I didn't know how else to do this."

Her apology only added to the weight in your chest, and you could feel a tear finally escape, slipping down your cheek before you could stop it.

You quickly wiped it away, but it was too late—Tara had seen it, and the sight seemed to break something in her too.

She reached out, as if to comfort you, but hesitated, her hand hovering just above the table before she withdrew it again, uncertainty written all over her face.

It was as if she knew that any attempt to console you would only make things worse.

"I never wanted to hurt you," she whispered, the words barely audible as she looked down at her hands, now twisting together in her lap. "You have to believe that."

You wanted to scream, to demand why, to tell her how wrong she was, how she was breaking something that had been so good, so right.

But all you could do was sit there, frozen, as the weight of her words continued to sink in.

The future you had imagined, the plans you had started to make in your head—it all felt like it was crumbling before your eyes, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, as you sat there, staring blankly at your lap. Tara's words seemed to hang in the air, and the weight of them was almost unbearable.

The tears you had been trying to hold back had started to fall more freely, slipping down your cheeks in a steady stream.

Tara watched you with a mix of anguish and desperation, her own eyes brimming with tears that she was struggling to keep at bay.

"Please," she said, her voice breaking as she finally spoke, "please say something."

Her plea was almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of her regret and her need for any kind of response from you. She was clearly tormented by the sight of you in pain and the realization that she was the cause.

As you sat there, lost in your turmoil, the restaurant's ambiance seemed to fade into the background.

The clinking of dishes and the soft murmur of conversations around you felt distant and muffled. The weight of the conversation you'd just had with Tara hung heavily in the air, each word echoing painfully in your mind.

Just then, the sound of footsteps approached your table, and a waitress appeared, holding a small, elegantly wrapped box. She smiled warmly as she set the box down in front of Tara. "Congratulations!" she said cheerfully.

The unexpected greeting cut through the somber mood, and Tara's eyes widened in surprise. Her gaze darted between the box and you, the reality of the situation hitting her with a jolt. "Oh... um, we didn't order anything like this," Tara said, her voice a mix of confusion and discomfort.

The waitress smiled politely. "It was actually a special request from someone who wanted to celebrate with you. I hope you enjoy it!"

Tara's face turned pale as the waitress walked away, leaving the box on the table. The cheerful congratulations seemed to hang in the air, contrasting starkly with the heavy silence that had enveloped the two of you.

As Tara stared at the box, the realization began to dawn on her. The weight of her words, the hurt she had caused, and the timing of this surprise all seemed to collide in her mind.

Her gaze fell back to you, the gravity of the moment settling in even more deeply. The congratulations, intended for a joyous occasion, now highlighted the painful irony of the situation.

Tara's hands trembled slightly as she reached for the box, her fingers hovering over it as if touching it might make the reality of what was happening even more real. "Is this... is this what I think it is?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of disbelief and dread.

You didn't respond right away, your eyes fixed on the box as well, but not really seeing it.

The moment you had spent weeks planning, imagining how it would unfold, had turned into a twisted echo of what it should have been.

The anticipation, the joy you had envisioned on her face, was replaced with this heavy, suffocating silence.

Tara's voice grew more desperate, almost pleading as she repeated, "Were you... were you going to propose?" Her eyes searched yours, looking for some kind of denial, something that could make this all less real, less painful.

You nodded slowly, your throat too tight to speak. The words you had prepared, the heartfelt confession of love and commitment, were now stuck somewhere deep inside, unreachable.

Tara's fingers trembled as she carefully unwrapped the box, her breath catching as she lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of velvet, was the ring—delicate, simple, and exactly her style. The realization hit her all at once, leaving her breathless.

She stared at it, eyes wide with the shock of realization.

She paused, her breath shaky as she tried to form a coherent thought. "I... I thought we were on the same page. I thought... God, I didn't mean for it to be like this."

You could see the tears welling up in her eyes, but you couldn't bring yourself to say anything. The words felt too heavy, too final. All you could do was sit there, the ring between you like a painful reminder of what could have been.

She looked up at you, her eyes filled with regret. "I... I didn't think..." she started, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the right words.

The box, meant to be a celebratory gesture, now seemed like a painful reminder of everything that was unraveling.

The sight of the box, coupled with the realization of how her actions had intersected with the surprise, only deepened the sadness in the room.

She knew that the box was part of a carefully planned proposal—a gesture that was supposed to mark a new chapter in your lives together.

Her thoughts were consumed by the realization of what you had intended.

She could almost see the moment you had envisioned: the box opening to reveal a heartfelt message or token that would lead into a proposal.

Tara had always admired how much thought you put into your plans, and she could imagine the love and hope you had poured into this gesture.

The irony of the situation hit her. Hard.

Here was a beautiful, wrapped box that was meant to symbolize a future together, and yet, it was now sitting in front of her at a moment when the future seemed so uncertain.

The very thing that was supposed to be a celebration of your commitment was now a reminder of the choice she had made.

Tara felt a deep pang of regret as she thought about how much you wanted to marry her, how you had envisioned this proposal as a milestone in your relationship.

How you had trusted her enough. 

She grappled with the realization that while you had been preparing to take a significant step forward, she was now pulling away.

The box represented everything she was suddenly unsure about, and the emotional weight of that contradiction was almost unbearable.

The anticipation and excitement she might have felt for the proposal were overshadowed by the painful reality of the moment, making her wish more than ever that things could be different.

As Tara struggled with the emotional weight of the moment, another waitress approached your table with a notepad in hand.

"Excuse me," she said with a bright smile, "are you ready to order your desserts?"

The question seemed to pierce through the heavy atmosphere, and you sniffled before looking up with tear-filled eyes. Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling as you said, "I don't think we're staying for dessert. I think we're going to leave."

Tara's heart broke at the sight of you, her own tears threatening to spill as she saw the pain in your eyes.

The sadness in your voice, coupled with the way you tried to hold yourself together, was almost too much for her to bear.

The image of you standing there, so small and hurt, was a stark contrast to the joyful proposal you had imagined.

As you began to stand up, Tara's voice cracked as she reached out, her hands shaking. "Y/N, please don't leave."

She paused, searching for the right words, her voice filled with desperation. "Please, let's just... talk this through. I don't want to lose you like this. There's so much I need to say."

Tara's gaze was locked on you, her eyes pleading as she took a shaky breath. The pain of the situation was evident in her expression, and she hoped against hope that you would stay, if only for a little while longer.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure as you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's fine, Tara."

But your voice betrayed you, shaking as you said the words, even though nothing about this felt fine.

You wanted to say more, to explain how lost and hurt you felt, but the words caught in your throat, and all you could do was shake your head slightly. "I just... I don't know what to say."

You sniffled, quickly wiping away a tear that escaped before Tara could see it. "I'll talk to you later, okay?" But even as you said it, the words felt empty, like a promise you weren't sure you could keep.

Without waiting for a response, you stood up from the table, your movements stiff and mechanical, as if you were on autopilot.

Tara watched you, her eyes wide with guilt and fear, but she stayed silent, her throat tightening as she saw the pain etched on your face.

You turned to leave, and Tara instinctively stood up, almost as if to follow, but she stopped herself.

Her hand gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white as she held herself back. She knew she couldn't make this better right now, and the weight of that realization pressed heavily on her chest.

You pushed open the door, the night air hitting you as you stepped outside.

For a moment, you paused, feeling the tears threatening to spill over again, but you forced yourself to keep walking, each step taking you further away from the person you thought you'd spend your life with.

Inside the restaurant, Tara remained standing, her heart aching with a crushing guilt she couldn't shake.

She wanted to call out to you, to beg you to come back, but the words wouldn't come.

All she could do was watch as you disappeared into the night, the echo of your voice—the pain in it—ringing in her ears.

And as the door swung shut behind you, Tara was left standing there, alone, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on her.

She didn't move, didn't sit back down, just stood there, staring at the spot where you had been, feeling like everything had just slipped through her fingers.

But she knew, deep down, that following you wouldn't fix this—that nothing she could say right now would take away the hurt she had caused.

And that was something she would have to live with.

So she stayed where she was, the guilt heavy and suffocating, knowing that all she could do was wait and hope that this wasn't the last time she'd see you.

But she also knew that, for now, there was nothing more she could do.

Walking away, every step was taking you further from the life you thought you'd have, the future that had seemed so certain just hours before.

You had believed that you and Tara were writing the same story, that the future you both wanted was shared, built on a foundation of love and dreams whispered late into the night.

But standing there, with her words unraveling everything you thought was certain, you realized that while you had been planning a lifetime together, she had been questioning if that future was ever truly meant to be.

The hardest part wasn't just hearing her doubts—it was understanding that she had quietly let go of the future you were still holding onto.

She had left that future behind long before she ever said the words, moving on from the life you thought you would share.

And now, all that was left were the pieces of a dream that you had been building alone.

[haveihitanerve]

Calling for Dad

um.. so i saw this post a while back about how the Robins all call for bruce on patrol and i unfortunately cannot find it to reblog off of, but uh yeah. i wrote it so-

this post-

Dick breathed deeply through his nose and whirled, sending his foot flying into a nearby henchman's side. The man went flying back, cursing up a storm that ended quickly as his head connected with the wall. Out cold. Dick brushed his hands off in satisfaction. They were almost done, and he could see bruce tying up and fighting a few extra henchmen only a few feet away, at the same time. Dick turned, planning on tying up the ones he had finished, when something cold and hard slammed into his cheek. Dick reeled backwards, landing hard on the ground. He looked up. A henchman was standing over him, a nasty smile on his face, brass knuckles glinting. Dick could feel tears pooling in his eyes. “Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry’ dick chanted in his head. But his lower lip was trembling. And, maybe it was just some survival instinct, maybe it was just some primal knowledge in dicks little gecko brain, but before he could stop himself, his mouth was open and he was crying. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!” All he spotted was the pale face of the henchman, before a black blur went flying into it. Bruce was at his side a second later, a soft hand on his cheek, a tender brush of fingers across his forehead, a gentle kiss to his head. Dick didn't even feel the injury anymore, it had been more of a shock than anything else, but Bruce didn't finish patrol that day. And dick stayed wrapped up safe and warm in his fathers cape the rest of the night. 

Jason yawned, sending his right fist into the gut in front of him. He had an exam tomorrow, and Bruce had told him to stay home, but Two Face and Penguin had decided to strike a deal in the warehouse, so they had had to show up. Jason knew B regretted bringing him. And would blame himself if jason failed, but honestly, jason just enjoyed spending time with his dad. Whether it was fighting crime or not. He would take the bruises over passing his exam any day. Jason yawned again. The gut was suddenly back on its feet in front of him. Jason startled back, but too late. He hit the ground. Hard. Boots scraped the floor in front of him and Jason could no longer see Bruce. His heartbeat started to accelerate. There was a hand on his ankle and he was being turned, dragged forward. Jason opened his mouth, and screamed. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!” The hand on his ankle froze. Then was ripped away. Jason couldn't hold back his sniffle of fear and suddenly bruce was there, a protective hand on his back, an arm under his butt as bruce lifted him and pressed jason's face against his chest, holding him close and whispering sweet nothings into his boys ear and jason lapped them up like a starving kitten, mewling and pushing closer to his dad, safe with the knowledge his father would always have his back. 

Tim knew he shouldn't have been out alone. But he was doing some reconnaissance on the bane and it couldn't be that bad. Right? Wrong. Next thing he knew the young Drake heir was face to face with the dangerous villain, with nothing but a bo staff in his hands. “Ooh.” cooed bane. “Little robin, flown too far from your nest have you?” He snickered, and the sound sent a cold chill down tims spine. “Well well well. Lets have some funnsie shall we?” And before tim could move the bane had grabbed his staff and snapped it over his leg, tossing the remains aside. Tim stared at him open mouthed. Fear. Fear was coursing through his veins like sharp ice. Tim was scared. And there was a crack and Tim guessed it was either his ribs or skull as hot fiery pain swept through his body and he screamed, head colliding with the wall. And he couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe couldn't breathe. But he managed to gasp just enough air into his lungs to muster up one single word. “DAAAAAAAAD!” Bane was on the ground faster than tim could blink. And he started to apologize, begging for forgiveness, to stay robin, please, ‘please bruce don't send me back to the Drake estate’ but bruce lifted him gently and carried him slowly and when tim awoke he was still at the manor, not on the doorstep of the Drakes and Bruce was sitting at his side, holding his hand. And when he started to speak tim felt fear clutch him immediately. But the man wasn't telling him to leave. He wasn't kicking him out. He was telling him about the other Robins who had called dad before him. It was the first time Tim heard bruce speak about Jason so plainly. Without anger or guilt or regret. But rather with warmth. “You are my son Timmy.” bruce whispered quietly. “My son.” 

Stephanie knew she wasn't as experienced as she needed to be to be robin, but bruce had still let her on the streets with him, and she would be damned if she disappointed him. After all, it was just Black Mask. What harm could he do? “Apparently a lot.” Steph thought dryly as she leapt around the man who was swinging wildly at her. She was bleeding from a gash in her thigh, and was pretty certain she had at least two broken ribs. They were really slowing her down but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Wasn't handling. Except. Except she couldn't handle it. Black Mask swung his bat, and Steph didn't make it out of the way in time. The metal connect full force with her side and steph went flying, slamming hard into the concrete wall. She wheezed. Now there was definitely some internal bleeding. Her nose was running and before she could get up, a boot connected with her face. Now it was running with blood. Her teeth felt lose. Stephanie's mouth was so dry. Black Masks taunting face appeared above her and Steph could do nothing more than whimper as pain wracked through her body as he started to beat her. She could taste the throw up in her mouth. Could smell the overpowering stench of iron, from her own blood. Her heart was battering so loudly in her ears from fright if she hadn't heard it she might've thought she was dead. But she wasn't. Dead. She was definitely afraid. She and Bruce had never discussed what they were. She had a dad. He had kids. A daughter. They had never broached the subject of adoption, or even being anything more than slight friends. It didn't matter that she saw him as a father figure. A better one than she had ever actually had. It was this thought, above all others, that rose to the front of stephanie's mind while black mask bloodied her. And it was this thought, above all others, that made her lick her dry lips and scream, with all the air she had left in her lings. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!” Black Mask laughed at her. “Authur ain't gonna save you!” he sneered. Arthur Brown had never even crossed Stephanie's mind. Black Mask lifted his fist, ready to bring it crashing down on her head. But it never connected. Not with stephanie at least. But rather with a very large, very angry, Batman. She had never seen Bruce throw anyone. Much less through two walls. But here they were. Hands touched her. Warm hands. Kind hands. The same hands that had cradled her after nightmares. The same hands that had handed her snacks and wordlessly pulled her into a hug when she had shown up on his doorstep, wistful and ashed, slightly bedraggled, begging for sanctuary. The warm hands of her father. “Dad.” She choked. “Shhh.” bruce soothed softly, stroking her hair as he lifted her, like a newborn calf, into his arms and carried her home. “Its alright sweetheart. I've got you.” 

Damian had never called Bruce dad. It just wasn't done. Mother was Mother, Grandfather was Grandfather, and so naturally, Father was Father. He knew other kids didn't agree. Had heard his classmates shriek with joy and cries of “DAD!” And “papa!” when greeting their fathers. Even his siblings did so, whether Cassandra threw herself at him with a cheerful “daddy!” or jason tossed an arm around his shoulders with a heartfelt “hey pops” or tim and dick, who had no issues with plopping themselves into his lap and purring “daddio.’ when they needed something.  Even Barbara had taken to calling Bruce ‘dad 2.0’ from time to time. Damian had never even considered calling his father dad. Much less on patrol. Except. Except he had heard his brothers chatting about it. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But they hadn’t exactly tried to be quiet either. “B don’t love me!” Jason had shouted, plopping with an over dramatic sigh onto the couch. Dick didn’t even look up from whatever he was working on, just laughed. “Sure jason. Remember that time you called for him on patrol?” Tim chuckled, walking in as well and sitting on the couch opposite his brother. “Oh yeah.” He let out a high pitched scream and imitated a young Jason. “Dad!” They all laughed. Jason couldn’t contain his smile. “Yeah yeah. I know. He loves all of us. It would be nice if he showed it differently than just arriving when we need him, but it’s sweet all the same.” “Aw.” Dick cooed. Jason threw a pillow at him. Tim laughed. “Robin calling for his Dad is still the scariest thing a villain can hear.” The others chimed their agreement. Damian filed the information away carefully, planning on testing that. To see if father reacted with the same rage his brothers had described for him as he had for them. Damian had never seen his father snap. Had never seen his ruthless side. According to his siblings that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Damian huffed, throwing a quick and effortless punch to the man in front of him. He hit the dirt without even managing a sound of pain. Damian smirked in triumph, but the man was up again. Damian flinched as the foot connected with his face. He went flying back, slamming into the chimney of the roof he was on. The man stalked towards him, grinning evilly. Damian scrambled back. For the first time, fear coursed through him. “BABAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” damian screamed. His brothers hadn't been lying. The mans face paled in fear a split second before an angry bruce slammed into him, fists flying. Damian wasn't entirely certain his father had stuck with his no killing rule. But that didn't matter. Because Father was here now, holding him close, snuggling damian into bed, kissing his head. And Damian started calling Father Baba. 

[distantdarlings]

NO ONE LIKE YOU // t. riddle

RATING: R / 2.1K WORDS

Tom Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* (Thank you to @orphicmortala for the request!) After having a very difficult meeting with his followers, Tom decides to take some frustrations out on you. He ends up getting a little too enthusiastic. (Smut, Angst)

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (For the first part), piv - no protection, hair pulling, oral - m!receiving, mention of blood, Tom is kind of mean, rough sex, (very slight) pain play, dom!Tom, Reader eventually uses safe word, language, not fully proofread, fem reader (lmk if I missed anything)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Animal - Troye Sivan

- - -

The final light of day flashed through the Head Boy’s dorm room. It cast a honeyed glow around you for only a moment before pitching the whole world into blackness. When the sun disappeared behind the mountains along the edge of Hogwarts, it was always a very quick descent to dark. It wasn’t very gradient, just sudden.

Almost as soon as the light had dissipated, the door flew open, nearly hitting the stone wall behind it. You shot up from the bed you were lounging on. A chilled wind blew in from the hallway, sending wild flickers through the fire in the corner.

“Tom,” you breathed.

The man in question stood in the doorway, fuming silently. His jaw was clenched and ticking, his eyes dark and frenzied. You swallowed thickly at the animalistic energy pouring off of his body. What had happened?

He slammed the door shut behind him, a slight flinch shocking through your body at the loud sound. He stomped across the room, barely paying you any mind. He came to a stop in front of the blazing fireplace. His hands began roughly ripping some papers. You got to your feet.

“Tom?” you called gently, waltzing over to him. Your hands reached out to press a comforting touch to him when he turned abruptly.

“What?” he growled. You stepped back, dropping your hands immediately. He had never looked at you like this before. The fire in his eyes nearly reflected the blaze within the stone in front of you.

“I–I’m sorry, I was just…”

“Darling, I’m sorry,” he sighs, blowing air through his nose. “It’s been a rough day.”

“What happened?” you asked, stepping closer to him again. You wanted to comfort him. A small groan leaves him as he tosses the remains of the shredded papers into the flames. Your eyes flickered to the fiery confetti, wondering what it once had been.

“What was that?” you ask, finally coming to place your hands on his shoulders.

“Nothing, do not worry yourself with matters of the Knights,” he whispered.

“What can I do to help?” you ask, staring up at him with such quiet adoration. His eyes found yours, basking in the innocence pooled within them. He could hardly bear to see you so concerned with him, especially when his anger came from such a vile source. Those pathetic boys tried to impress him by insisting they’d found new information for him and presented it before the whole group. They’d laid out more information of his lowly bringing-up, discussing new details about his mother they may have found.

He’d slammed his fists on the table, demanding to know why they’d been looking into his family history. They had immediately snapped their jaws shut, unsure how to respond. Perhaps they’d thought he’d be happy with them for finding more information on his parents. He couldn’t care any less about his worthless parents. All he cared about was his plans. He thought that had been obvious, but apparently, these boys had thought otherwise. He was in a mind to completely expel them from the group and obliviate them.

“My love,” he whispered, placing a gentle but firm hand beneath her jaw. He’d never loved, and he never would. You knew this well and accepted it for what it was—you and Tom weren’t ‘dating,’ but he was yours, and you were his. It wasn’t necessarily love, but it was in your own way. You couldn’t really explain it, but you both felt it.

“I need you, darling,” he whispered against your ear, placing his lips to the skin there. You felt the electricity humming beneath his flesh. Your lips shuddered a bit in anticipation. You nodded, accepting him into you.

That was all he needed to roughly grab your face and press hot, fast kisses to you. He satiated his every need against your tongue, taking what he wanted. You sighed against his lips, feeling the way he shattered you and held you together.

He walked you back to his bed and let you fall down against it. He kept you pinned beneath his weight, his hands hungry and wanting. They gripped and spared you, leaving hard, peppered bruises in their wake. He was always rough with you, fucking and biting and choking. He didn’t make love, and you didn’t want him to. You’d come to him for the dark passion he exuded through his body. If you’d wanted something gentle, you’d have looked around Hufflepuff. That wasn’t an insult to your house, of course. You just knew exactly what you wanted.

His hands came up to rip the front of your shirt open, ignoring the way a button or two flung across the room. He’d get you a new shirt later. A low groan sounded in his throat as his fingers tightened around your breasts, kneading them with his long, deft fingers. He placed his face against your chest, inhaling deeply and pressing painful bruises on you. You whined at the feeling, beckoning him away from your pained skin.

“Shut up. I’ll do what I want,” he growled, continuing to mark you as painfully as before. His sharp teeth seared into your flesh, pulling blood to the surface and occasionally past it. When he finally pulled away, a small drop of bloodied saliva dripped from his lips as if in slow motion. You sighed at the visual, the heat beginning to pool rapidly between your legs.

He crawled up your body, quickly unbuckling and pushing his belt through the loops in his trousers. When it was free, he slid the button through its slit and shoved his pants down to his knees. He dropped his bottoms and released himself against his stomach. The hot skin was reddened and beating with his heart. You gasped at the sight, wanting to feel him within you so desperately.

“You know what to do,” he groaned. He curled fingers into your hair, roughly shoving your face toward him. You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, watching as he panted in anticipation. His pupils were blown wide, and his lips were parted, a hint of your blood still tattooed over his perfectly white teeth. Fuck, he looked gorgeous.

As your tongue came forth to swipe over his length as slowly as he’d allow you to, you realized you wouldn’t be finishing with him anytime soon. He intended to go as far as you could and then some. The anger built up in his chest was enough for seven men, and he loved nothing more than taking it out on you.

“Ah, you perfect fucking girl,” he groaned as you took him completely into your mouth. Despite his size, you did your best to push him to the very back of your throat, allowing him to caress you in places you’d never been touched before. His hands were tight against your scalp, forcing you to stay completely still as he bucked his hips into you. It wasn’t comfortable at all, but the feeling of being able to please him had you staying planted in place.

“You always take me so well,” he sighed, head angled toward the ceiling. Your thighs pressed so tightly together you thought they might combust. He was so perfect. “No one like you, no one like you, no one like you…” He mumbled endlessly, pushing those words into your brain.

You wanted him so badly—all you could think about was him. All you could see, smell, hear, taste was him. He surrounded you, forcing you to take him in every way you could. Every sense was blinded by him. And that was just how he liked you—drowning in him.

He pulled you from him before he could finish. He wanted to finish within you, just as he always did. You knew him well enough to turn yourself around and ready yourself to accept him. He tended to follow a bit of a pattern when fucking you, one you’d started to catch on to. He never had to ask you for anything anymore; you just did it.

He flipped your skirt over your ass, revealing the lack of bottoms beneath. Another groan left his lips as he placed his fingers over you, working every part of you apart like clockwork. He moved you open, lathering you in your arousal, marking your insides with his claim.

When he removed his hand from you and placed both of them on your hips, you bit your arm, preparing for him to split you down the middle. No matter how often the two of you had sex, you seemed to never adjust to his size. He always had to move as slowly as he could to work you apart gently. Perhaps you were a bit more sensitive down there than others, but he was always patient. Except for today, it seemed.

With little more than a brief hesitation at the start, he slid himself into you all in one go. A strangled gasp left you at the feeling. He wasted no time beginning to pound himself into you. He cared nothing of the pathetic whines and screams coming from your lips. Your hands white-knuckled the sheets as you begged him to slow down, to be gentler, anything. He didn’t fucking care. He wrapped a hand into your hair, using it as a bit of leverage. He was going to take out every bit of pent-up frustration on this tight cunt.

“Fuck, Slytherin!” you shrieked, the tears beginning to roll down your cheeks. He stopped immediately, his hips halting inside you. As if he was in a daze, Tom blinked rapidly and shook his head a bit. It felt as though he had been under a spell, the way he had been fucking into you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered. He gently pulled himself out of you, a pitiful whine leaving your lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Hearing him say those words alone was enough to convince him how serious the situation was. Tom didn’t say sorry unless it was to a professor or to generally get someone off of his back. Usually, it was fake. This time, it wasn’t, and it rushed out of his lips before he could stop it.

He gently wrapped himself around you, slowly turning you and laying you back against his pillows. He kicked his pants down the rest of his legs and slipped the both of you beneath his comforter.

The cool green satin pressed softly against your hot skin, softly soothing it. He laid himself down behind you, his soft breath barely tickling the hairs on the back of your neck. Hesitantly, his hand slid over your stomach. It seemed as though he wasn’t sure exactly how to comfort you, but was trying his best.

“Darling?” he whispered against your back.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Don’t ever apologize to me,” he said. “I’m sorry that I…I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.”

A soft sigh left you. You’d never had to use your safe word with Tom before—had never even wanted to. Every aspect of the way Tom fucked had always intrigued you. The ways he handled you as if you were nothing to him but an outlet for his pleasure, the way he insisted on doing everything, the way he was genuinely concerned about your pleasure, despite himself. It often left you breathless.

Tonight, however, had been different. You felt less than you usually did when beneath him. Usually it was a nice feeling; like you were smaller, something for him to take care of. But tonight you’d felt pure hatred coursing through his body. You were scared that it was directed toward you.

“It’s not that, Tom,” you sighed. “I was worried that you were angry with me.”

His hands gently wrapped around you and helped you to turn toward him. His eyes watched you sternly. He wanted to put any affection that had built up inside him completely into you.

“I have never been angry with you—I was angry with my worthless fucking followers, always insisting they ruin my life in the most embarrassing ways possible.”

“Why would they do that?” You gasped, shocked that they’d even think of doing such a thing.

“They think that they’re helping or something,” he scoffed, jaw clenching. You could feel the anger radiating off of him.

“I’m so sorry,” you sigh, slipping your eyes shut. “I hope I didn’t upset you further—it was just a bit too much, I suppose.”

He nods understandingly, saying nothing more. The quiet and safety you felt when with Tom had you falling into a particularly deep sleep. Though you tried to fight it off, you could feel Tom’s eyes on you, watching as you slowly drifted off.

The last thing you remembered before slipping fully into sleep was Tom’s hand gently against your cheek, his cold thumb caressing a hair away from your face.

*Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth, @clairesjointshurt (if you would like to be added to the tag list, please comment on this post, send me a dm, or message in my inbox. Thanks!)

[hotwings0203]

Needed to get possessive alpha bakugo off my chest, ill prolly write a sequel to this tmrw cuz i got some ideas

Tw: noncon, omegaverse

thinking about childhood possessive bakugo who's pined for his omega since she joined the pack Time after time again since you were kids he'd always tried to get close to you, using a number of strange to threatening courting techniques. It was benign at first when you both were young, with him jumping up the large apple tree to get you the juiciest fruit you could never seem to reach, but when you two grew older and played together with the rest of the pack, his efforts seemed more...possessive.

He'd always single you out and force you to be on his team, following up with growling at you whenever you'd run more than a few paces in front of away from him. His sleek gold and black coat would brush up against you constantly, as if only touching you would satiate his desire for your proximity. Bloodred eyes would glare at you when you'd shyly back away at dinnertime, opting to sit away from his intense gaze.

Not like he'd let you get that far.

When it would come time for bathing with your sisters, somehow, everytime you'd be out of the loop and would end up being forced to wash yourself on your own in the cold water.

Little did you know your sisters were not-so-kindly encouraged to not communicate their congregation to you by a certain fiery alpha.

And so when everyone was by the fire, barking out laughter and telling stories of their weekly hunt, you'd sulk to the riverside by yourself, clutching your towel over your shivering body as youd sink closer in the shallow water.

You wanted to get it done as fast as possible so you could join your pack in merry-making, haphazardly scraping dirt off your paws and washing the crevices between your ears.

But as soon as you take a step towards the lush bank, you hear a heavy splash behind you.

You whip around, ears drawn back immeditaley after seeing the alpha who shamelessly follows you around like he's already claimed you.

"W-whatre you doing here? Everyone's by the..fire..." you trail off unsurely as his spiked-up wet mane shakes in laughter. His lack of concern for the reprimands he'll undoubtedly recieve for being this physically close to you send faint warning alarms at the back of your head. Usually he glowers at you and turns tail, but this is new.

"I thought the pack leaders told you to leave me alone," your lip wobbles as your tone borders on fear and indignation. Your brothers had always kept you safe from him, snarling and hiding you behind their tall legs whenever he was around. Bakugo never seemed to give up though, his own flashing teeth and sick grin mirroring their own worry pulled back from their lips.

"Yeah? But you're here though."

You swallow hard and hope he doesn't hear your whimper as you splash backwards towards the bank, but his low grumble of pleasure upon smelling your sweet fear-omones says otherwise. It proves to him that you're not as immune as your other brothers swear you are to protect yourself against him, theyre actually worried for a reason.

They know you'd never stand a chance against him.

And his muscles do ripple amid the water as he steadily stalks towards you, leering as he licks his canines and trains his eyes on your feeble form.

It seems like as fast as you flail backwards towards unseen safety, he advances twice as fast, and within seconds your back hits a hard and scratchy surface.

Bakugo chuckles a humorless laugh as you've nestled yourself in a nice, private corner away from the mainland where everyone can see you. You've backed both of you into an enormous concaved treetrunk, one that circles around 10ft and only one opening...

which you've trapped yourself in.

The roots of various plants that have grown inside this hollowed out trunk provide little cushion as you whimper and try to desperatley climb the walls.

"When are you gonna give up?"

His voice is low, raspy with mixed want and bitterness.

"S-stop, stay away from me or I'll call for h-"

"When are you gonna realize you can't escape me?" He harshly whispers right at your ear as he lunges toward you, causing you to squeal with terror.

He nips your soft ear and inhales your neck, craning his own to get a good look at the sensitive unclaimed part of your neck.

His hands grip your sides and mold the squishy parts as though they were dough, his greediness increasing exponentially as he lowers his drooling mouth to your ear and laves his wet tongue over the planes of your neck and shoulder.

You begin to shake and sob, never having been dealt with him actually touching you and being a victim to his lust. You've taken the protection of your brothers for granted, and oh how you wish you could softly howl out if you had the courage to ask for help.

But the blonde's presence itself is enough of a threat to your life and safety, that much being made clear as his hands grow claws, no doubt his physical appearance shifting from being so riled up. Your skin prick and cuts as his nails jab harder into you, his hands roaming up and down your back, feeling your hips and ghosting over the swell of your ass as well as chest.

You writhe against him which unbeknownst to you, pushes your naked chest out against his own shredded pecs, your pebbled nipples grazing his toned skin and practically making his eyes roll back in efforts not to pin you down and take you like his bitch.

"I just wanted to wash," your voice comes out pleading, and meek. You have no idea how he'll react to you being aggressive and defensive against his assault even if you had the courage to speak out against him.

"And I want to claim you as my omega," he growls directly in your ear, causing you to whine again and cower your head beneath his hounding mouth. "But I guess we'll both have to wait for what we want, huh?"

He knows you know.

You have to know.

Have to have known how badly he wants you, wants to hear your voice ring high with laughter like you do teasing your sisters, wants to hear your playful growls as you wrestle with your brothers who let you win just to see you swish your tail with prowess. He wants to feel you rest your head on his chest, wants to see you look up at him with security and ease, knowing that he's there to protect and love you.

But how can he explain that, with years of nothing but threatening looks and yards of distance between you two?

If it brings you familiarity and perhaps ease of seeing him as you've always thought to have known him, as a brute with nothing on his mind apart from taking you like an animal and conquering you, then he'll save the monologuing for later.

"After all," he heaves in the darkness of the seclusion, voicing his thoughts, "your birthday's coming up, right? You'll be of age to be claimed."

He thrusts his knee in between your trembling legs, pushing your shoulders down while following with his head and never letting his mouth rise above your unclaimed mark. You gasp as he begins grinding his knee in circles against your hooded clit, bouncing you lightly to evoke whatever sweet noises he can from your pursed lips.

You choke and sputter, suddenly grasping around his neck for leverage as you try to pull yourself up, but you're no match for him as it only serves to prove his point and enrage him from your constant rejection.

You can lie to him all you want, but your body never will.

"And trust me, little girl, when that cunt ripens for me to take, when that neck fucking sings for me to lay my mark-"

Your voice cracks into a howl as he takes one of his hands and squeezes the fat of your tit while the other spanks your jiggling ass on his knee, feeling whiplash from the onslaught of sensations.

"-I can promise you, there's no running. There's no cowering behind your brother's legs like some fucking baby, there's no using your sisters as an excuse to turn your face away from me."

Bakugo presses you tight against the wall, smothering you chest-to-chest with him and using the confined space to rut his naked erection against your thigh, his hips snapping forward and chasing years of needed release in your presence.

"I'll tie you down on my bed, face down ass-up and breed you as my bitch. I'll take you bent over and wrapped around me against every surface and floor of our secluded cave."

You blubber as you can feel yourself coming to a high, the water splashing obnoxiously at your humping against each other. In an effort to keep your pride, you try as hard as you can to grit your teeth and delay your orgasm, but he seems to catch on pretty quick.

"And then," he drops your tit and uses both hands to pry your asscheeks apart, impaling you impossibly closer down on the hard bone of his knee, your clit grating deliciously as his leg vibrates and flexes from moving you back and forth, up and down, any direction he can get your teeth to latch onto your lip and pussy clench on nothing.

"Then, you won't have to hide that pretty voice anymore. I'll get those years of silence back in exchange for your screams for help."

At this, he hugs you flush against the wall and himself as you shake from your orgasm, the water rippling at your reaction.

"So if I were you, I'd be grateful for any solitude from now on. Because you won't be getting it anymore."

[redheadspark]

Here (Part Two)

Summary - Azriel stays by his mate's side, not knowing his family is rallying behind him to find out who attempting to kill his mate

Warnings - Mostly Angst

A/N - Part of the Ocean Eyes Series. I posted this as a sequel of Part One, which got insanely reactions! I am so glad you guys liked Part One and I hope you like Part Two!

Part Three Found Here

"What's the plan, Rhys?"

"I'm focusing more on my cousin's health and her life in the balance than dealing with her attacker."

"That's not where my head is,"

"Enlighten me then, Cassian,"

Cassian rolled his shoulders and eyed his High Lord as Rhysand was perched at his desk in his office, the sun setting over the rolling hills outside the River House, and the cooler air was blown onto the office with ease. Cassian leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and his head reeling with questions and scenarios that he wanted to figure out immediately. But Rhysand was remaining calm, too calm for the Illyrian Army Commander's liking. He considered the wounded Illryian who was asleep upstairs, his friend's mate, his family. Someone tried to hurt his family and take away his family, and Cassian was fuming from the inside out.

But he was also a changed Illyrian, just as Rhysand and Azriel were. They were all fathers now: Rhysand with Nyx, Azriel with Alec, and Cassian with his daughter Rose. His daughter, sweet and yet fiery Rose was a splitting image of her mother but had his infectious and playful heart. They all had offspring to protect and think about, no more rash decisions and acting out on a limb. The children had to come first, and Cassian was not willing to do anything that would bring his family harm. Azriel never did that himself, yet that led to Alec almost being killed as a toddler and Azriel's mate now in a bed upstairs hanging between life and death. Nesta would never let Cassian do anything like that, not just for Rose but for Nesta too.

Cassian was the one who found you first, sprawled on the forest floor bleeding from your wing and the arrow still hanging out of your wing. You both were out in the outline border of Velaris, Cassian getting a hunch that there were rogue beings there making their way across the border into Velaris territory. You on the other hand were meeting with some of the farmers and shopkeepers that lived in the cottages there to check on them and talk business in contributing to the Community Center.

Maybe it was fate that he was there and come enough to hear your scream out, but he knew your scream far too well from knowing you since you both were younglings. He flew towards the wail you let out, his heart hitting against his chest far too hard and thinking it was a trick of the mind.

Everything slowed down for him as he gathered you in his arms, you were out cold and the poison already working in your blood. He had to act quickly, time was of the essence, and your time was about to be snuffed out if he didn't get you help in time. 

"The marks on the arrow," Cassian stated, reflecting on the arrow that was piercing your wing and sicking out so harshly that it sickened him to rethink it again, "We need to know where they came from so we get a hunch as to who did this,"

"I already have a big hunch, and I got in contact with the very High Lord that I'm thinking," Rhysand hummed, his cooldemeanor was hiding the anger he had. Cassian raised a brow at him as Rhysand rang his thumb over his fingers back and forth, a tactic he would use when he was thinking deeply, "High Lord Beron has been notified and is coming tonight,"

"What?" Cassian asked in shock, standing up stiffly and no longer leaning against the wall. 

"He knows the utmost importance of this since it does involve my cousin…my fucking family," Rhysand said the last part in a low tone, not a growl but close enough, "We are going to meet at the Townhouse since I know both yourself and Nesta would rather not have the High Lord of Autumn Court in your home,"

Cassian snorted, then gave him a questioning look, "Does Elaine and Lucien know what happened?"

"Feyre reached out and told them to stay at their home here in Velaris for the time being. In fact, I don't want any of the Inner Circle going anywhere outside of Velaris until this is resolved once and for all. We either stay in our homes or at The House of Wind until I say so," Rhysand explained as his violet eyes looked out the window to see the last images of the sun still in the sky before it hid into the horizon.

"Is that an order?" Cassian asked, Rhysand’s eyes shot back to his Commander.  Cassian, though tamer than he used to be when he was younger, was still reckless at heart at times. Something inside of him wanted him to find whoever did this and bring them pain. You were family to him, meeting him through Rhysand when he was a boy and considered him a brother of yours. His rational side was teetering to be pushed aside, and he was fine with it.

"I don't want another member of my family hurt, Cass. I consider you family, long before you became my brother-in-law. You need to think of your wife and daughter and that they need you," Rhysand explained to Cassian, seeing Cassian's eyes soften from the mention of Nesta and Rose, "We need to be smart about this, not reckless. I want you with me when we meet with High Lord Beron,"

Cassian hummed, knowing that Rhysand was right when it came to being reckless. He then gestured his head over to the doors that lead out of the office, "What about Azriel?"

"I don't want him anywhere else but with his wife, she's his priority now. And besides, I would rather not leave Azriel alone in the room with High Lord Beron. That's if Beron, or Autumn Court for that matter, did have something to do with this. He is not in the right frame of mind to be anywhere else," 

Cassian knew he was right about that too. The rage Azriel must be feeling at this moment, not knowing who in factharmed and attempted to kill his mate, must have been explosive. Cassian himself has been Azriel in such a way before, the anger that would fester deep down and be unlashed by either his shadows or his Truth Tellers. Cassian and strength behind him, but Azriel had something deeper.

Something more menacing.

"Alec is also staying here until his mother is well again, though he still doesn't know what precisely happened," Rhysand explained as he got up from his chair and walked around the desk to stand near Cassian with his arms folded in front of him, "I don't want Alec anywhere else but here, he's my nephew and he needs to be protected now more than ever. We all do, but epically him: someone is hunting his mother and father, and I won't let him become an orphan under my roof,"

"None of us want that, Rhys," Cassian reasoned with Rhysand, "He's secure and protected here with you and Feyre, and he's safe with his father, the safest he’ll ever be,”

"Which is why we need to be smart. For now, let's just focus on this meeting with Beron and making sure my cousin is comfortable and safe while she heals and come back to full health," Rhysand stated, then pausing as he gave Cassian a more cornered look, "How is Alec and Azriel now?"

"Alec's okay, he just misses his mother. As for Azriel…it's hard for him," Cassian confessed. Rhysand hummed and rubbed his eyes, already thinking of the next steps that were to come. The meeting tonight would be far too important, life-changing, and yet his cousin was still in the back of his mind and her health was his main concern. 

All he could do now was hold onto his Inner Circle, his family, so close in hopes they wouldn't slip away.

"Alright, buddy. Time for bed, okay?"

"Ok, daddy,"

Azriel softly smiled as he watched his son hop into the massive bed he was going to sleep in, the guest room that wasacross from where you were still sleeping and still healing. He left the door slightly open, being able to see you from where he was in Alec's guest room as Alec was settling into his bed. 

Alec was only told that his mother was sick, severely sick, and he was not able to see her.  Of course, it confused him at first, not understanding that he wasn't able to see his own mother since he had seen her sick before, but he knew better than to question his father.  Seeing Azriel looking worn down and defeated made Alec worry all the more. 

But Feyre was a step ahead, making sure he was well fed at dinnertime and kept him busy with his cousin Nyx until it was time for him to go to bed. Still, his mother was in the back of his mind, wondering what was it that made his mother so sick. He missed his mother, hugging her and hearing her voice telling him goodnight. Azriel tried his best to be present with Alec, but his son caught onto something that was hidden from him. 

Perhaps a trait he inherited from his father.

"Alec, I know this is different from what we're used to," Azriel explained to Alec, who was watching his father with his wide blue eyes as he was snuggled under the soft sheets of the bed, "But you are being such a trooper for going with the flow of it all.  I promise you that things are going to go back to normal soon, okay? As soon as momma is all better, we'll go back to our house and things will be back to the way they were,"

"Is it going to be forever?" Alec asked tentatively as he searched his father's tired eyes. Azriel felt a twinge of pain that his son was still kept in the dark, so speak, when it came to what truly happened to his mother. The last thing Azriel ever wanted to do was to lie to his son like this, to have that trust broken at any moment. 

"No, not forever, baby," He reassured Alec as he pushed the inky black hair out of his son's blue eyes, "This is not forever, I swear to you. You believe me?"

"Yes, Daddy," Alec replied, Azriel smiled at his son and leaned over to kiss the top of his head. He was about to leave his son to sleep, and as Azriel eased himself up from the bed, Alec spoke up again in a gentler tone. So gentle, that it sounded like the curtains were swaying in his room from the night breeze.

"Daddy, is momma gonna be okay?"

Azriel could have cried then, seeing his son watch him for an answer. Azriel never wanted this for his family, the fear of losing someone he loved and another person he loved was filled with fear and worry. Alec was only four years old, far too young for something like this to happen in his life. Nothing could prepare him for this: consoling his son and hoping that his wife would pull through. 

Alec needed his mother, Azriel knew that deep down. There was no greater bond than Alec's bond with his mother, it was thick and filled with so much happiness and love. Inwardly, Azriel wanted that himself with his mother, and he did have that in the blink of a moment when he was young.  To see his mate give that same love to his son was beyond rewarding.

Now his son, looking at his father with worry in his young eyes, was asking about his mother.

"Yeah…yeah she's gonna be okay," he reassured Alec. He had to give Alec hope, the hope that his mother would be herself again. Although he had very little hope, he would at least give some of that hope to his son. He leaned down and kissed his son one more time, "Get some sleep, okay? I'm gonna check on momma and come back to you, I love you,"

"I love you too, Daddy," Alec replied, then curled into the bed under the sheets as Azriel moved away. He felt like he needed to be in two places at once: with Alec and with you. Although you were sleeping and till healing, Alec needed you and needed your warmth. Azriel wished he could change it all, make you all better so you can hold your son. Yet as he watched Alec fall asleep, facing the window with a look of peace on his face, Azriel could breathe a bit easier. 

He kept the door into the guest room open slightly, mostly in case Alec needed him as he walked silently across the hall into the room where you were in. Still asleep, facing the empty chair where Azriel was perched for the past few hours, the moon shining into your room to cast a bluish light along your still wounded wings. Azriel could even see the moonlight shine through the thin membrane of your wings, showing the veins and the damage from the Ash Arrow.

But the way you were snuggled against the body pillow, head against the soft pillow, and your long hair draped over your shoulder, you looked more peaceful than you did earlier when Azriel found you. Azriel sat down on the chair, taking in a long breath as he held his hands together in his lap and watched you. Your deep breathing, the softness that was now slowly coming back along your skin and your cheeks thanks to the medicine from Madja. 

"I might be talking to myself here, but I hope you can hear me," Azriel said aloud in the room, his voice sounding a bit raw as he watched you in earnest, "But I need you to pull through and get better. I….I don't think I can do this without you. I won't have the strength to, no matter how hard I'll have to try. I need you, our son needs you. He needs his momma, and I…I don't wanna do this alone and without you."

He might have sounded silly since he was talking alone in the room, but then again he needed to get it off his chest. Bottling up all his fear that he's had for the past few hours, would have suffocated him. The only person he was ever safe to unload his feelings, to be open and exposed therapeutically, was the one who was asleep in front of him and unable to be fully present with him.

"I'm sorry I failed you and couldn't protect you," Azriel admitted, sinking a bit in his chair as he was fiddling with his fingers, Clutching them together tightly and refusing to let them go, "I promised you when we were mated that I would protect you, keep you safe and never let anything happen to you. I broke that promise, and I know I can never repair that,"

He thought that if you were awake, you would reprimand him for being hard on himself. Azriel could even hear it clearly in his mind, your kind voice scolding him for being immensely harsh towards himself. You've always helped him out of his moods and insecurities, including what he does and how he takes care of others around him. Azriel thought back to a talk that he had with you when Alec was still a young infant, he was voicing his worry about taking care of his family and if he was doing enough. 

He needed you to bring him back to the light, and not have him hide in the darkness.

Azriel reached out and took your hands in his own, feeling the coolness of your skin and yet how soft they were. Healways loved your soft hands, a soothing balm against his calloused and scarred skin. He leaned down and kissed the back of your hand, his lips along your skin had you shift in your sleep and hum.

"Sleep and come back to me, come back to us. Your son and I need you more than anything, so I need you to get your strength and open those eyes for me when you're ready. I'm here when you wake up, I promise.  I love you more than life itself, more than my own life, and if I could trade mine for yours then I would in a heartbeat. Just gather your strength, we'll be here waiting for you," Azriel proclaimed to you and your sleeping form.  He did speak the truth: he would trade his life for yours since at times he felt you had more good for the world than he ever did.

Azriel cannot picture a world without you, without any of your beautiful traits or your tender heart. 

Azriel heard it, almost like a whisper, as he was dead asleep with Alec cradled in his arms in the spare guest room.  His arms were tucked around his son, who was snuggled against his father and snoring softly. It was so soft, like a breeze, which didn't disturb the Spymaster at first.

But it was also distinct, not the sound of the curtains fluttering next to the bed or the very soft ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantle.  This was a shutter of a whisper, and it was calling his name.

Azriel…..Azriel….

His shadows hummed, licking along Azriel's arms as he stirred a bit in his sleep. Alec was thankfully a deep sleeper and stayed in slumber, even though his father was feeling the sensation not just with his shadows but in his mind. It was a familiar voice, so familiar that maybe it was a trick of the mind as Azriel took in a long breath. But he heard it again, a pinch louder and his name being called out as if the source was so far away.  Fighting through a fog that was thick and almost recognizable.

Azriel…Azriel…

Azriel was still asleep, but it was becoming more alert as the voice was getting a bit louder now in his mind. It was no longer a dream, it was something else, something familiar to him.  So familiar like coming through the front door of the small little cottage where he lived, or flying amongst the cloud with his wings stretched. Even the familiar touch of your lips against his own made him feel safe.

But he finally heard it, and his eyes shot open on high alert.

Azriel….I'm here…

It was you, your voice, speaking through the bond.

You were awake.

To Be Continued….

A/N - Part three?!?! Let me know if you want a part three!

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