#he will curse you and loathe you and name you selfish

[blackknight-100]

I'm absolutely obsessed with how mythology portrays parent-child relationships, especially when at least one divine party is involved. I've talked about Karna and Arjuna's relationship with their fathers, and how it might tie up to their characters and situations, and the Mahabharata as a whole, but they're not the only ones! Speaking exclusively about father-son dynamics in this post, and we have a lot of them!

You have Yudhisthira, whose father Yama/Dharma shows up in his son's mortal life twice (iirc), gives him a 20 min quiz each time and then tells him that no son, we don't allow dogs in heaven (which, how dare, but we all have that one parent). This is so in line with Yudhisthira's arc, poor man that he is, having to spend his whole life finding answers to questions about righteousness and honour, losing his friends, brothers, wife and children in the process.

Rama-Dasharatha and Ganesha-Shiva are pretty straightforward - there's plenty of mutual love and respect despite the horrors ™️ , but then there is Rama and Luv-Kush. If you're counting the Uttar Kand, then these boys literally saw their mother die because there father could not stop questioning her honour. That has to mess with your head. There's no way it's a happily ever after story.

Another man who interests me greatly is Yayati. Like sir... what were you doing. Who grows old and thinks, "You know what would be great? Me borrowing my son's youth" and then curses them when they refuse? What were you thinking. What were your kids thinking. I need to take your heads apart with a scalpel, this is so incredibly insane. A father should give to his children - the only thing this man "gave" was to spare Puru from his curse.

You have Bhishma and Shantanu, another wild story. I understand that Bhishma chose to give up his birthright to make Shantanu happy, but can you actually tell me Shantanu wasn't at least somewhat interested in the plan? Shantanu is Bhishma's father, it's his job to stop him from doing things like this. I feel like pulling my hair out everytime I think of this. You can tell that Bhishma was afraid for his father's well-being when he made this decision, and that so... unfair.

On the other end of the spectrum are Krishna and Vasudeva, who are wholesome to the point of despair. Vasudeva giving up his everything just to get his boy out of prison?? Waiting years and years for him, but never lamenting or cursing Krishna for not coming fast enough??? That's peak fatherhood (Shantanu take lessons). And Krishna honours that sacrifice!! He comes from idyllic Vrindavan, slays the tormentor of his parents and rips the bars of their prison!!! And that old married couple trapped within those dank, dreary walls, with no one except the other for company, watches their godly son turn up to free them and show them the sky for the first time in more than a decade - the thought of it brings me to tears. Possibly the only part I like about the change from baby!Krishna to adult!Krishna is his reunion with Vasudeva and Devaki!

Oh, and last but not least, our favourite problematic pair: Jamadagni and sons. I'm slightly terrified by how Jamadagni was like "kill your mother for me she's sinful >:(" and when four sons refused, he actually killed them. HIS OWN SONS! Admittedly, in some versions he asks Parashuram to do the killing but like... those are his brothers. Who probably swaddled him and rocked him and fed him and played with him. And all this is presumably happening right in front of Renuka. And then Parashuram has to kill his mother as well, unless he wants to be a heap of ashes.

(In some versions, including the one I've always heard as a child, Parashuram is said to be "aware of" his father's immense power, which just seems to me a really polite way to say that Parashuram knew disobeying his father had consequences ™️ that weren't always right or rational)

Worse, after the killing is done, Jamadagni is so pleased he offers Parashuram a boon, presumably with the remains of the rest of his family still nearby, and when Parashuram asks for his mother and brother to be revived, Jamadagni is all like "ooh actually I got really angry, I think I'm going to renounce rage forever. Dw btw your brothers and mother forgot you killed them you're welcome <3"

Sir??? This is what you got out of the whole issue???? No wonder Parashuram killed a whole bunch of kings, this couldn't have been healthy.

[ddarker-dreams]

what would make the husband rotation genuinely mad and would they act when theyre mad?? bad vibes for everyone

upsetting chrollo is an arduous endeavor.

he values control, whether it be over himself or others. creating the troupe would've been impossible if he was easily agitated. ironically, by muting his emotions for so long, he's set himself up for failure. when they do escape the fortress he built to contain them, they're wild. their repression drained any civility chrollo pretends to have.

regarding what it takes to get to this point... a third party revealing his criminal affiliations to you would do the trick. especially if the evidence they provide is irrefutable. chrollo isn't naïve, he's always been aware of the possibility. it'd be different if your efforts unmasked his identity. sure, he wouldn't be ecstatic, but he'd feel a hint of pride over your sleuthing capabilities. he almost considers it your right, in a weird way.

this sentiment doesn't extend to another's interference. they've inserted themselves into your relationship and warped your opinion of him. it's a violation, an intrusion. chrollo comes off as unusually detached when this information reaches him. he would've preferred you confront him, so he could control the narrative and do immediate damage control. with that plan dashed, his anger will simmer, until it can scald the one who tainted your perfectly fine relationship.

gojo satoru wants to be the center of your universe.

he's selfish, he isn't content with anything less than you in your entirety. he wants to be your partner, your best friend, your rival and confidant. he's cool with your friends and family (wow thanks gojo), since he knows that ultimately, you're both close in a way few can understand. shoko tells him at point blank that he's overdependent on you. he's aware, he just doesn't care to fix it. he's shameless enough to admit it as much without remorse.

for this reason, should someone capable of exerting influence over you stumble onto the scene, he would not be happy. megumi (kid or teen) remarks that he gets this 'creepy look', like he's pretending to be human. if he released a mere tendril of the cursed energy writhing inside him, it'd be enough to render most sorcerers comatose. his vibes become that abominable.

whether it be a former mentor, childhood friend, or some other role he can't fulfill for you himself — he wants to create as much distance between them and you as possible. fortunately for him, simply being himself is enough to repel most people. gojo inserts himself into your conversations until this person catches the hint. after knowing him for so long, you've grown immune to his questionable boundary crossing. he'll keep at it until they're scared off.

scaramouche gets angry with you for making him fall in love.

had his chest cavity not been empty, he would've clawed his heart out to avoid this harrowing feeling. the timidity, the vulnerability, oh, how he loathes it; loathes you for the spell you've placed him under! this resentment is, in truth, mostly directed at himself. shouldn't he have learned his lesson by now? how many times must he be chewed up and spit out before he stops wandering into the maw of emotional connection? he resolves himself to kill this... whatever it is you both share, before he's dragged through disappointment once again. he'll work himself up into a frenzy, all righteous anger and crackling bitterness—

—then your eyes light up at the sight of him, his name a warm exclamation on your tongue. in an instant, he's pacified, like he'd undergone a lobotomy. what a lovesick fool he is. you won't even let him fester in his negativity, you keep flitting about, earning his undivided attention. it's embarrassing how giddy he is around you (though he hides it beneath snark and condescension). when the interaction ends, he's left torn on what to do. all he knows is that he's running out of excuses to make this your fault.

blade's fury could slice through stars if you were ever hurt.

his mara is voracious until he returns every ounce of your pain tenfold. it's a scene from hell; rivers of blood, shredded limbs, piles of corpses tall enough to be mistaken for towers. in the heat of battle, he occasionally forgets where he is or why he's even doing this. then, all it takes is his mind's eye flashing the image of your face contorted in pain for his mania to blaze anew. you're precious. kind, warm, bestowing care upon him that he hadn't experienced in centuries. annihilation awaited anyone or anything that threatened you. he thinks death is too good for them, but it's the punishment he delivers best.

this explosive rage isn't finite. once his sword is deprived of living prey, he's forced to endure silence. entropy. an all-pervasive thought that you'd be better off with another. he never understood why you blessed him of all people with your affection. upon wiping his weapon clean, his reflection greets him. he scarcely looks human. drenched in viscera, eyes bloodshot and crazed. is this the man you love? what would you think, if you could see him now?

he almost wishes the fury would return. it's preferable to the hollowness he now faces.

[cardierreh15]

Zeus Lament

Hold on to your fucking seats y’all! Things get messy! Both for good and for bad!

***I do not give anyone consent to repost, translate or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Angst , Dub-Con Sex , Mind-Control/Mental Manipulation , Infidelity , Mentions of Cheating , Domestic Violence situation , Blood (Golden Celestial) , Nipple Stimulation , Cursing , Spitting , Breeding Kink , Oral (Female Receiving) , Death . PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!!!

Pairings: Zeus/Walter Marshall x Angela's (Black!Plus Size Female)

Description: A terrible storm is approaching the city, wonder what could possibly be the cause?

Word Count: 5.8K

Song: Only RY X , Call out my name by The Weeknd.

The man sat across from his wife as she ate her fill and sipped on her wine. Everything but her beauty, disgusted him. But lately, even that was faltering. She was evil, jealous and spiteful. The infamous; Goddess of Marriage herself, Hera. 

‘You are quiet today husband.’ She said blandly as she took another sip of her wine to wash down the food in her throat. 

A reluctant smirk curled on his lips before he glanced away and shook his head. A small, hysterical chuckle left his lips before he rested his elbows on the golden table and rested his face in his palms. 

‘You speak to me as if you don’t know what you’ve done, wife.’ The word had poison behind it. It was no secret that Zeus had a loathe over his wife that no man or immortal had ever seen. Some would say with great reason! She’d proved herself to be murderous and invidious on many occasions. 

But, Zeus wasn’t in the right either. 

Sleeping around with mortals in different disguises to hide his true form; impregnating and soiling the oats that have been left untamed thousands of years ago. 

Perhaps, he’d driven her over the edge that she couldn’t retract from. 

Hera peeled her eyes away from her plate of food and glared up at her indignant husband. She tilted her head to the side gently, ‘What is it now, Zeus? You’re angry about that little “accident” that you’ve created? Many of what you’ve called them yourself.’ 

Zeus slammed his palm on the golden plated table, standing up to his feet with a baleful scowl written across his dramatic features. ‘THEY WERE MY CHILDREN!’

‘Your children are here!’ Hera spat hatefully. She had no remorse, no regret. ‘On Olympus where they belong. Not with those disgusting mongrels you call humans. Such a pathetic excuse for creations. Just like-’

‘I’d watch my next words, woman.’ His face, carved into perfection like stone and marble. Zeus stood up straight and swallowed hard. 

She stared back up at him, not breaking the glare. ‘Why do you do it? Why do you constantly put me  through this Zeus? Do you think I want to act the way I do? Do you think I thrive off of being bitter and hateful?! I am only this way because you made me this way!’ 

‘No, you only do this because you don’t give a damn about nobody but yourself!’ 

Hera grimaced and slowly stood to her feet, scooting her throne back behind her. ‘Selfish?! While I SIT HERE AND YOU GO OUT AND FROLIC ABOUT BETWEEN THE THIGHS OF THOSE VILE CREATURES!’ Golden tears filled her bright blue orbs. ‘I sit here and I wait for you, ZEUS!’

‘FOR WHAT!?’ he snapped back. Thunder began to roar beyond the walls. ‘DONT YOU UNDERSTAND?! I don’t want you! I haven’t wanted you in centuries! I only married you in the first place because it was a power move. You were a mistake–’

‘Mistake?! Zeus-’ 

‘You will address me as your King.’ He placed his hands on the table and peered across, ‘I won’t stop, Hera. I will not stop until I have found happiness and created a demi-God army of my own.’

‘Zeus-’

‘YOU WILL NOT STOP ME HERA!’ He exclaimed with great disdain in his voice. He began to round the table slowly, his golden heeled sandals clicking and echoing within the walls. 

Hera snatched up the golden blade she’d used to cut into her roasted goose. 

As soon as she found a good grip around the handle, he’d snatched her up by her throat looking down into her eyes. 

‘Ugh!’ She exclaimed at the sudden roughness. Golden tears had fallen down the sides of her face. 

‘If you interfere with my affairs again, My Queen.’ The word burned the back of his throat. Oh he’d do anything to strip her from that title. Hell, he really did hate her enough to kill her himself. She’d taken so much away from him. 

‘I will kill you… do you understand?’ 

Hera turned her gaze away from him, but he tightened up his grasp. 

Her lips trembled as she looked up into his stormy eyes. ‘You wouldn’t dare…’ she choked out. 

‘Then you don’t know me the way you think you do.’ He added monitorily. His warnings always went undone. Leaving ample room for Hera to continue to disobey him. 

He shoved her away from him before the both of them heard the small call of their youngest daughter, Hebe. 

‘Mama?’

She looked over at the massive golden doors that were cracked open. There she spotted the little face of the tiny goddess. Hera cleared her throat and put on her best smile, ‘Hebe. Darling-’ She approached her with open arms. 

The young one pushed the door open a little further before running towards her mother who was now on her knees. 

‘You’re supposed to be resting my sweet.’ 

‘I couldn’t sleep, mama.’ 

Zeus watched the mother speak to their daughter before he quickly spun off and walked towards the second set of double doors. 

***

The dark clouds loomed up above. Lightning bolts scattered across the sky like veins. The wind blew hard enough to almost tear her apartment building off of the support beams! 

Storms were quite the norm where Angela was from. The lightning capital of the world, Tampa, Florida. She’d lived through countless hurricanes and tropical storms. 

The news measured it out to be a tropical storm, the first one of the season. But something about this particular storm was different than the rest. 

Thunder shook the floor beneath her feet, causing her to stop in her tracks and wait for it to calm down. Angela had never been so anxious during a storm. Hell, this was her favorite kind of weather! But she had a gut feeling something bad was going to happen. 

The woman ripped open the big bag of ice and poured it into the cooler. Then, she began to stock perishable snacks and foods inside of it. 

Once she was done, she did a head count of her 5 gallon dispenser jugs, found her waterproof flashlight with batteries and made sure she had candles.

Angie placed her hands on her hips and gave herself a firm nod, ‘Alright! What could possibly go wrong?’ Another vociferous thunder clap erupted outside, causing lightning to flicker inside of her apartment. Then, the lights flickered off. 

The power died, causing an eerie silence to fill the air. ‘Dammit, running my mouth. I just fucked the whole building.’ She rolled her eyes and picked up her phone. The battery was on 11%. ‘What?!’ She exclaimed as she looked at the charger adaptor that had never been plugged up into the wall. 

‘You’ve got to be shitting me.’ 

She turned on the light on her phone and loaded up the flashlight with batteries and put her phone on Low Power Mode. Clicking the power on the flashlight. She walked down the hall to the electric breaker and pulled it open. 

Shining the light on the labeled switches, she shifted them to the side one and then back to their original places. But nothing. She assumed whatever generator the apartments management used had gone to shit. 

‘Cheap fucks’ she hissed before the flashlight began to flicker. ‘Uh uh! No, no!’ She began to bang on it, hoping it would keep its power but when it died, she let out a heavy huff. ‘Dammit.’

Angela walked back into the kitchen and began to light candles. 

Once the apartment was decorated with artificial light, she walked into her bedroom and took off her dress. 

She walked over to her dresser, lightning taking its own place in her room this time. Again, thunder followed. Not able to stand the blinding brightness, she walked over to the patio doors to close them. But what she saw in her backyard frightened her. 

Air lodged in her throat so she was unable to breathe out or in, she stared at the tall, dark figure that stood in the grass. Heavy, slanted rain blurred out its features but by the size of its shoulders, it had to be a man. 

Whatever the hell it was… it was massive. 

‘Close. The blinds. Angela. Close the blinds.’ She choked before quickly pulling the stick to the side and twisting them closed. 

Stumbling backwards, she let out a shuddered breath. She was afraid to walk to the kitchen and grab her phone; having the slightest belief that somehow the uncanny being would find its way inside without any aid. 

So, she just sat on the bed and stared. 

‘Wooo. It’s OK. Ain’t nobody gonna come out here in this rain…’ she uttered to herself and pulled her comforter back and tucked her chilly legs beneath. 

Every once in a while she would toss and turn. But she always brought her attention back to the blinds. Her anxiety wouldn’t let her rest for a while, until she just closed her eyes and counted. 

*** 

Zeus stood in the shadows of her bedroom. Lightning flickering across his face as he watched the mortal woman sleep soundly. Her soft snores could barely be heard over the rain that beat down against the glass slide door. 

Stepping from the safety of the darkness, Zeus crept over to her bed. His fingertips grazed atop the silky, bronze colored sheets. Once he made it to her, his bright blue eyes searched her face. 

She was a beauty to behold. Full lips, skin brown as cherry wood. Lashes so thick they almost looked like paint brushes. Then, it was her hair. Sprawled out beneath her it was coily and thick. He leaned down carefully, nuzzling his nose within the warmth of her hair. He inhaled deeply, slowly. Taking in her scent. She smelled of Rosemary and Lavender. Two scents he could get lost in forever. 

Pulling away, he grazed his pointy nose over her wide one before gently pressing his lips against hers. Letting his lips settle there, his mustache and beard tickled her chin and nose. Causing her to stir out of her sleep. 

Angela’s dark brown eyes flashed open to see the intruder with a beard and thick dark curly hair hovering over her. Her first reaction was to scream but instead Zeus had tricks of his own. 

‘Shhh, don’t scream.’ 

Her eyes reflected once in gold as she inhaled so hard she thought her head would explode. 

Zeus’ eyes continued to roam her face before traveling down to her neck and then the valley of her breasts. 

‘Wh-who are you? What are you doing in my apartment?’ Angela’s voice was rugged and shaky. But she was careful not to be too loud. 

‘Something you would never be able to comprehend mortal woman.’ His voice was much gentler than how he spoke to Hera just a few days before. 

His eyes broke from her gaze as he carefully ran his palm over her silky flesh; starting from her belly to her thighs but also pulling the blanket off in the process. Revealed onto him was her half naked body, dressed in a white sports bra and matching thong. 

Angela flinched at his cool touch, quickly shifting her hips away from him. ‘Don’t touch—‘ 

‘Don’t fight me.’ He hissed as thunder shook the apartment once again. 

Just like before, she followed his command willingly. She just laid there with tears in her eyes as his large hands began to caress her chubby thighs. ‘Wh-what are you g-gonna do to me?’ Angela stammered. 

‘Anything I please…’ he licked his lips as he looked up at her once again. She was silently sobbing. Tears falling into place of the last on the sides of her head. His thick brows pulled into one before he leaned back over her once again, ‘Oh my sweet one… don’t cry.’ 

Her sobs instantly stopped. 

‘Don’t you know how lucky you are? How special you are?’ Zeus brought his hand up and smooth out her cheek with his knuckles. Then, his index grazed her bottom lip. ‘You don’t have to be scared of me… I won’t hurt you.’

‘I—I have a boyfriend.. we’ve been dating for 3 years and—‘ she lied. ‘And-and he’ll be here soon!’ 

‘Oh? In this weather?’ Zeus said softly as he gently pinched her chin. ‘How romantic or jus plain stupid.’ He purred softly. ‘Tell me sweetheart, have you ever fuck a God?’ 

Angela’s eyes grew slightly, his words rocking her core, ‘N-‘

‘I didn’t think so… you see Angel. You need someone who’s gonna take care of you. In more ways than just… one.’ His index dropped to the valley of her breasts. 

A God?! What the hell was a God doing in her apartment? And why her out of all people? 

‘A God? There’s no way—‘ 

Zeus stared down into her eyes, his eyes flickering a bright gold for a second before fading back to their stormy blue. 

‘Oh my—‘ 

‘Zeus…’ 

Angela stared up at him; her eyes were a cauldron of fear, disbelief, and slight adoration. She had never seen something— something so graceful. So beautiful. ‘B-but why me?’ 

‘Well isn’t it obvious my little love? I have been watching you for weeks. That little inkling you felt of being watched.. It was me. I have been in your corner. You have enough beauty to my own daughter to shame.’ 

Aphrodite would not like that at all. She was much like her mother. Scorned to hell.

‘You’ve been stalking me?!’ 

‘Stalking, watching? Call it whatever you’d like. Fact of the matter is … you’re mine.’ 

His words nestled within her soul, causing whatever frightened feeling she had left to dissipate. In an instant, she felt protected. Perhaps it was his magic, controlling her mind and messing with her chemical imbalances. Whatever it was… it made her feel good. 

Zeus leaned down once again, lips almost touching hers. ‘Let me have you.’ 

Closing her eyes, ‘Yes.’ She uttered before parting her lips to welcome him in a kiss. 

Without another moment wasted, Zeus took her lips into his. He slithered his thick tongue into her mouth as his hand slithered down between her thighs. He grasped the thin fabric into his fist and tugged it; instantly tearing it to shreds. 

Angela’s fingers instantly found their way in his soft thick, dark locks which seem never ending. She barely noticed the absence of her panties until he was pushing her thighs part. The warmth from ecstasy was keeping her warm until he pressed his cold fingertips against her sensitive nub. 

‘Ooh.’ She gasped softly, her hips buckling for a second. ‘Cold.’

‘Forgive me little love.’ He began to rub at her core before slipping his middle and ring inside of her sticky entrance. 

Angela shuddered out in a moan, goosebumps prickling all over her skin, nipples hardening against her thin bra. 

She ripped her eyes away from his haunting gaze and looked down to watch him knead her from the inside out. She gripped the sheets beneath her. Her chest caving in as she tried to breathe through the pleasure. She wanted so badly to do something with her legs, kick and flail them about but she was still under his command. Don’t fight me. 

‘Ugh!’ She exclaimed as Zeus curled his fingers up and toyed with her G-spot. 

A wicked grin curled on his face as he watched her writhe and buck her hips into his embrace. He pressed his forehead against hers. 

Angela opened her mouth to speak but her words instantly became gibberish and a bed of incoherent moans. 

‘If you want it my sweet, all you have to do is ask.’ 

She felt her lower belly twist and knot, causing her thighs to clench as she felt her climax creeping up. It felt so close yet, so far. Wait, was he controlling that?! 

‘Can I — can I cum, please?’ She placed her hand on his shoulder, her nails gently digging into it through the cloth of his shirt. 

Zeus chuckled menacingly, ‘As you wish.’ 

His words were like some kind of invisible trigger, she was the chemical reaction that shifted the bullet in place and fired off the gunpowder. 

Angela inhaled hard before a satisfied scream erupted from her lungs. Her head fell back against her plush pillow, body trembling as she tried to comprehend that kind of intensity. 

He finally pulled his fingers from the warm home of her. ‘I can provide you with so much more. Would you like that?’ His sticky fingers grazed her neck. 

‘Yes. I-I need you.’ 

That stomach twisting smile curled up once again against his beard. He was to die for. 

Zeus stood up, bringing her small hand in his grasp and bringing her up to her feet. Her legs wobbly from the previous assault on her womb and cunt. 

‘Then you have me, my little love.’ 

He towered over her like a mountain. Him sitting on her bed made him seem so much smaller that way. Zeus leaned down, pressing his lips against hers once more as his clothes disappeared. 

She wrapped her arms around his wide frame as he pulled her chubby body against toned muscles. Angela pulled away from the kiss. Her big brown eyes trailed from his face to his shoulders, and abdomen. ‘Wow…’ her hands slipped from his shoulders and down his abdomen. ‘You’re really… real.’

‘As real as you are my love.’ 

She wasn’t expecting a God, no— the infamous King Of Gods to be so… kind. History made him out to be a spineless shithead. But this being before him was everything but that. 

Or was that what he was making her think? 

‘Lay back. Get comfortable.’ 

Following his command, Angela sat back down on her bed and laid back against her pillows. 

Zeus stood at the end of the bed before crawling in and spreading her thighs. He lowered his head between her legs as he rested on his front side. Then, he planted soft kisses on her inner thighs, navigating his lips to her flower. 

He placed the flattening of his tongue on her slit before lapping up slowly until he found her clit and brought it between his lips. 

‘Mmmm, yess.’ She moaned out as she reached down and found her fingers intertwined in his locks once again. 

He sucked teasingly on her clit before letting it go with a pop, then flicking his tongue over it. He used her pussy as if it were her mouth instead. Licking, and kissing with passion and a purpose. 

‘Ooooh Zeus just like that. Mmmm.’ Angela moaned as she rolled and rocked her hips into his face.

Her words only fueled his desire and want for her. He grabbed her thighs and pushed them back so he could satisfy her in a more efficient way. More exposed, Zeus was about to dip his tongue within her walls and lick her from the inside out. Every once in a while though, his tongue would slip and tickle at her puckered asshole.

Angela leaned up on her elbows, her breathing shallow as she watched this celestial being indulge on her body in the most sinful of ways. He was just wicked in that way. Honestly, if it weren’t for the immense pleasure he was inflicting upon her– she would’ve thought this was a dream. ‘Uhhh fuck!’ 

Zeus relished in her taste. She tasted the most delectable of forbidden treats. He wanted to keep his face buried between her thighs for as long as the Earth rotated but the way his hips grind against the bed to soothe his aching member… Zeus was more than ready to claim her. 

Letting out a gentle grunt at the pleasure that burned at his lower gut, Zeus’ lips ghosted her inner thigh before placing a gentle kiss there. 

She had just begun to recover from her profound orgasms. Her thighs trembled, almost mimicking the sound of thunder outside. ‘Oh! Fuu—‘ 

Zeus brought himself up on his knees. His naked body resembled the ancient marble that were carved in Greece thousands of years ago. Except that one particular thing. 

Humans once believed that men that wielded such large members lacked intelligence and were compared to violent, brainless, sex-crazed creatures.

Actually, Zeus’ cock had been tampered to be quite the insignificant thing but now… it was no wonder he made stupid decisions.

With distinguishable veins traveling over his Adonis belt, that was a sign of healthy blood flow. He was hung like nothing she’d ever seen. The whole package really. 

‘Jesus- oh… I mean…’ Angela whimpered softly as she finally pulled her eyes away from his cock. ‘Wow… you are… not what I expected.’ 

Zeus smirked and began to crawl over her, closing that gap between them. ‘You’ve must’ve seen the statues. Are you afraid?’ His smile had grown slightly bigger. 

She let out a soft breath. Well, she had a lot of reasons to be afraid right now. One of them being that a celestial God that had been known for his treachery was laying between her legs! 

‘Mmm. No.’ She lied again. 

‘Then we shall make haste.’ He said before helping her get her sports bra from over her head. Her breasts were so round, large and supple. His tongue traced over his lips as he tried to calm the beast that was so desperately fighting to get free. 

Then, his eyes flicked up back to hers, ‘Are you ready my sweet?’ 

Swallowing hard, Angela nodded as her hands gently rested against his cool muscular back. 

Zeus had given her a sly smile before adjusting his hips. His thick bell shaped tip against her honey coated pussy. And before he made the final blow, he pressed his lips against hers. Their tongues slipped in one another’s mouth once again for a short moment before he pulled away slightly. 

‘Bite down on me if it hurts…’ 

Angela nodded one more time before bringing him back into another kiss. 

As they kissed, Zeus thrusted his hips forward only slipping just the tip in. A wince left his chest as he felt the piercing pain of her biting down into his bottom lip. It was too late to pull back now. So he began to sink his hips into her further. This earned him a loud wail from her but the piercing continued. 

Gritting his teeth to bear the pain, Zeus let out a groan as he went as deep as he possibly could. 

Angie had released his hold on his lips and looked up at him with terror in her eyes. Half from the brutal stretch and half from his lips and beard coated in shiny gold blood. 

‘Ugh! — Oh My— Zeus, is that? My God— you’re bleeding!’ 

Zeus pressed his fingers against his lips and examined it, ‘Yes. It appears that I am.’

‘Well, are you alright?!’ She exclaimed in worry. 

He couldn’t help the gentle feeling that came over him. The feeling of knowing someone cared for him. He knew that his wife did… but not in the way he felt from Angela. Hera only wanted her throne and position of power. She’d otherwise be nothing without him. But, Angela… no other human woman had shown such compassion and kindness. Even if… some of this was against her will. 

‘I’m fine my little mortal… see?’ 

Zeus brushed his thumb over his wounds and they healed in an instant. Only the blood remained and would serve as a reminder that he could also be hurt too. 

Letting out a breath in relief she grabbed his face and pressed the back of her hand against his bearded jaw. 

He brought back his hips slowly and steadily before thrusting forward once again. He held back a moan that always slipped between his lips. 

But Angela let out a whimper as her nails dug into his flesh a little. 

Zeus soon began to pick up the rhythm of his hips, creating a bit more friction. Now he wasn’t holding back his moans. She felt way too good to front over. 

Angela felt so uncomfortably full at first but then a surge of pleasure began to pump through her body like drugs. She’s had great sex before but nothing could compare to this! Her standards have completely changed and if it wasn’t him… then she didn’t want it. 

‘Ooooo! Zeus, fuck that’s so fucking good baby. Haaa! Don’t stop!’

‘Uhhhh. I’m not my love, we can go for as—URGH! As long as you like.’ 

Their moans echoed throughout her room and was enough to combat the lightning that was striking nearby and the thunder that shook the building. They were in a world of their own at this point. 

Zeus brought up Angela’s thigh and rested her leg over his shoulder. He began to pump deeper, harder and faster. ‘Ooh fuck… you feel so fucking amazing.’ He moaned out before leaning down and wrapping his lips around her hardened nipple. 

‘Zeus, just like that—‘ her fingers slipped through his hair as his tongue tickled and teased over the sensitive flesh. She could feel her womb twisting and turning just the same as it did earlier. ‘Mmm, I’m so close. Fuuuuuuck!’ She called out.

He’d begun to pump his hips faster, groaning and grunting against her breast. 

Her thighs began to tremble as an ineffable climax rocked through her, ‘AUGHHH! FUCK!’ She cried out. 

Leaving one last lick to her nipple, Zeus slowed down his thrusts and brought her lips back in for another kiss as he moaned against them. ‘Fuck you’re so warm. I can stay buried inside you forever.’ He growled before placing wet kisses under her chin and her neck. 

A sheepish grin was casted on Angela’s lips as she just tried to process that vehement orgasm that she’d just passed. Her lips quivered and her chest heaved as she gently clawed down the valley of his spine. ‘Mmmm, My God… I want you here forever.’ 

Zeus began to pick up the pace of his hips once more as his lips began to make their way back up to hers once again. He couldn’t get enough of how she tasted. He couldn’t remember the last time he and The Queen kissed. Probably centuries ago when Hebe was born. Other than the birth of his sweet child, The Goddess of Youth, there was no other reason to remember that day. 

After sending Angela in a whirlwind of mind-bending orgasms, he pulled away to stand on his knees. ‘Lay on your front side.’ On command, she rolled over and got comfortable. He leaned down to press kisses on her shoulder before his cleft nose drug across her misty, prickly skin. She smelled so good and she felt so warm. 

He carefully spread her thighs with his knees as he sat back up. Stroking his throbbing cock, he used his hand to navigate her entrance this time. Time wasn’t wasted this go around, so he thrusted his hips forward into her. 

The both of them let out a synchronized groan; Zeus threw his head back; quickly coming to his senses that he would not last long in this position. He had the perfect bird’s eye view of her ass and his cock sliding in and out. He was no better than a mortal man now. 

‘Mmmm.’ Angela groaned, feeling so much pressure and pleasure against her wet walls. She began to grip the sheets in her fist, knowing that it was going to be a bumpy ride.

Zeus caressed his hands up from her thick thighs to her chubby waist. There, he gripped tightly before he started to accelerate. ‘Ugh, shit- yeah. Haaaah.’ He groaned as he thrusted hard and fast. 

Her pretty dark brown eyes rolled to the back of her head as she could already feel her body betraying her once more. ‘Fuck yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes! ZEUS!’ Angela whined out. She slipped her hand beneath herself and began to toy with her clit as he destroyed her from behind. 

The glorious sounds of her angelic songs and his skin crashing and pounding against hers fueled his desire once more. His eyes had shifted from their humanly blue to the color of the blistering sun. His moans were deeper and inhuman. He sounded more of a beast now than he did of a man. Beads of sweat prickled across his forehead, shoulders and his torso. 

His grip on Angela’s hip grew tighter as he reached over and gripped her ponytail, pinning her into her pillow. 

‘Ooh right there baby! Fuck baby you’re gonna make me cum again. Oooh shit!’ 

And just like the flip of a switch, she’d turn into putty in his grasp. But this only encouraged him to keep going. Not like the last time when he decided to give her a break. No, he wanted to rip those orgasms away from her and have her crawling come morning. 

‘OOH DEAR FUCKING– ZEUS!’ Angela wept; tears had soon fallen down the side of her face. 

‘Uh huh! Call out for your God baby.’ 

Orgasm after orgasm, Zeus’ thrusts had become staggered and arrhythmic. He was losing the battle. So, he rested his body atop hers and slowly began to thrust his hips into her. ‘Angela…fuck. I’m gonna give you– ugh! Such a beautiful baby.’ 

She didn’t think, and perhaps she thought he wasn’t serious but when she pressed her ass into him as he nestled deep inside her.

She was sadly mistaken. 

‘UH! FUCK– GAAAHHH!’ 

Zeus had finally unraveled, releasing thick and rich ropes of semen inside of her. He throbbed, gently stretching her out as he bred her. His body shook as the thunder roared with a vengeance outside. ‘Uh…’ He couldn’t speak. 

Angela rolled her hips beneath him, milking him from everything he had. She looked back at him just in time to see his golden hues disappear in the darkness of his ghostly blues. His thick curls were slightly damp from the work out and his parted lips had turned up into a relieved smile. Angela returned the smile and stretched her neck up to kiss him. 

***

The Next Morning… 

Her eyes fluttered open, her tired eyes fixated on the ceiling for a moment. She groaned softly as she slowly turned over to see an empty side of the bed. It was messy, and a telltale sign that he was once here.

She placed her hand on the vacant sheets and ran her hand over them. Still warm… it was then when she’d noticed that her patio blinds were open. The sun had beamed in on that empty space and kept it heated. 

Funny, she had her blinds closed and her window was open across the room. 

Suddenly, she heard a booming voice… deep with a pretty and very familiar accent. 

‘Zeus.’ She uttered excitedly as she scooted herself out of her King sized bed and wrapped the sheets around her. Almost losing her footing, she rushed out her room and down the hall where the voice became distinguishable. He was here! Wow, he was still here! 

Cutting the corner, there he stood in her kitchen with a phone pressed against his ear. He flashed her a bright smile and a wink. 

Returning the gracious smile, her eyes roamed down to his belt where a flashy police badge rested on his hip. Confusion instantly struck her and her smile had faltered. She managed to walk up behind him and sneak his wallet out of his back pocket. When she opened it up, she felt as if air had been snatched out of her lungs. 

Walter Marshall. DOB: 05/05/1983. Issued Date: 07/23/2020 Expiration Date: 05/05/2026 

‘What are you doing with that?’

Almost jumping out of her skin, ‘Huh?’ She looked down at his wallet and looked back up at him. He folded his arms across his massive chest. He’d had this slightly amused smirk curled up on those lips. ‘I-... I don’t know -just…’ She just handed it back to him and swallowed her spit. 

‘Mmmm, maybe you need more rest. You worked double last night, I’m surprised you’re awake!’ He reached over and placed a kiss on her temple. 

‘Double?’

‘Yeah? At the hospital? The storm came in and almost destroyed the city.’ Now confusion was written on his face. 

And they were confused together. 

‘...The hospital. Alright… And you were?’

‘I was at the precinct. They had us shelter in place… hey, what’s going on are you feeling alright, Ang?’ 

Angela cleared her throat and let out a sigh. She was just about to tell him about this crazy dream she’d had until she saw a little frame of them on the bartop. She was dressed in a gorgeous white dress and he wore this chic black and white tuxedo. His beard was gone and his hair was cut to perfection. 

She quickly brought up her left hand, gazing at the big sparkly teardrop diamond that sat delicately on her finger. My, it was by far the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. 

Suddenly, a flood of memories brought her back to her current reality. Perhaps the impact of working so hard and that storm had her a little delusional. 

‘I’m alright, Walter. I just had this… crazy dream.’ 

‘Hmph, must’ve been! Here, let’s talk about it over breakfast-’

‘NO!’

Walter paused for a second as his thick brows pulled into one.

‘It’s just… Has someone ever told you that you kind of favor Zeus?’

His cheekbones turned pink and glanced to the side, ‘You mean Zeus like the God?’

She nodded. 

‘No, mama. Is that what your dream was about, baby? I was a Greek God?’

When he said it, she just felt so damn stupid. She was embarrassed for even bringing it up. ‘Just forget it.. I don’t want to talk about it.’ 

Walter reached over and grabbed her hand, ‘Aw baby girl, don’t be embarrassed. C’mon we’ve all had silly dreams before… tell me what happened.’ He pulled her close and placed a kiss on her cheek. 

‘Well… we… erm.’ 

He tilted his head to the side as his large hands traced up and down her body. 

Angela cleared her throat as she looked up at him, ‘We were–..’

‘Would you like to show me what we did in the dream? You know I've always learned better by touch and physical interaction.’ 

She stared up at him as a slow grin curled up on her lips. ‘As tempting as that sounds baby, um… i think you’re burning the bacon.’ 

And on cue, the smoke alarm blared in the kitchen. Dark gray smoke floated up to the ceiling. 

‘Shit!’ Walter exclaimed as he gently pushed her away and rushed to the stove. He choked as the stench burned at his throat and lungs. He reached over and turned off the knob and let out a gentle sigh.

‘Woman you’re a distraction…’ He turned half way with a gentle smile on his lips, ‘Get some clothes on. We’re going to breakfast. My treat.’

Inhaling deeply through her nose, she gave him a smile in approval, ‘If there are grits involved then I’m in.’ 

‘Good, I know a spot.’ He said with a smirk, watching her glide back in their bedroom. 

His smirk instantly faded, the glow of gold reflected in his gaze. 

He picked up the pan that was now coated in black soot and threw the scraps in the trash. Then, he dropped the pan in the sink. 

Walter squirted some dish soap over the scrubber and began to do away with the burnt food. Suddenly, a  soft yellow light glowed in his peripheral. He paused his movement, ‘As what do I owe the pleasure,’ he lifted his head, ‘Hera.’ 

The Goddess stood tall, her eerie gaze reflected in her eyes. Her blonde hair had specks of gold in her locks. She wore a royal white satin toga with gold trimmings. Nose and lips swollen and pink from all of the sobbing. He’d been gone for days. Living a fantasy that he’d created. 

‘The children ask of you, Zeus.’ 

‘The children are old enough to take care of themselves. And I thought I told you to address me as, Your King.’ He gently brought a dirty knife from out of the sink and placed it in his belt. 

Hera inhaled deeply, and watched him round the counter to join her in the dining room. ‘It’s Hebe. She misses you… I… miss you. Why can’t you come home? Why can’t you be with your real family? You don’t belong here.’ 

‘And you know where I belong?’

‘Why must you be so cantankerous?! You have a family. And it is your duty as a father, as a King, as a God—‘ 

‘My family is… here. I have everything I could possibly want here. Those insubordinate, spoiled and treacherous adults you call children—‘ 

‘You don’t talk about them that way!’ She exclaimed with tears filling her eyes once more. 

‘I will talk of them however I want. Now, I know when I left Olympus I told you not to stand in my way… and yet you come here… you disturb me.’ He walked closer to her as she took a few steps back. ‘What should I tell our children once they discover that you’re dead hmm.’ 

‘Zeus..’ she trembled as a tear fell down her face, ‘Please… it doesn’t have to be like this.’ 

‘Oh but my vindictive wife… it does. See— you have pushed me away for centuries.. you don’t truly love me. Not really, only when I lie with other women— that’s the only time you actually give a damn. In the meantime, you’ve taken everything’ Zeus hissed through his teeth — ‘from me. Now I have everything I want… and you won’t ever come in between that ever again.’ 

‘My King. Please, I will leave — I will — ugh!’ Hera gasped as she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her ribs. She hiccuped before looking down to see Zeus’ hand on the handle of a kitchen butcher knife, with the blade delved between her rib cage. ‘Hyuck!’ 

‘Ive started with you, My Queen… my new wife will take your place on the throne and I will rid my bloodline of those foul, demented children you claim belong to me. They will join you soon.’ Zeus snatched the blade from the wound and watched her fall to her knees. 

Hera collapsed on her back; wheezing as her golden blood leaked from her nose and gargled out the side of her mouth. ‘Mmm—mmm.’ She held onto her wound tightly. 

Zeus squatted down, pushing her golden locks out of her face, ‘Don’t fight love. Death is such a beautiful thing. Peaceful if I might add.’ A deranged smile curled on his lips as he watched her take her last breath with a final tear falling down her face. 

Her bright golden eyes had faded to a lifeless gray, her hair turned gray as heavy rain clouds and her once lively skin was deathly pale. 

He pressed his lips together and inhaled deeply, ‘GoodBye Hera.’ 

‘Hey honey I was think—‘ 

Angela had walked down the hallway, plugging her earrings into her ears when she saw the gruesome sight. Her heart had sunk to the pit of her stomach and her mouth had fallen open in shock. 

Zeus snapped his head over his shoulder to look back at her. His eyes still shined their brilliant gold and he still held that bloodied knife in his grip. He defensively stood to his feet. 

‘Wh-wh-wh-‘ she began to hyperventilate. She grabbed the chest of her shirt in her fist as if she could grab her heart itself. Angela stumbled back as tears filled her eyes with fear. 

‘Ooooh my sweet petal.’ He smirked as he tossed the blade to the floor, then his eyes returned to their gentle blue, ‘You weren’t supposed to see that.’

‘That?!’ She gasped, ‘Oh my god— the dream… it was true! It was real! You’re toying with me!’ 

Zeus inhaled deeply, slowly blinking once, ‘As real as you are… you’ve no need to be afraid of me. I told you I’d protect you and I intend on keeping my promise, wifey.’ He brought his hand up, flashing the golden wedding band on his finger. 

‘Who is that woman on my floor?’ Angie shuddered out, placing her hand on her stomach to mellow out her queasiness. 

‘Oh… her? If you must know… Hera. She was my wife. Former Queen.’ 

Angela gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, ‘Wh—what did you do?! Why did you do that to her?!’ 

‘She sought to kill you, woman. Why must you question me!? I SAVED YOUR LIFE!’ 

‘And how do you know?!’

‘BECAUSE I KNOW HER!’ Zeus exploded, ‘Every chance she got to make me miserable and take away those who are near and dear to me, she did and without contrition! In a few days time she would’ve inflicted some rare form of cancer upon you or had one of her loyal servants come and slit your throat or worse…’

‘W-worse?’ Angela murmured. 

Zeus’ tearful gaze had fallen upon her belly before looking down. ‘You are with child, Angela. My child.’ 

Angela gasped at the news, tears filling her eyes and quickly spilling over. ‘No, no. That can’t be!’ 

‘It is Angela and I eliminated her so our child could have the best possible chance to grow and succeed in the future… so I can have the proper heir… from a woman that I truly love and truly adore— Angela, don’t you get it?’ 

He took a step forward and she took a step back. 

‘This. Is. destiny. A start of a new era, a new beginning… I never intended to be with Hera. I never loved her… she doesn’t make me feel the way you do.’ 

A sob ripped through Angela’s chest, ‘And how am I to make you feel? I’m just a mere stranger you came and took advantage of!’ 

‘No! No. You’re much more than that my little love… you make me feel… human. Gentle… fair.’ He approached her carefully with his hands out. ‘My entire ruling as King of Gods, I’ve been used… abused in all aspects of the word… I’ve never been treated normally… but being here with you, Angela. You make me feel heard. When you look at me I don’t see anger or hate.’ 

Angela looked up at him as she wiped her nose with her wrist and sniffed. 

‘I see a bright future,’ he added as he took her hands into his, ‘Where you sit by my side as my Queen… and we rule Olympus and the Overworld… just the way it’s intended to be. Just—‘

She stared up at him, not able to form words because she was so consumed by fear and confusion.  ‘I could make you a Goddess. Make all your dreams come true my little love… just say… yes.’

tags: @critfailroll @itsrubberbisquit @peternoonewantsthat @ellethespaceunicorn @deandoesthingstome @luxeydior @wa-ni @milknhonies @swiss-mrs @angreav @singeramg @ylva-syverson @amesensibles @ramp-it-up @lainiespicewrites @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019

[keisins]

gojo satoru x reader. fwb!au. angst to comfort/fluff

kind of a sequel to this

You’ve been ghosted.

To be fair, you had kind of expected this. Key work: kind of. You try to not let your heart constrict itself into an organ of loathe, depression and hatred for the past 3 weeks.

Unfortunately, the agony still sits on your granite kitchen counter three weeks later. It’s in the box of his stuff he had the nerve to leave behind, along with all the thread-like semblance of hope you had for your future together. (How foolish of you, really.)

The kitchen itself, however, is empty. The living room you’re standing in — also empty. Your family and friends who came to help you move your stuff to your new apartment left a few minutes ago. They’re on their way there first to pick up some food before all of you move more heavy boxes into the place. And you’re grateful.

Grateful that you have people in your life that don’t ghost you, even if you can count them on a hand. People that care. That are consistent in your life. That aren’t curse-bound.

God, you hated him for the first week. Hated how even though you tried to make his habitual appearances not a part of your routine, you find yourself missing the white hair that tickles your neck when you search for a fresh set of pajamas, the clingy hands that harbor not-so-innocent touches as you put on skin care, and even sometimes, in the morning when you didn’t have the heart to kick him out the last night, the most amateur brewing of coffee you’ve ever had because who needs coffee when you have Gojo Satoru to keep you energized.

You shake your head to rid your thoughts. You take a deep breath in, ready to say goodbye to the place, goodbye to the memories, ready to let the box be discarded away just like he has done to you.

And just as you almost let go, you feel it.

You feel him. You don’t turn. You can’t. Because it cannot be real. You know what’s real and it’s not tender kisses and hands intertwined, it’s a job in a new city, in a new position. Life is not Gojo Satoru, it’s a new apartment.

Yet, there in your old apartment, you come to life upon hearing his voice.

“I see you’ve changed the place.”

His joke comes soft and light, as if to not scare you. Because he has to know that you are livid. He keeps his distance. Though, everything in Satoru is compelled to hold you. He thinks your name must be carved into his bones, with the way it urges his joints to reach for you, always always drawn to you.

You still haven’t turned. Still in shock, because this has to be a hallucination. Some sick joke from the universe, maybe. He calls your name, but before he can close his mouth, you turn around and ask harshly, “What are you doing here?”

Tears are already brimming at your eyes. You find yourself looking at him for the first time in a long time and it makes your heart ache. You could hear him out, but there is something in you that doesn’t want to. You had been raised with impatient needs, always in a rush to satisfy the ones who claimed to love you. Love is patient, love is kind, and you want it so bad to not be love.

A moment of silence passes by as Gojo bores into you, until his heart caves and takes a big step toward you, tests the water by taking your hand in his.

And you cry, weakly shrugging away, before he’s pulling you into the warmest embrace of your life.

“I’m sorry.” He catches sight of the box on the counter and can only guess what it could be. He’s been so selfish with his love for you, that he had forgotten about the treachery that so greatly tries to seep through his infinity. Gojo hadn’t accounted for it, didn’t ever in his life think he could feel afford to be humbled. But, as he stands there with you falling apart in his arms, he feels intimidated. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hate you.” Are you okay? How have you been? Where did you go? He hums softly, still caging you with his arms. You dare to ask, because to love is to be vulnerable, “Where were you?”

He holds you tighter, his eyes threatening to drop some tears of their own. He laughs and you can hear how watery it is when he tells you, “A box.”

You pull away, brows furrowed as you look up at him. He wipes away a falling tear on your cheek before pulling you into him again, desperate for you to not see him cry.

“I’ll explain later… Just let me hold you right now.”

[lovelybluebirdie]

Blood whispers

Astarion x gn!Reader 

Summary: On the night you almost killed him, Astarion promised to help you overcome your urges. When they suddenly threaten to overwhelm you again, he needs to take care of you.

Word Count: 2,8k

no warnings, hurt/comfort, fluff

AO3

Travelling across the shadow-cursed lands had provided Astarion some valuable knowledge. Not only had he learned the meanings of the scars on his back, it was also revealed that the scheme behind the tadpole in his brain was far greater than he had initially anticipated.

These discoveries alone should have been enough to keep him adequately occupied, yet there had been another novelty: for the first time in his life he had developed genuine affection for someone. Namely for you, the softhearted adventurer with an undeniable saviour-complex. You had filled his chest with an unfamiliar warmth and therefore led him to great confusion - at least until his constant brooding had left the inevitable conclusion that you meant far more to him than a solely guarantee for his safety.

His plan with you had been calculated to serve his own needs. He needed protection, so he had aimed to lure you into a selfish alliance by gaining your trust and using his charm to get you on his side. 

As it turned out, this simple little plan of his had fallen apart rather quickly: not only had he come to truly care about you, he had also openly admitted these feelings to you. To his surprise, you had shared that you felt the same.

Even though Astarion wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing with you half the time or where all of this was leading - being with you was astonishingly nice. 

From the moment Astarion had told you about his failed plan, you had decided to be with each other without sleeping together. For the past centuries, sex had been merely a tool for him to collect victims for his former master, so it still brought up feelings of loath and disgust. 

With you, he experienced that there was more to intimacy than sex.

At first, the thought of forming a sincere connection had terrified him. What was he to do with you, and how could he be close to you in a real way - in a way that mattered?

But somehow, you made it easy for him. 

You had been considerate not to overwhelm him with your affection. It had been small steps: a single grasp for his hand, some soft kisses in the safety of your blanket or a heartfelt embrace in between all the fights and mischief that paved the way along your journey to free yourself from the tadpoles.

Sometimes you would read to him, his head resting comfortably in your lap, while your fingers formed circles through his curls. He adored the feeling of your body close against his back, leaving the sensation of your warm hands on his chest the last thing he would remember before he would fall into his nightly trance. 

You made him feel safe, and he found himself positively enjoying your time together.

Of course there had also been that other night. 

That night, when the fear over losing you to your darkness had scared Astarion more than any torture his former master could have ever inflicted on him.

You had woken him with a vigorous shake, eyes wide open and sheer panic in your voice. “We don’t have much time,” you would say, almost swallowing your tongue. “I’m going to kill the person I care about most – and it is you.”

Flattery aside, the threat of being murdered by his lover posed a fairly unpleasant way to be brought from his rest, so Astarion was forced to act fast. 

You had spent the night with your wrists tied up while he watched over you, ensuring that you faced no harm. On the next morning you were yourself again, but the whole ordeal had left its mark on both of you.

And that was another thing about you: despite being the kindest person Astarion had ever met, you were also the only one that was cursed to unwillingly bring a great deal of murder and despair into this world. 

Those violent urges would occasionally infest your mind with a strong yearn to kill and destroy. Gruesome thoughts, suddenly engulfing you with malicious intent - their origin unknown to you. When you resisted them, they would usually fade as quickly as they came, leaving you with a throbbing headache.

One might say that those were not exactly the best circumstances for a blossoming relationship, but Astarion was not particularly impressed by such assumptions. In fact, he had learnt that there was a certain comfort in sharing the burden of internal turmoil. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he had found himself drawn to you from the moment you had met.

Besides, Astarion was confident that you would find a way to rid yourself from these aggravating compulsions for good. After all, he had promised you on that fateful night - and even if he might exaggerate at times, he had meant every single word.

A light breeze rustled through the trees and brought him back from his thoughts. He sat next to his tent with a book in his hands and relished the last beams the sun would offer that day. The warmth was pleasant on his skin, especially after the long march that was behind him.

You and the rest of your companions had left the shadowlands a few days ago and were now heading towards Baldur’s Gate. After hiking through dense forests and small villages, you had decided it was time to make camp and continue your travels after dawn.

It was unusually quiet today. Perhaps the others were taking some time for themselves as well, he thought. You would probably gather around the fire later this evening, sharing some tales over a bottle of wine or discussing the next steps lying ahead of you. 

Astarion let his gaze wander, back from the other tents to a more secluded spot, where he found you. You were sitting in the grass, holding one arm out in front of you with a loaf of bread beside your feet. A small bird with bright orange feathers was fluttering excitedly around you. It seemed like you were about to toss it some crumbs, and it was impatiently waiting to get its beak full.

Astarion rolled his eyes. Typical. You would probably even share your food with some random animal if it meant starving yourself. 

Then again, it was also kind of adorable, he thought as his lips inevitably turned into a grin.

As he continued to watch you from afar, he realised that something was off about you. You weren't moving at all. 

That was odd. 

Your arm looked too stiff, slightly cramped even, and as he squinted his eyes to get a better look, he could see that your hand was clenched into a fist. It was as if you were forcing yourself to hold the position.

Astarion’s senses immediately sharpened.

He got up with haste, carelessly tossing his book aside and lunged towards you while calling out your name.

This was bad.

Uneasiness spread over his body like a rash, before he could even pinpoint what was going on with you. 

“My love, are you al-” The sentence stuck in his throat as he finally came to see you up close.

Your mouth was twitching, contorting your soft features into a grotesque grimace. You looked nothing like your usual self.

Astarion had seen this expression on you before.

His thoughts started to race, as he prepared himself to force you to the ground if necessary. He had no rope on him to restrain you, but in lack of a better solution his laces would have to do.

In any case, he would not let that thing take control over you.

He reached for your shoulder, bracing himself for the worst - but before he could grab you, your features already started to relax.

You must have snapped out of it. This was you again. 

You let your stiffened arm hang down and opened your fist, spilling the remaining crumbs on the floor. Instead of picking them up, the bird hastily flew away. Even the creature must have sensed that something was off.

Astarion let himself sink next to you in the grass and sighed. The danger had passed, it had not taken you.

“I wanted to feed it, I swear,” you explained between quivering lips. “But - my wretched brain almost made me kill this poor little thing.” Your hands were trembling, a deep misery resonating within your words.

A thick lump formed in Astarion’s throat as he noticed tears started to glisten in your eyes.

“I know, my love,” he said and rested his hand on your shoulder. “But remember, this isn’t you. And you brought the bird no harm.”

You swallowed hard and fixated him with your gaze. 

“Yes, this time. But what if I couldn’t have stopped myself? What if I would have killed it - just like that, without any other reason than my sick thoughts ordering me to?”

“Well, in that case…, “ Astarion replied and tapped his chin, “I assume Gale would have served you some poultry tonight. And I would’ve been glad to depend on blood for a chance, since you’d probably have to fight over that unfortunate little thing. I mean you have to admit, to fill the stomachs of our dear friends you should have aimed for something more substantial to mangle.” 

Astarion was no fool. This wasn’t just about you hypothetically killing that bird. Your urges evidently didn’t spare other living beings as well - including himself. This was serious, and yet he felt the need to cheer you up over some silly remark, as you would often find solace in your shared banter. While it was certainly not his best attempt to brighten the mood, it was an attempt nonetheless.

To his satisfaction, you huffed a quick chuckle that finally caused the tears in your eyes to spill over. 

“You’re pretty macabre, you know that?” you scolded and slightly shook your head.

“Am I now? Darling, I’m hurt,” he exclaimed in exaggerated dismay, before a genuine fondness took over his voice. “But honestly, I’m truly proud of you. I can only imagine the force that overwhelms you in those moments, and yet… You’ve proven more than once that you’re stronger than this.” He let his fingers gently brush over the wetness covering your cheeks. 

The gravity of the situation appeared to reclaim you with pressing weight, wiping off the faint smile at his clumsy attempt. You turned your head away from him.

“Astarion… I understand if you would hate me for this.” It was no more than a mumble coming from you, but enough to take Astarion aback. 

He gave his answer fast, almost instinctive.

“No, I could never hate you.” 

It was true. That he could never, not when there was so much about you to love. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to say this out loud to you, not yet at least. 

Instead, a tight knot formed in his chest, as he watched your eyes focusing the space between your feet while you let out a quiet sob.

“My love, look at me.” He spoke softly as he reached out for you. With the utmost tenderness, he cupped your face in his hands and made your eyes meet his. “The other night, when you almost drenched my curls in a veil of the beautiful red of my blood, I made you a promise. You remember, don’t you?”

You nodded with your face still resting between his slender hands, as another quiet sob spilled from your lips. 

“Good. And I mean it still. We will get you through whatever the hells this is. We are in this together.” 

His voice trembled despite the honesty that fueled his words. Astarion had no intention to abandon you, the same way you had sworn to help him with his own demons. But this was not about him, this was about you.

You shifted a little closer and wrapped your arms around him - tentatively, almost hesitant at first, until you drew him into a tight embrace.

Your body was warm and pleasant against his, and he would let you hold him - not only because you needed this, but because he wanted to.

“It's okay my sweet, I’ve got you,” he whispered while he cradled you in his arms and let his lips graze against your temple.

Your fingers clutched the collar of his shirt while he breathed words of comfort over the sobs that escaped your throat. 

For now, there was no need for anything else, only him holding you while you cried.

Had he not already sworn to rid you of this affliction, he would tell you over and over again like a broken record, until he made sure that every inch of your body was certain about it.

Eventually you would clear your throat and look up to him. Your face was still wet from your tears, but there was also a glimmer of hope to be found. 

“Thank you. For believing in the good in me, I mean. Despite all of this.” 

“Well, who else would I believe in if not my brave little fool over here?” Astarion said and put a quick kiss to your hair. “Besides, I have no intention of dying again, so ridding yourself from this murderous condition might align with that rather splendidly.”

Your lips curled to a smile, only to be immediately disrupted by a pained groan that left your mouth and made you wince in Astarion’s arms.

“How bad is it?” he asked with concern as he glanced at you.

Another wince. “Honestly? Like my skull was split open with an axe,” you replied with a sharp exhale. “But it’s not the worst I ever had. I’m sure it’ll pass any minute.”

You pushed your fingers to your eyes and stretched your neck upwards, causing Astarion to doubt your words.

He knew that those headaches came with your affliction. Sometimes they would dissolve rather quickly, other times they got so worse that you had to lie down and he would fetch you a cloth drenched in the coldest water he could gather. 

The urgent need to comfort you rose in him again, so he put his hands on your face and slowly pulled you towards him until he could feel your breath on his skin. Then he carefully rested his brow against yours.

That was the best he could think of for now. He closed his eyes and felt your familiar warmth spreading onto him, hoping that he would spend you some soothing coldness.

You remained like this for a moment, the only sound coming from your steady breath. 

Astarion eventually lifted his brow and placed the softest kiss on its former place, right where he assumed your pain was sitting. With his hands, he reached for the back of your neck, giving it a gentle massage.

Your eyes remained closed while you let out a silent moan. You seemed to relax from his touch, the dampness on your skin bathing your handsome features in a light shimmer.

There was this sensation again, something Astarion only had with you. A prickling flutter, spreading from his chest all over his body.

What had you done to him that made him so blissfully light and at the same time would completely sweep him off his feet? Had his heart still pumped blood, Astarion was sure it would beat up to his neck right now. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” His adoration made him almost stumble over his words, but he needed you to hear them. 

Then he kissed the tip of your nose, before his lips would finally find yours. You tasted soft and sweet, making him longing to have more of you. Heat rose to his ears as his tongue gently curled around yours, while your hand stroked through his hair, pulling him closer to you. He couldn’t stop his lips from forming a loving smile over your pleasant warmth, before they met yours again for another tender kiss. There was no tadpole, no Cazador, nor the darkness in you. This moment belonged to you and him alone - and every touch was right.

He finished your kiss with another quick peck to your forehead and cleared his throat. “I do rather like that, you know.” 

“That’s pretty convenient,” you whispered with fondness in your eyes, “because I think that actually helped. My head feels light again.” 

“I'm glad,” Astarion murmured with relief. “Is there anything else you need? Just tell me, and I’ll get it for you.”

“For now, all I need is your presence,” you replied before resting your hand on his cheek. “Knowing that you'll stay with me.” 

“Of course, my love,” Astarion assured as he graciously sunk against your palm. “You’re not alone in this, you have me. And I’m not going anywhere.”

And it was true. It was a promise, after all.

Masterlist

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Baby

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

SPOOKTOBER SPECIAL

➯a/n: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind. this is messed up but i wanted to experiment with my writing and i think i succeeded. let me know what you think of this cause i would love love looooove to write more

✃ "You're my baby, say it to me." - Mitski, I Bet on Losing Dogs

✫彡wordcount: 4k

♡'･ᴗ･'♡(ಡ‸ಡ)genre: yandere, HEAVY angst

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: stockholm syndrome, mind breaking, spanking, mentions of bribery, mommy hwa (i cannot help myself)

⁂taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg

✩index: little space; a regressed state of mind where one feels like a child. hyung; a name for an older male friend or sibling, used by other males.

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

    "I'm home, sorry I'm late!" Seonghwa called out as he entered the apartment, looking around the empty rooms. "Baby?" He peeked into the kitchen, dinner untouched on the stove. "San?" The living room, the news channel on mute. "Mingi?" Both of his roommates rooms, desolate.

"No!" Your shout calls him to his room at the end of the hall, followed by a clanging and a yell of pain from his friend.

"Baby?! Baby!?" He turns into his room in a panic, eyes wide as he witnesses the scene infront of him.

You're curled up in a ball in the corner of his bed- head in your knees- with San holding Mingis arm as he curses under his breath, one of your bottles on the floor at their feet. "Hyung," He turns quickly and picks up the bottle, pointing it at you accusingly, "she threw this at Mingi!"

"Baby, why would you do that?" He takes the bottle from San and slowly kneels on the edge of the bed, reaching for you.

You say nothing, only whining and kicking his hand away. So he turns his attention back to the younger members. "What happened?" He wants to scream at them, really. How could they make his Baby cry when they know everything he went through and continues to go through to have you as his own? But that would only make you more upset. You don't like when he raises his voice, so he keeps it calm. "Is she hurt?"

"Hyung... We really didn't mean to, we tried to-" Mingi is almost in tears, he truly feels for you. But it's been months. If he could have helped he'd of found a way by now. But they need Seonghwa. And some of the members wouldn't even dream of turning him in- even after what he's done. For selfish reasons maybe. But it doesn't matter why or why not. You've been stuck in their apartments for half a year. They'd thought all of your deficiency had passed. That they could pretend it was okay.

"What happened, Baby?" He turns back to you, gently touching your knee.

That little touch seems to make you snap. Screaming obscenities in his face as you go on and on about how you are not, in fact, his baby. You aren't his at all. You want to go home. You don't love him. You don't like San. You don't like Mingi. You don't like any of the members, actually. You don't like living here. You wish you'd never even met him.

All three of them watch aghast, jaws dropped as you yell insult after insult at them. Hot in the face and tears streaming down like a waterfall so harshly that they wet the collar of your baby blue dress and pool as a drop on your chin. You grab the little plushie that Jongho made with you and hurl it at Seonghwas face, hitting him on the nose.

He watches it fall to the floor and his eyes don't seem to move after that. He's forced to listen as you insult his character directly now. He's a insane person. He's a pervert. He's sick in the head. He's annoyingly overbearing. You loathe his guts. You wouldn't spit on him if he were on fire. You'd shoot him twice if you were in a room with him and a hungry tiger with only two bullets. You loathe his entire being. You aren't his Baby. You aren't even his girlfriend. He's delusional.

The words ring around his head hauntingly. You can't possibly mean those things. He takes care of you so well. He gives you the world and all he asks for in return is your love. And he's gotten it. At least he thought he had. He woke up with you by his side and went back to bed the same way. You gave him kisses on the cheek. You let him play with all of your favorite toys that no one else can touch. You let him bathe you and dress you. You let him do everything.

"Do you hear me?" You scream, throwing his neatly fluffed pillow at his already lowered head. "I hate you!"

The world stops in that moment, the millisecond that word slips from your mouth.

    It's silent in the room. In the apartment. Not only could you hear a pin drop—

    You can hear the single tear fall from Seonghwas eye and collide with the hardwood.

Both of them look at him. You look at him. He looks at the floor. There's a visible shift in his aura. He goes from unreadable to pissed in the blink of an eye. His shoulders tense up and his breathing gets shallow.

He stands up, almost robotically. He picks up his pillow and dusts it off, placing in back on the bed where it belongs. His gaze doesn't even bother to meet yours as you watch him with wide, fearful eyes. He grabs the plushie and sets it down as well. "...Get up. Bend over, Baby."

"Hwa, wait, pl-"

"Before I get the paddle."

He doesn't say anything else, glaring down at you as you move tentatively. After an incident with an unlocked window and some sheets resulting in you being dragged to Hongjoongs room by the ear, you don't even want to see the paddle. You had to sit on their laps or a pillow for two weeks straight, if memory serves you right.

    He doesn't reach to move you faster. He stands at the edge of the bed, deadly silent. He only intervenes when you look to Mingi and San beggingly. "You're not allowed to look at them anymore."

That was a rule when you first arrived. You only got that privilege a few weeks ago. You figured it was probably to make you feel distance to the fact that these were people, who could potentially help you leave him, and not just disembodied voices and lower bodies. A way to make you feel even more lonely. Even when they were so close that you could here their breathing.

Like now, Mingi lets out a few small sniffles here and there. Sans breaths sounds anxious. Like if he moves an inch that he will be next on his Hyungs list.

As you bend your body over the edge, they avert their eyes. They may be complacent with Seonghwas actions, but they will never cross that line. They, all seven of the younger members, promised it. Never touch you. Never take advantage of you. Never directly help Seonghwa control you in any way. In fact, most of them decided it would be best to help you however possible, without ruining all of their lives in the process. Getting you small gifts that Seonghwa pre-approved. Stealing you away to the other dorms for a movie night. Sneaking you an extra sweet or episode of cartoons when you were deep in little-space.

But there was nothing they could do when Seonghwa told you to do something. To go to bed early. To let him wash your hair. To give him a kiss. To suck on his thumb. To bend over.

So they could only look away with heavy hearts as he flips up your skirt and rips -quite literally- your underwear away. The sound makes Mingi cringe, your crying pleas for him make him want to disappear forever. "Ming, please, don't let him! I'm sor-"

Seonghwa doesn't even start easy on you, he smacks your bottom harshly, over and over again until your cheek is sore and aching all the way through to your hip. And then, for the briefest moment, you all think it's over when the loud echo of the smacks finally ceases. But that was only him moving to get a better angle on your other side.

    You cry loudly, and the sound officially makes Mingi cry. He lowers his head and turns his body away completely to try and distance himself from the abuse. San gently takes ahold of his pink in his own. It does little to comfort either of them, but it reminds them both of the pact that they made.

     All of their pinkies interlocked, a promise that they would do their best for their obviously challenged Hyung.

        Both of your cheeks bruising and hot to the touch, Seonghwa finally backs up. He moves his knees from their place on either side of you and lets you crumble to the floor in a pile of sobs. He stops briefly to pull your skirt over you half-hazardly before leaving you completely alone as you blubber into your arms.

     His palm is red, as angry as he was. He takes a deep breath as he takes a pump of lotion, rubbing it into his hands as he turns to the other men.

      "Tell me what happened."

    Mingi wipes his face roughly, straightening up as San speaks lowly, "we turned on the TV. We were going to watch a movie, but... but she saw it on the news before we could even change it."

    "What did she see?"

   "Her missing persons photo..."

✿

The door was locked behind them and there was no noise in the apartment. If you hadn't known better, you'd say they all left. But Seonghwa refused to ever leave you alone. Even when all of the members were busy. You either went with them or had a staff member watching you, one who'd coincidentally received a raise moments before.

You stayed right there on the floor for the longest time, sobbing and snotting all over the floor as you tried to calm yourself.

Oh, you really outdid yourself this time.

Even at his angriest, Seonghwa never left your side when there was a tear in your eye.

You knew he had no tolerance for that word. Hate. Ironically, you could say he hated it. Especially when it came out of your lips. You once said you hated the show he put on. He gave you a fourty minute lecture and three smacks to the behind.

And you just aimed it right at him. You meant to make him angry. And you succeeded.

Now, into the night, when he still hasn't returned, you start to wonder wether you snapped his last string of humanity. If he hated you just as much as you claimed you hated him. If he's out in the kitchen planning how to get rid of you.

Your body aches as you sit up, screaming at you as you crawl into the small pink tent in the corner of the room. It's placed on top of soft play mats and filled with baby-ish things that he insisted you needed every time he saw them. The softest blankets. The cutesy, most hug-able plushies. A small box of your favorite pacifiers and toys.

You untie the ribbon keeping the sheer fabric open and let it drape closed, as if it will shield you. Perhaps, in your fragile mind, it will. He never comes in here, only ever reaches in to grab the blankets to wash every other week.

You let yourself flop onto your side into the pile and find yourself sobbing all over again. Maybe, just maybe, in a fucked up, delusional way... Seonghwa does care for you. Maybe, just maybe, in his mind, he does all of these things because he believes it best for you.

You can still see Seonghwa in his room when he's not there. Maybe that's why you hate being cooped up in here. Always begging members to let you hang out in their rooms instead.

It's so neat. Even after the chaos of earlier. So color coordinated. Grey and white and warm lights.

You're the only exception. Toys and clothes and books strewn about in your little corner, just out of sight of his cam-corder.

   Maybe that's why you get so mad when you slip out of the little space he's built for you. You know you don't fit into his life seamlessly. You know the truth of your situation. So you may as well start making the best of it.

    With a groan of effort, you sit back up.

✿

   It's well past midnight when he turns the lock on the outside of his door. Which also means its well past your bedtime. You've become so well accustomed to it over your time together, he figures you've probably fallen asleep.  

       And he's right. He immediately spots you on his side do the bed, holding his pillow tight to your chest with your swollen eyes closed.

    A pant of regret hits him right where it hurts as he realizes just how much he made you cry. How much he made you hurt. His anger got the best of him, and it hurts his heart that deep down, he knows it won't be the last time.

     He's done it to everyone. His family. His members. Himself...

    His darkest thoughts reach out in the corners of his mind, saying that his Baby is better of without him. But he is quick to slap them away as he tip toes into the room.

    Somethings off, somethings different. Everything is in place.

    All of your toys and coloring books and short stories. All of your pacifiers and stuffed animals. They're on the shelf exactly how he puts them during his Sunday reset cleanings. All of your favorites are on the wall, your side of the bed. The multitude of blankets and throw pillows in your tent are folded and organized neatly. Your tears and snot have been wiped up. Your ripped panties in the bin.

    "Oh, my Baby," he whispers, immediately crawling into bed behind you and holding your back close to his chest, careful to avoid your bottom. He doesn't even want to fathom what he did to you... "My Baby..."

      He can't help but cry, though he tries to do so silently. He wants you to rest, you need it. But the smallest movement of the bed wakes you in your fragile state.

    When you stir, he expects you to crawl away. But you don't. Instead, you roll over to face him and shimmy into his arms. "Hey, sweet girl," he coos hoarsely.

     You were right, earlier. You weren't left alone in the apartment. San was sitting in the living room comforting Mingi as Seonghwa stormed off and went upstairs to Hongjoong. While they sat in silence, he screamed and screamed and screamed until he couldn't breathe.

     Eventually, Hongjoong and Yunho got him to calm down, and they talked and talked and talked. Yunho suggested, lightly, that you should stay the night with them. And then Seonghwa screamed some more.

     In all this time, your nighttime routine had never been interrupted. He had a very specific way the two of you did things before bed and he would have it no other way. In all this time, he's never let you out of his arms as he slept. Even that first night, you kicked and screamed and punched until you passed out. But you did so in his arms.

    "Mommy." It's a simple acknowledgment, but it calms him ever so slightly. He takes pride in that name. And it makes him happy you can still call him that after what he's done to you.

     "Are you okay, Baby?" He knows that the answer is no. But he'll give you the opportunity to speak for yourself. To tell him how to help.

     "Hurts," you sniffle as you press your face into his chest, " 'm hungry..."

     "Come on, Sweetpea, I'll take care of you."

    You koala hug onto him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he stands.

    And the nighttime routine starts now, a pattern of familiarity to calm both of your shot nerves.

    He gently sets you in your seat at the table, but not before pacing down a pillow he grabbed while passing the couch. It still burns even with the soft cushioning below you.

You eat in silence. Usually you would speak about your days, and the next one's plans. But there doesn't seem to be any words that either of you can find at the moment.

He rinses the dishes before picking you back up. No matter how many times you insist you can walk- he insists right back that his Baby must be carried. You pass Mingi on the way to the bathroom, and he gives you a small wave, his eyes bloodshot and his posture slumped. But he can't help the small smile that tugs at his lips as you wave back over Seonghwas shoulder.

The pillow goes down on the counter before you, and he starts your meticulous skin care. Your face wash, then his. Your toner, then his. Moisturizer, eye cream, spot treatment, the list goes on until your both brushing your teeth.

You will admit Seonghwa takes exceptionally good care of not only himself, but you as well.

He likes to massage your face after all is said and done. He says it's good for blood flow, which is true. But he does it for a few simpler reasons.

Your face in his hands. And a chance to admire you at the end of the day.

No matter how rough of a day it was. He could always count on this.

He cups your cheeks as he stands between your legs, massaging them gently. "My Baby." He whispers. So quiet you actually miss it. You're too busy melting into his affection. "You're my Baby." He speaks, however lowly.

"Mhm," you moan quietly, blinking up at him, not knowing what exactly he's meaning.

"Say it to me," he says. He pleads. His forehead rests on yours. Eyes growing wet as he uses your eyes as a window into your soul. "Please."

"I'm your baby," you whisper just as gently as he. Nodding against his head lightly. "I'm your baby, Mommy."

He nearly collapses as his shoulders finally relax. His mind flooding with happiness as he hears those words. You're all he's ever wanted. You're all he feels he truly has.

He knew it since the moment he saw you. So delicate, so beautiful and kind. He was overcome with an urge that he can only describe as a mix of pure love and anxiety. He loves you so deeply, how can he ever rest if he doesn't know for certain that your safe and taken care of? So he took matters into his own hands.

He's never felt it before. He knows he'll never feel it again. He will never. Never. Love someone as much as you. As much as his Baby.

You reach up and wipe his tears gently, the tiniest of smiles playing at your lips, "you gonna wash away all the stuff you jus' put on."

He can't help the chuckle that leaves him, leaning into your touch as it leaves a tingle on his skin, "you're right, Baby."

He gently, oh so gently, places a kiss on your lips before your routine resumes.

He leaves you to do your business as he goes to the living room and gathers your pajamas, and when he comes back he finds you all done, rubbing your bottom with a pout. "Oh, Baby, I'm so sorry! I forgot, it must have hurt on the toilet," a pout of his own forms as he crouches and rummages through the cabinet.

"Yeahm," you whine, watching him closely as he grabs a tube.

"Bend over, Baby." That simply sentence almost has you spiraling again before he reaches and rubs your head ever so gently. "It's okay, it's okay. It's numbing cream. Let Mommy put on you and it'll feel better, promise."

You hesitantly bend over the counter slightly, and are relieved to find he's telling the truth. He's barely touching your behind enough spread the cream, his touch is so light. But he manages to apply the treatment without causing you any more harm.

You know that this will be part of your nightly routine again when he sets the tube down with the rest of his products. It mocks you as you look at it. Knowing you'll have to hear those words over and over again until you're healed.

He helps you rid your dress and redresses you in one of his t-shirts before changing into his own pajamas.

As he carries you back to bed, you speak up while fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, "Mommy?"

"Yes, Baby?"

"Can sleep in my tent tonigh'?"

"Oh, Baby, you know I have to hold you to fall asleep. Baby can have a nap in there tomorrow, how about that?"

"No, Mommy too," you look to him with a pout as he closes the bedroom door behind you, "Mommy in the tent." You point to it as if he doesn't know what tent you're referring to, and it makes him laugh how adorable you are when you're so deep in little-space.

"Okay, Baby," he sets you down first and lets you crawl in, watching you with stars in his eyes as you curl up under the blankets and move to make room for him.

His feet poke out of the side even as he's curled spooning you, and he knows the sight is probably ridiculous. But it's very possibly the coziest he's been with you. The tent and the plushies inside of it smell like you. All of the soft blankets have accumulated into a weighted blanket of sorts and keeps you both warm in the cold October air. His chest pressed to your back and your numbed bottom snuggling back into his hips. Your soft, calm breaths luring him into a state of tranquility. He stays just like that, for a long time, it feels like. It almost feels like he's meditating. His soul being cleansed. He can see why you like it here-

Oh. Oh, he's really in here.

It dawns on him as he looks up. What is usually a white ceiling is a pink fabric just a few inches away from his face.

You invited him in.

Ever since he set it up three months ago, you made a strict 'BABY ONLY' policy. And you stuck to that. Not even Jongho, who was admittedly your favorite of his members, was allowed in. They were all confined to the play mat just outside.

But not anymore.

He thought after the pain he had caused, after the outside world had reminded you what he'd done, that your progress would be set back. That he'd back back to square one with a brat. But, you went ahead and proved him opposite.

You proved him that you are and will continue to be,

His Baby.

✿

[edenaziraphale]

When I first started reading xxxHolic I always wondered why Yuko lived the way she did- drinking constantly, smoking like a chimney, attitude like she’s got nothing to gain or lose from any of this-

And then as the series is approaching it’s end we find out there really is nothing. She’s dead, she should have died so so long ago and this existence that she’s trapped in is the closest to hell most people are ever going to get. She is lonely and probably in pain, and waiting for the day she knows is coming, the one which will right the wrongs that kept her alive in the first place. Yuko is waiting to finally be allowed to die.

She knows there’s important work to be done first. She knows there will be a beautiful but achingly sad little boy, as lonely as herself, who has to be loved into reality, and that she needs to guide him toward the people who will help him survive, lest he disappear the same moment she does.

But the drinking, the smoking, the drama she can’t help but be blasé about- those are numbing. They’re distractions and they help to pass the time. At least she gets to leave, I thought. I can’t imagine what would happen if this were a stuck-in-a-tower kind of curse.

But we didn’t have to imagine, because we see it.

Watanuki takes up the mantle.

Yuko didn’t anticipate loving this boy. Most of that has been burned out of her by now, too tired to hope for anything but rest.

But she didn’t expect his eyes to be quite that big, that sad. And when she meets him and the power inside of her reaches (without her permission, as it has always been prone to doing) for a glimpse of his future, she’s struck by the sensation of emptiness. Of nothing. An apartment whose tenant the landlord can’t remember. A desk with no child inside. Anger. A boy whose dark eyes search halls for something he doesn’t know or understand. A family name which carries a legacy that Yuko remembers. Yuko worked so hard to will life into Watanuki, spent so long teaching him the selfishness and the tragedy of his own sacrificial self loathing. He didn't need to be a martyr, there was nothing he needed to die for. He was a casualty of a war that had nothing to do with him. She tried, over and over and over, to offer him a way out. I think all the time about how she must have felt knowing that Watanuki took on her imprisonment and compounded it, made it that much more intense, made it that much worse. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make them drink. I wonder if it hurt.

[burningcheese-merchant]

yandere cheese drabbles? 🤲

Merry Crimmus to you all, my gift is more Accidental Yandere Golden Cheese things today

Can't think of a story title atm, buuutttttt here is a story nevertheless 😘

Tucked under a cut because this AU is still fucked lol

"I hate you."

How long has it been since she wrote that? How long ago did she take her seat beside her desk, pull out this paper, and bring her pen to it, only for nothing but those three words to bleed out of the ink?

Sucking in a sharp breath and steeling herself, Golden Cheese at last forced her hand to move again.

"I hate you. I loathe you. You are a sick, miserable, disgusting monster. It is only by the grace of the gods that you still live, and this world shall be a brighter, happier place when you no longer do."

There. That was one thought out of the way. Given life in the waking world. Now she just needed to keep going.

"Why are you doing this? Why do you torment me this way? What have I done to deserve it?"

She paused, briefly considering adding "If you utter even a single word about the Soul Jam, I'll rip yours out of your chest and grind it into a fine powder", but decided against it and continued.

"How can you inflict such untold suffering onto others? Onto complete strangers? How many lives have you ended? How many families have you torn apart? How many hopes and dreams have you cleaved in two with that axe? And for what? For me? When I never asked or wanted you to? What in cheese's name is wrong with you?"

She stopped again, peeking over her shoulder at the shelf by her bed - the one hiding the locked metal door, leading to... her collection. A shiver crept up her spine when she realized that the shelf was slightly ajar; she hadn't taken good enough care to close it all the way after leaving earlier that day...

"And on top of it all, you burden me with these... with these so-called gifts," she wrote when she turned back to face her little work-in-progress. "These tokens of... what? Your affection? You call this affection? You think handing a woman the blood and viscera of your hapless victims is how you win her heart? What parasite burrowed into your brain and took control of your senses to make you think this way?

"You sicken me, Burning Spice. Well and truly. You are selfish, wicked and unfathomably cruel. You are a blight on all mankind. You are hardly a step above a rabid animal. I should have put you down and spared us all of this chaos ages ago."

She stopped and set the pen down. Her eyes bore into the last sentence she wrote, unblinking. Dragging along each word, back and forth, over and over again for what may as well have been an eternity.

She should have killed him already. He should be long dead. She should have saved the world as well as herself by now.

But...

... Shaking her head, she moved the letter aside and grabbed another piece of paper. That train of thought is done. Time for another one.

"You curse me, Burning Spice. Not only with your presence, not only with your words, not only with your heinous actions... You curse me with the aftermath of it all, as well. I alone am burdened with the end results of all of your lovesick rampages. I have a closet full of severed heads because of you! Innocent men and women who have been denied their lives and their dignity to satisfy your sick infatuation with me! I struggle each and every day to find their names and identities so I may return them to their loved ones, in an act of penance on both of our parts, because I am as much of a sinner as you for even having them!!!"

She always had blood to wipe off of her hands every time she went into that room. That precious ichor, now cold and sticky, staining her delicate, flawless skin as she carefully tended to the new additions and tidied up the old ones. Every single time.

Not a single head ever left that room. She did all the work of uncovering who these poor, unfortunate souls were, and then... left it at that. Left those souls trapped in limbo. In that cold closet, behind that cold metal door. Never to see the light of day again.

Every visit inside that little den of sin only made the excuses she comforted herself with grow weaker and weaker.

"I don't understand you. I have tried, and tried, and tried with all of my might, to no avail whatsoever. Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you like this? What do you stand to gain? Is this really how you wanted to live your miserable life?"

Wait.

... Who was she writing this to?

She shook her head again - harder this time - and set the letter aside, on top of the first. No more. Next thought.

"I hardly sleep anymore. I'm haunted by the things you do. The things I do. The things I DON'T do. Why have you done this to me? Why won't you stop?"

... No. No more. Into the pile. Next thought.

"You-" Her hand was starting to tremble, smudging the ink. Another deep breath and an attempt to still herself kept her moving along. "You don't hurt children. You listen to me only this one time, for this one instance. How kind of you. How sweet. How thoughtful. Why you do it, I don't know; all life seems the same to you. Just a sea of useless little flesh automatons for you to toy with and crush as you see fit. Why do you obey the line I draw? Why does it matter? Is this the one shred of conscience that yet remains within the black hole your soul resides in?"

No more. She can't think of children. It didn't matter that Burning Spice listened to her and didn't harm them; the mere possibility was too much. Too horrible. Next thought.

"You drive me mad. You never leave my mind. Front, back, the spaces between. You consume my thoughts. Your image has been engraved into the insides of my eyelids. I even DREAM of you now, so oppressive is the hold you have over me. I can't bear it. The guilt. The shame. You curse me."

Next.

"It's a waste. You're a waste. Your entire life is a waste. You could've been someone worthwhile. Someone who made this world more bearable. You have the power, you have the means. Yet you always choose yourself. You were a hero once upon a time, there's no reason you cannot be one again. What a waste."

Next.

"Or were you not? You were never truly a hero, were you? You did it for the praise. For the gold and jewels. For the scores of people chanting your name, building statues in your honor. Selfishness. Arrogance. You're a thief. A coward. A fool."

Who- no, who is this? Who is this for, again?

"I hate you. I HATE YOU. I WANT TO KILL YOU. I WISH TO SEE THE LIGHT IN YOUR DEVIL'S EYES DIM AS I END YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE. YOU MEAN NOTHING TO ME. YOUR FEELINGS MEAN NOTHING. YOU ARE SICK! DERANGED! THE ONLY PERSON YOU EVER LOVED WAS YOURSELF, AND EVERY COURSE OF ACTION YOU TAKE ONLY SERVES TO PROVE IT MORE AND MORE!"

Her hands were trembling violently now. Ink splotches stained the pages. Deep, dark dots. Jagged streaks. Small, delicate fingerprints hovering above certain words.

"I want you."

Same as the very first letter, Golden Cheese stopped and stared down at the page with wide, unblinking eyes.

"I want you You're handsome. I think you're handsome. Devastatingly so."

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

"I want you You're handsome. I think you're handsome. Devastatingly so. Your voice shoots through my ears and drills into my skull each time you speak. I never want you to stop talking. Why do you ever stop talking?"

His voice. That deep baritone that went from silky smooth to hot and rough effortlessly. Did he do it just to get to her? To rile her up? Did he know what his voice did to her?

It was working.

"Did your eyes always look the way they do? Is the fire within them ever-burning? Were they taken from a demon and given to you the day you were born? Why do I still feel them raking over me, consuming me, even long after we've parted ways? Why do you always seek to set me ablaze?"

"It's a waste. Really. A waste. You're a good-looking man. You could've lived a normal life. You could've found a nice girl and-"

And? And? And what?

"You could've used that face and voice and those eyes of yours to charm someone and-"

And? Why can't she finish the thought? Why did her heart pound against her ribcage so hard it ached every time she tried?

"You you would you could have you could've been a normal reasonable good man and had a wife and children-"

She took the page and crumpled it, tossing it at the wall.

"I want you. I want your voice in my ears. I want your eyes devouring me. I want to hold your face in my hands. I want you to give me another one of those hellish grins of yours. I want to feel you sink your teeth into me. I want to taste your lips. I want to feel your tongue caress mine. I want to feel your hot breath in my mouth, on my skin. I want your hands on me. All over me. I want you to touch me. You've told me about all the things you want to do to me- do it. Do them. I'm sick of waiting and so are you. Why do you tease us both like this? Do it. Touch me. Taste me. Break my bones. Break my bed. Praise me, call me a goddess, worship me. Worship me like you have been all this time. Tell me you love me. Tell me you adore me. That you'll die without me. That you'll slaughter us all for my sake. Do it. DO IT. Praise me, touch me, kiss me, fuck me, just fuck me, Burning Spice, PLEASE-"

No. No, no, no. Not this. She can't say any of this. She can't. SHE CAN'T.

"YOU'RE MINE. YOU BELONG TO ME NOW. IS THIS NOT THE LEAST YOU OWE ME FOR WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH? YOU'RE MINE! MINE! YOUR TROPHIES ARE MINE! YOUR BODY IS MINE! YOUR HEART IS MINE! ALL MINE! DON'T YOU DARE EVEN CONSIDER DOING ANY OF THIS FOR ANYONE ELSE!"

"YOU'RE MINE"

"YOU'RE ALL MINE"

"I HATE YOU"

She slammed her fists down onto the desk with such force that cracks formed in their wake. Out of the chair, away from the desk, out of her bedroom she went. Rushing down the hall. All but throwing herself out the nearest door. Taking off into the sky with a quickness that made her wings ache.

So absorbed in her failed therapy session was she, that she never noticed that the eyes of the marble snake adorning the decorative tree Burning Spice had given her had been glowing the entire time. Nor did she know that he himself, that object of her ire and her sick affection, was lounging on his throne, watching her fall apart with that devil's grin she loved so much.

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

Hope this is good. I'm sorry to keep you all waiting. New installment in the Accidental Yandere AU, there shall be more soon. Happy Crimmus 🎄

[yoonkinii]

Echos of Desire

Pairing(s): Choso Kamo x Reader

FantasyAU!, Guardian!Choso, Royalty!Reader

Part 1

Synopsis: Choso is one of the few to possess abilities that transcend human limits. His family was taken away from him and he was given to serve the king. He was trained in nothing else but to kill and follow orders. He was a man made weapon. His name whispered in fear- the kingdom's boogeyman. He hates it though. Hates how his freedom was ripped from his hands. Hates how his ‘gift’ is more like a curse. He is offered a deal he can’t deny- transport the princess to safety in a neighboring kingdom. The only problem is, she’s the daughter of the man that took everything from him and she is being hunted down by unknown forces. 

-

Warning(s): character death, self loathe, burning alive, mentions of abuse, mention of death, blood. (if I am missing any. Please let me know)

Note(s): as I deal with college finals, I have not been able to write for my Sukuna AU. I felt bad and had the first part sitting in my files so I chose to share it. You will notice that in this story, there are mentions of abilities and skills that are in JJK but are changed to suit the story plot.

No one talks about how the stench of burning flesh can be so unnervingly similar to roasted meat. The thought alone churns Choso’s stomach as his face is ground into the dirt, his tear-blurred eyes forced open to witness his home devoured by flames. Every crackling ember, every surge of heat feels like an accusation. He doesn’t look away though, though the sight tears at his soul. He deserves this torment- it’s his fault.

He should have fled the moment the cursed mark marred his face, carving a jagged path across the bridge of his nose and spreading like a sinister brand. They warned him to leave, told him what would happen, but he stayed. Why? Because he was selfish. Because he clung to a fragile hope, a desperate dream that he could stay with his mother and brother a little longer. 

Now their screams haunt him, slicing through the crackling fire. The agony in their voices etches itself into his very being, a scar that will never heal. His fault. All his fault.  

The grip on his head tightens, rough fingers yanking his hair until he’s forced to look up. Through the haze of pain and tears, Choso meets the gaze of the man who orchestrated his ruin, the king’s general, Lu. 

Lu is a vision of ruthless efficiency, his reputation as blood-soaked as the battlefield itself. His silver eyes, cold and unnatural, pierce through Choso like a blade. His grizzled features speak of age, but nothing about him suggests weakness. Even the streaks of gray in his slicked -back hair only add to the aura of relenting brutality. The deadliest man in the realm, staring down at him like a predator savoring its prey. 

Choso meets the general’s eyes, unable to stop his quivering lips and the sobs that shakes his shoulders. The general tuts his lips, suddenly releasing Choso. Choso falls limply into the dirt, curling in on himself as he cries and cries. He cries until it hurts, until the general says something to another and walks away, until he dry heaves out cries, until the flames die down and all that remains is the ash in the air. 

Choso’s lips tremble as sobs wrack his body. He can’t stop them, no matter how much he wishes to. The general clicks his tongue in disdain before abruptly letting go, letting Choso crumple to the ground like a discarded rag. 

Curled into himself, Choso cries until his chest burns, until his voice is reduced to raw, aching gasps. He cries as the general mutters orders to someone unseen and strides away, as the inferno that consumed his life finally dies down, leaving nothing but as and ruin in its wake. 

“Come on, kid.”

The voice, female and startling gentle, cuts through the oppressive silence. Choso’s bloodshot eyes flutter open, squirting against the harsh brilliance of the rising sun. 

Before him stood a woman whose weather face seemed to carry the weight of a thousand stores. Her sharp brown eyes, set beneath furrowed brows, scrutinized Choso with an intensity that made him feel as if she could see through to his very soul. Her tan skin, toughened by years of hardship and streaked with crisscrossing scars on her face and knuckles, was framed by well-worn leather armor. Her dark, untamed hair was tied back at the nape of her neck, though rebellious strands curled free, softening her otherwise severe appearance. 

“You’ve cried enough. It won’t bring them back. All you can do now is move forward,” she said, her voice roughened by years of barking commands and enduring countless battles. It carried a measured tone, steady as a ship braving stormy seas. Though she appeared to be the same age as his mother, her demeanor was anything but nurturing - her presence was as unyielding as iron. 

“Follow.”

She didn’t glance back to see if he obeyed, confident that he would. Her boots crunched against the dirt path as she strode toward the dense forest ahead. The sound of Choso stumbling to his feet confirmed her certainty. Without protest, he trailed behind, his tattered clothing clinging to his thin frame, his bare feet scraping against the rough ground - another mark of this abrupt, harrowing awakening that murdered his family. 

For a while, the only sounds were the soft rustling of leaves and the distant melody of early morning birds. Then Choso broke the silence, his voice barely rising above a whisper. 

“Who are you? Where are we going?

She didn’t pause or turn, but her keen ears caught the words. “My friends call me Shara, but you will call me ‘ma’am’. We’re going to a palace that will shape you into what you were meant to become.”

Her answered stirred unease in Choso, but he hesitated to press further. Something about her presence made him reluctant to question her. Still, curiosity gnawed at him, and after a few moments, he couldn’t stop the strained words from slipping out. 

“What am I?”

His voice trembled, raw from the grief and cries that had hollowed him out. 

Shara finally glanced over her shoulder, her scarred face unreadable. “A weapon.”

“Are you listening, Kid?”

“I’m always listening ma’am,” Choso replied, his voice steady but low. 

Shara scoffed, leaning back into the creaking wooden seat of the carriage. Choso shifted uncomfortably. It was his first time riding in one, and the enclosed space made him uneasy. He couldn’t keep an eye on his surroundings or listen for the out-of-place sounds that might signal danger. 

“Sure you are,” Shara mused, her tone laced with skepticism. She was more than just his mentor - she was the one who had taken him in after the fire razed his life to ash when he was ten. Albeit, she was most likely instructed to take him in. Thirteen years had passed since then, but the scars of that night still clung to him like a second skin. They didn’t fade; they lingered, shadowing him in waking hours and haunting him in dreams. 

Most nights, he woke drenched in sweat, the bitter taste of ask still fresh on his tongue. On the nights he didn’t sleep, he trained relentlessly - pushing his body to exhaustion, carving discipline into his muscles until it became second nature. Until it felt as permanent as the sins etched onto his soul. 

“Repeat what I just said,” Shara commanded, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. 

Choso tore his gaze from the window and met her unyielding stare. She hadn’t changed much over the years. Her gaze was as sharp as the day he’d first seen her, her voice as firm and unwavering. The only visible differences were the silver streaks threading through her dark hair and the faint lines creasing her weathered face. 

“I am to escort the princess to the kingdom of Vatish via a route prepared by the king’s advisors,” Choso recited with precision. “Upon delivering her safely, my services to the crown will be terminated - permanently.” 

“You understand what that means?” Shara’s eyes narrowed, her finger tapping rhythmically against her bicep as she studied him. 

“It means after this, I’ll no longer be bound to the crown,” he replied, his voice calm but weighted with finality.

She hummed softly, a sound of approval as she nodded. “Do you accept?” 

“Did I ever have a choice?”

“Good.”

The carriage fell into silence once more. Choso turned his attention back to the window, watching the tree blur past in a haze of green and brown. He supposed he should relax, maybe even enjoy the ride - but he couldn’t, years of relentless training had hardened him beyond comfort. His body, forged into a weapon, was always tense, always braced for battle. Relaxation was a luxury he no longer remembered how to afford. 

“Didn’t I tell you to cut your hair?” Shara’s voice sliced through the quiet like a blade. 

“I did,” he replied, not bothering to look away from the passing landscape. 

“Oh, really? What’d you cut  it with? Your teeth? It’s still long?”

Absentmindedly, Choso’s fingers drifted to his hair. The black locks fell to his nape, and a few rebellious strands often slipped into his vision. He couldn’t deny it got in the way sometimes, but the thought of cutting it shorter rarely crossed his mind. 

“It grew,” he muttered.

Shara’s laughter rolled through the carriage, deep and loud, like a crash of distant thunder. When it subsided, she let out a sigh and leaned slightly to peer out the same window as Choso. 

“You’re lucky the king is merciful enough not to kill you for looking like some wild animal.”

“Truly merciful,” Choso replied without thinking, his tone dripping with sarcasm. A scornful look twisted his face as the words left his lips.

The carriage slowed to a halt before a sweeping staircase of polished stone, flanked by guards who stood like statues, their gazes as sharp as their weapons. Choso felt the weight of their eyes, trained and unyielding, tracking his every move as he stepped out. His black fighting leathers, thick enough to ward off the biting wind yet supple enough not to hinder his movement, creaked softled with the effort. It was a rare sight to see him in anything else, even during the fleeting moments when he attempted to sleep.  

The hair on Choso's neck stood on end at the eyes trailing after him. One glance casted at Shara showed that she was not bothered by the eyes, if she was then she didn’t show. Shara and Choso were met with a castle attendant, a wordless exchange happening between his mentor and the attendant before they were led through the castle.  

The hair on the back of his neck prickled under the scrutiny. A quick glance at Shara revealed her usual calm demeanor, unshaken by the piercing stares. If she felt the tension, she gave no indication. Without a word, a castle attendant approached, exchanging a subtle nod with Shara before motioning for them to follow. 

As they were led into the castle, Choso’s gaze flitted restlessly. He cataloged everything - the twists and turns of the corridors, the placement of each window, the number of doors lining the walls. Years ago, such a task would have overwhelmed him, but not it was instinctual, each detail committed to memory with ease. 

The castle’s interior was stark yet imposing. Ornate stone walls rose on either side, their austerity broken only by the blood-red carpets that stretched across the floor. THe absence of frivolous decor gave the space an air of cold efficiency, every inch designed to intimidate rather than comfort. 

Ahead, two massive, intricately carved wooden doors creaked open by guards, revealing the castle’s main hall. Choso’s footsteps echoed faintly against the flagstone floor as his eyes took in the towering stone walls, adorned with heavy tapestries. Each one depicted the kingdom’s bloody history - scenes of conquest, kneeling enemies, and wars won through sheer brutality.  He looked away, the oppressive imagery stirring unease in his chest. 

The soaring ceiling drew his gaze upward, a masterpiece of vaulted arches painted with frescoes. Even here, the scenes spoke of violence: victorious kings, battlefields littered with the fallen, and rivers of crimson streaking the skies. Shafts of golden light poured in through high, arched windows, softening the grim narrative etched into the hall.

At the far end, a dais of white marble steps elevated the throne - a striking symbol of the kingdom’s might. Forged of deep mahogany, the throne’s high back was carved with the kingdom’s crests, its armrest shaped into snarling lions frozen mid-roar. The maroon velvet cushioning glinted faintly in the light, as though even the throne itself basked in authority. 

A crimson carpet with golden thread stretched the length of the hall, guiding the eye to the footsteps of the foot of the throne. Guards stood rigid along the walls, their halberds gripped so tightly their knuckles shone white. The air was thick with tension, a palpable miz of nerves and uncertainty as Shara and Choso took their place before the throne. 

The heavy silence deepened as another set of guards entered the room. Unlike those stationed along the walls, these men moved with a hardened precision that sent a chill through Choso’s veins. Their faces, lined and unyielding, spoke of brutal training and unrelenting discipline. THey took their places, three on either side of the throne, their presence amplifying the oppressive atmosphere. 

Choso’s stomach churned as he watched the man he despised most stride into the room. 

As the king entered, a profound silence blanketed the room. The air grew heavy, suffused with the weight of authority and history, as though the stones themselves acknowledge his power. Each of his measured steps reverberated through the vast chamber, a reminder of dominance etched into every corner. Ascending the dais with unhurried grace, the king seated himself on the throne, and the room seemed to collectively hold its breath, awaiting his command.

But it was not the king who spoke first. 

Shara, ever swift, dropped to one knee, her movement fluid and precise. Choso followed a heartbeat later, lowering his head as her voice rang out with unwavering conviction.

“All praise the mighty sun of the kingdom.” 

The guards responded in perfect synchronization, slamming the butts of their halberds against the marble floor. The sharp, rhythmic sound echoed twice, its force reverberating  through Choso’s chest. They froze in that posture, returning to their statue-like stance. 

Each passing second gnawed at Choso, his chest tightening with suppressed annoyance. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe deeply, Shara’s lessons repeating like a mantra in his mind: Diminish it. Emotions are humanity’s worst weakness. You do not feel. You are not human.

He wasn’t human- not anymore. He was a tool, forged for the kingdom’s will, his humanity burned away alongside his home, his family, and his hope. 

“You may rise,” the king’s voice finally broke the silence, deep, and commanding. 

Choso and Shara stood, Shara’s posture unwavering, while Choso’s eyes shifted to the man seated on the throne. His lips pressed into a thin line as he studied the king. The monarch’s lips curved into a knowing smile, faint wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, a picture of composed authority. 

“It’s good to see you, Shara. You’ve been away for quite some time,” the king said, his tone smooth yet laced with an undercurrent of power.

Shara inclined her head, her voice noticeably softer than the one she reserved for her scolding of Choso. “Indeed, my king. Training your soldiers is no small task.”

Soldiers. The word grated against Choso’s nerves, though he willed himself to remain motionless. Not people, not citizens - just soldiers. Children torn from their families, molded into weapons through the harsh hands of death and submission. His jaw tightened, but his gaze remained fixed on the wall behind the king, a single act of restraint in a room heavy with unspoken tension. 

Then, something white caught his attention. 

Standing beside the king was a figure, still as stone but  coiled like a predator ready to strike. Arms rested at his sides, but his posture betrayed his readiness. What struck Choso most were the bandages covering the man’s eyes, pristine and stark against his skin. Choso felt his brow furrow, confusion threading through his thoughts. Why was he blindfolded? How could a man seemingly devoid of sight carry such as air of awareness?

The figure’s lips curved into a smirk, almost as if he could sense - no, see - Choso’s inquisitive gaze. Embarrassed by his own curiosity. Choso quickly averted his eyes, fixing them once more on the wall, though the image of the smirking man lingered in his mind. 

The king hums at Shara’s response, a casual nod indicating her answer sufficed - for now. Choso’s stomach tightened as the monarch’s sharp gaze shifted to him, scrutinizing every inch as though peeling back his lawyers for weakness or deceit. A single wave of the king’s hand broke the tension. 

“This is him? Your best soldier?”

“Yes, my king,” Shara replied confidently, her hand settling on Choso’s shoulder like a claim of ownership. “His drive is unmatched. His skills surpass even my most seasoned warriors.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, probing Choso for signs of falsehood in Shara’s words. The room hung in silence until a faint smile tugged at the corner of the king’s mouth, more a predator’s curl than an expression of approval. 

“That so?” he drawled. “Do tell - what is his gift?”

Choso exchanged a brief glance with Shara. Her silent nod was the only encouragement he needed before she stepped back, relinquishing the stage. Without a word, Choso moved with practiced ease, his hand darting to his forearm to unsheathe a dagger hidden within his leather sleeve. 

The blade was slender, unassuming, crafted for precision rather than carnage. Its edge glinted under the light as Choso drew it across his palm. A sharp sting bloomed, but he didn’t flinch. The first dorp of crimson appeared, and with it, a subtle shift began. 

The mark on his face - a single line running across the bridge of his nose - morphed, elongating and multiplying. Two lines extended from his brows, curving down to the corners of his mouth, their pointed tips adding an air of menace. The original line grew thinner and sharper, dividing his features like an ominous sigil. 

All eyes in the room fixed on the blood pooling in his palm. Yet, before it could drip to the floor, it stopped, hovering midair as if caught by invisible threads. With a flick of his wrist, the liquid twisted and contorted, bubbling before stretching into a blade of solid crimson. 

The weapon shifted again, reshaping into a halberd, its deadly edges gleaming. The halberd dissolved, reforming as an arrow, then fractured into countless droplets that spiraled upwards like a violent rainstorm suspended in time. The blood hovered, then shifted once more, transforming into countless razor-sharp needles. 

Without hesitation, Choso releases them.

The room tensed as the needles descended, slicing through the air with lethal precision - only to dissipate a hair’s breadth from the onlookers. The blood lost its form, splattering harmlessly onto the marble floor in crimson pools. Despite the harmless finale, unease rippled through the guards. They shifted on their feet, knuckles whitening in their weapons. 

The king leaned forward slightly, his grin widening. He regarded Choso as though he were a rare and fascinating beast, the amusement in his expression tainted by something darker. Choso finally met the gaze of the man who had unraveled his life, and for a fleeting moment during his display, he considered letting the blades find their mark. Just for a moment. 

But that feeling passed, and the blood was reduced to harmless stains on the polished floor. 

From the corner of his eye, Choso caught the smirk of the white-haired figure standing near the throne. Though his eyes were obscured by pristine bandages, the man’s grin felt as though it pierced directly through Choso’s defenses. Choso forced himself to look away, his gaze landing on Shara. 

Her expression was not one of pride in him, but her creation - a jewel she had honed, shaped, and perfected. 

“My, my,” the king mused, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. He clapped slowly, the sound echoing mockingly in the chamber. “Where has someone like you been hiding all this time? And how considerate of you not to paint the room red - it would’ve been…unfortunate for you.”

The threat was as clear as the gleam in his cold eyes. Choso stiffened but said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line as the king’s attention shifted back to Shara, who now stood proudly at his side, her posture rigid and expectant. 

“He’s perfect.”

-

Taglist: (open)

[wint5r]

Even Stars Need the Dark

Pairing: Darkprince!Han x Lightprincess!Reader

Genre: Smut? More suggestive than anything, there will be eventual smut in later parts, pwp, angst if you squint

Warnings!: THIS IS A SERIES! Author switches between Han and Jisung throughout, Enemies (one sided) to lovers, Han pining over Y/N, princess being used as a pet name, and slight cursing. (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Summery: In which Prince Han Jisung of Lunaris meets Princess Y/N of Sola, and is determined to change her mind about both his kingdom and himself.

You sat at a table within a large ballroom, the occasion being the annual unity ball. The purpose of the celebration being to acknowledge the coming together of the two kingdoms.

Your father had forced you to go, knowing how much you hated Lunaris. Well, not so much Lunaris as it was him.

Oh, how you loathed him, and yet you had never even met the guy. But you did watch as he walked around with this air about him, his selfish and spoiled attitude following him. You laughed to yourself as you noticed how he couldn't talk to a female for more than two minutes before getting bored, finding an excuse to leave, and striking up another conversation with the next poor soul he sees.

To you, Han Jisung of Lunaris was the devil incarnate.

But he noticed your hard stare, every glance that you stole from him, he noticed. However he thought nothing of it, thinking you were simply one of his admirers.

You noticed how much you were looking at him as well, and forced yourself to look away. But alas, it was too late. From across the room you seen him making a beeline towards you. And of course before you could gather your skirts and move, he was already there, asking "Enjoying yourself, your majesty?"

Swallowing both your pride and your morals, you decided it was better to be polite. Maybe the conversation would end sooner.

"Yes I am, thank you." You nodded.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, your majesty, but you're Princess Y/N, of Sola, right?"

You again nodded, giving him a curt smile.

"Well I am-" Even though you were trying your hardest, you just had to open your mouth.

"I know who you are. Prince Han Jisung of Lunaris. It is your family who throws this ball every year, after all."

Han chuckled and looked down, a grin on his face. "Well then, I see you've done your research."

You shrugged and took a sip of your drink.

"You know, all night tonight women have been throwing themselves at me, and yet here you are not giving me the time of day."

"Well there's a first for everything." You let an involuntary smirk creep onto your face.

Han however, was clearly amused. "This ball is getting quite boring, do you not agree? Would you care to join me in the gardens?"

You chuckled dryly. "My apologies your majesty, but we've just met."

"And?" He asked, his eyebrow cocked. "Listen, your highness, your demeanor intrigues me. But we could get to know each other better in the gardens or at least out side of this ball room.

You shook your head. "Well, Prince Han, as much as you are intrigued by me all the more I am uninterested in you." You crossed your arms over your chest.

"Y/N-" Once again, you cut him off.

"Princess, Y/N."

"Princess Y/N," he corrected himself. "Why such a facade?"

"There is no facade" You quickly defended. "I'm just simply not another one of your admirers, and nothing will change that."

Still to this day, you wish you would've just shut your damn mouth.

Han's expression became cocky and amused. "Is that a challenge?"He smirked.

You turned your body away from him. "Take it how you wanna take it."

"Then I'm going to take it as a challenge. I'm going to get you to fall for me," Han declared with a newfound determination .

You laughed out loud. "I'd like to see the day." And with that you grabbed your gown, called for your carriage handler and left, leaving Jisung with a new ambition and goal.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

The next morning, you awoke to a knock on your bedroom door. After gathering your bearings you called out "Come in!" And sat up in bed.

It was one of your servants, Victor who came in, bowed briefly and began to speak. "Good morning your highness. I came to tell you there are a multitude of roses in the first parlor, all in your name."

It could've been the fact that you were still waking up, or that it was the most unbelievable question to ever leave this mans mouth.

"My apologies, Victor, but what?"

He nodded patiently and repeated himself. "Down in the parlor, there are bushels of roses, all for you. Would you like me to send them up? Or...?"

You got out of your bed and went to the first parlor, and sure enough, there were at least two dozen huge bouquets of wine red roses, and without even reading the notes attached to them you knew they were from Jisung.

Those color roses were native only to Lunaris.

You rolled your eyes and told Victor; "I'm gonna need you and the gardeners to dispose of these please, if you wouldn't mind." And without a question, Victor called the gardeners and began gathering the roses.

As they carried them out, you seen one of the notes fall from the bouquets. Your curiosity got the better of you and picked it up. It read "Hope you enjoy these, princess. Even if you don't, just watch, you'll be mine sooner or later."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, and toss the note into the fire place.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

This is Part one! Thank you guys so much for reading! My requests are OPEN! I'm totally open to any criticism or recommendations! Love y'all!

Part 2

-Wynter

[sepublic]

Furthermore, Belos is the type of colonizer who loathes a culture, but also feels entitled to it and is pissed off when it doesn’t bend over backwards to his demands. He wanted the glyphs of the Titan but he refused to respect her and her people, her body, her customs, and opted to take it by force; A method needlessly more complicated, difficult, and arduous than just humbling himself and learning on someone else’s terms. 

So to see some people have the fucking gall to treat Belos’ seizure of what is essentially a native resource as some W over that mean and unsuccessful Titan, disparage Luz as ‘not working’ for the glyphs like he did (ignoring how this brown girl actually put in the work of adapting to another culture), and unironically praise his ‘protestant work ethic’ is just… racist! It’s racist!!! 

It’s buying into the conservative strong man myth that Belos got where he did ‘by the grit of his own teeth’, when really he lied to and cheated people who actually put in effort and suffered the consequences for him; He stood on people’s shoulders without consent and attributed their sacrifices as his own like so many American Dream capitalists, instead of appreciating and reciprocating others’ help the way Luz did. It’s buying into the idea that Belos’ atrocities can be overlooked for the sake of admiring how he ‘got things done’, because that’s just the price of success!!! Like I dunno maybe we shouldn’t even jokingly praise a character for being a colonizing thief, a swindling capitalist in all but name.

This reminds me of that time I saw someone’s Road to El Dorado AU where Philip plays the role of one of the white Spanish dudes. Like are you fucking for real. You saw a genocidal white colonizer who impersonates a local religion he has no real understanding over to manipulate the natives for his own selfish ends and you actually said, “Okay but what if we treated it as a cute and good thing this time? What if we treated his blatant disinterest in everything that isn’t seizing the natives’ resources as a teehee trait???” I don’t care if Philip is chill and doesn’t murder people in this version of events. Y’all are just being lowkey, if not outright, racist. 

Belos is an effective satire of right-wing conservatives and radicalized white supremacists, genocidal colonizers who bastardize and appropriate cultures, “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” success stories, entitled abusers with all their excuses, and Christian self-flagellation and savior complexes. Dana based him off of televangelists, cult leaders, and her own conservative relatives. And yet so many people willingly ignore the whole point of Belos’ narrative and themes to reduce him to just “Caleb’s moody brother” or some sadboi victim of religious trauma, as if Philip didn't willingly embrace Puritan ideology regardless of whatever drawbacks it may have had, because it ultimately promised superiority…

And with the AUs that strip Belos of everything that makes him Belos for the sake of some feel-good story that undermines the show’s themes and does his victims dirty, that isn’t even an alternate version that’s just a completely different, made-up guy with none of the depth. How’s he going to learn his lesson in a redemption fic if the first thing the writer does is undo the curse to restore Philip's White Man status that he so obsessively clung onto, and lost for that very reason? How is he going to learn his lesson if the writer can't seem to properly comprehend what exactly he did wrong and the actual reasons for it???

[acrochetedgundam]

torokatober 2024 day 5/31 - goggles

The goggles look too small in Rashid’s hands.

Trowa watches for him for a moment, mostly concealed behind a coffee vending machine. Watches as the man’s fingers trace haphazard paths along the goggles. Along the cracks in one of the lenses. Along the stain of red blood that stands out even against the dark leather. Along the tear that drops onto them, wiping it away.

He discretely hits his hand on the machine as he steps into view, ending his lurking. Rashid doesn’t so much as flinch, doesn’t seem startled at all, just quietly reaches up to wipe at his eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t as stealthy as he thought.

“They say he’s going to live,” Trowa offers quietly. He’s sure they’ve already told him. They’d probably told him before they’d told Trowa and the others. But he feels the need to reassure him, this man he barely knows, this man who he is honestly a little afraid of. Because Rashid means so much to Quatre. And because Quatre means so much to him…well, it feels like they should be on good terms. If they’re going to be anything beyond the war…

No, he tells himself. He already knows. Already knows that there is no possible way he can fit into Quatre’s world. He doesn’t even have a name; what could he possibly be to Quatre?

“And for that I am grateful,” Rashid replies, jolting him from his self loathing thoughts. “And to you, as well,” he says, sniffing quietly as he straightens up, finally looks away from the goggles to look Trowa in the face. “From what I’ve heard, Master Quatre would not have made it out alive without your help.”

Something constricts in his chest. He shrugs, tries to appear indifferent. “He would have done the same for me.”

Rashid smiles, and an expression Trowa doesn’t have a name for passes over his features. “Of course,” he murmurs. “But you are not him.”

He’s not. Trowa knows he’s not. He’s not like Quatre at all. He’s selfish, too independent, too abrasive, too…

“You are very important to him,” Rashid says, gaze slipping back down to the broken goggles in his hands.

The way he says it, Trowa isn’t sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.

(on ao3)

[shiorimakibawrites]

Day 3 - Broken

Prompt: 3 - Broken + 5 - Self-Loathing + 18 - Scars Character: Sam Winchester Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader Word Count: 505 Warnings: Self-loathing, negative self-talk, referenced injury Tags: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland Tuna-Tober Masterlist 2024

Broken

Sam Winchester slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake you. Just because he was too broken to sleep properly didn’t mean you should be deprived of sleep. Especially not for him. You had already given up too much for him.

He still didn’t understand it. Why had you give up your safe, normal life for him? To risk your life hunting monsters for people who would never know or understand your sacrififce. Who would deny all the blood shed in their name. To endure the estrangement of your family and old friends just to join him and Dean on this cursed road. Why?

He understood why Dean did it. He was just as cursed as Sam. There was no escaping this road. Not for them. They had both tried. And Dean was his big brother. He had always tried to protect him. No matter how tired or angry with him that Dean was - and times he had been very much both of those things - he’d never leave Sam to face the world’s evil alone.

Not you. You could have that apple pie life. You could live in a beautiful little house filled with the books and plants that you loved. Not a musty old bunker between a series of cheap hotels. You could have a boyfriend who wasn’t broken. Someone with a real job that could take you out on nice dates. Not a monster who dragged you into the shadows and made you bleed.

It might not be his own two hands that hurt you but it was his fault. You’d never gotten those scars if you had never met him. The obvious ones like the claw marks across your back. But also the invisible ones, the wounds left in the soul by fear and devastating loss.

Without him . . . you’d be safe. Whole. Happy. In love with someone who could put a pretty ring on your finger without fear. Instead of someone who feared putting an even bigger target on your back. Who couldn’t even ask you if you wanted children because he was too terrified of the answer.

You deserved better. Someone worthy of your love. Not a tattered patchwork of a man covered in scars visible and invisible.

But one of his numerous flaws that he was selfish. So when your arms wrapped around him, he couldn’t push you away. He was too greedy to reject the comfort of your body against his. He craved your affection, the pretty words you told him (I’m here . . . I’ve got you, Sammy . . .  I love you . . . you’re a good man, Sam Winchester. I know you don’t want to believe me but you are . . .)

He wanted you to be right. He wished he had your faith that one day, he’d believe those words. He wanted that so badly. It would be so easy to give in.

But Sam was done lying to himself. You deserved better than him. And while he was too selfish to give you up, he was never going to forget that.

Author's Note

This is my first time writing Sam so please let me know what you think.

[the-cult-of-russo]

Sorry (part 3)

Pairing: Reader/Billy Russo

Warnings: cursing, angst, sadness, fluff kinda. Canon typical bullshit.

A/N: Here we goooo!!! Last and final part of this one. Two chapters in one day? I’m on a roll lmao

—--------------------

You stifled a yawn as you made your way down the packed streets of New York. It had been two days since Karen’s party and the day before, you’d hidden out in your hotel room. You hadn't wanted to face anyone, especially Billy. You felt so conflicted and upside down. You’d been working so hard in therapy to better yourself, to be less selfish. To get your brain out of protect mode so that you could think about how your actions affected others instead of just doing whatever you needed to in order to keep yourself safe. But knowing Billy hadn’t moved on, that he still cared about you, it pleased you. You hated that it did but you couldn't help it. It meant the feelings you had for him weren’t unrequited. But it made you such a shitty person because you’d hurt him. You didn't deserve his feelings or his time. Didn’t deserve him holding out hope for you. You couldn't get his tearful face out of your mind from when you’d had your argument. Couldn't shake the self-loathing from his voice as he’d blamed himself and told you he didn't deserve to be loved. He was a cocky and confident man to most, but you’d seen the self-hatred he carried, along with the heaps of guilt. Invisible to those who didn't know him well enough, but wrapped around him like chains. And all you’d done is feed into that, to make him think those feelings were confirmed and justified. You had no idea why he even bothered talking to you the night before after what you’d done, let alone kiss you. So now your brain was a jumbled mess as the guilt-ridden part of you fought with the selfish part of you. You just couldn't make any sense of it. 

The day before when you'd hidden out, Karen had wanted to see you, to make sure you were okay. As far as she was aware, Billy’s new relationship was real and she’d been worried about how you felt about it. You knew if you agreed to see her, she’d hound you with questions until you cracked. She’d end up squeezing you for information until you spilled it all, including Billy’s secret. So you’d lied to her and told her you were suffering from a wicked hangover but promised to meet her the next day. Well, now it was the next day and you were dreading it. You didn't want to lie to her face about Billy, part of you was dying to tell her and about the kiss so she could give you advice. You’d relied on her for so long now that it felt weird to keep her in the dark. You were on your way to a coffee shop that wasn't too far from the hotel and when you got there, Karen was sitting at a table outside, two coffees on the table. She grinned when she saw you, standing when you got there and engulfing you in a hug.

“Feeling better?” she asked wryly as you both sat down. 

“Yeah,” you lied with a smile, feeling shitty about it. You grabbed the coffee and took a large sip, letting the nice warm drink settle over you. It became silent and it was weird, Karen didn’t do silent. And when you glanced across from her over the table, she was watching you with a weird look on her face.

“So… Were you gonna tell me that you and Billy kissed at my party?” she asked, raising a brow as a smile toyed on her lips, betraying her stern tone. You blinked at her with wide eyes, mouth floundering for a minute as you didn't know what to say.

“You really think I wouldn't find out? He told Frank and Frank tells me everything,” she added with a snort. You shook your head, trying not to feel the warmth in your chest at the notion of Billy telling his best friend about the kiss. For all you knew, he wasn’t saying anything good.

“It was just… I’m overwhelmed. It’s a lot,” you admitted with a shrug. Her face softened a little as she nodded.

“He told Frank everything. About the whole… Louisa thing,” she wrinkled her face as she said the woman's name. “It made more sense and I’m glad to know he has some sense. He also said you’d told him about therapy, admitted you have feelings for him. That he kissed you and you turned him away,” she raised a brow with a sympathetic smile on her face and you frowned, toying with your cup.

“What was I supposed to do, Karen?” you sighed.

“Be happy together?” she looked at you pointedly and you rolled your eyes.

“It's not that simple,” you huffed, making her scoff.

“How isn't it simple? You both care about each other,” she muttered, looking a little frustrated.

“Because I hurt him. Or did you forget that? You saw what I did to him, Karen. How are we supposed to be with each other after that?” you asked with a deep frown. She took a deep breath, reaching across the table and grabbing your hand, making you look at her. 

“You did hurt him and no I didn't forget that. And I’m not sure what hurt him more, the argument or you leaving… He went by your place a few days after your fight. You weren't there and when he bumped into your neighbor, they’d told him you'd left. No phone call or text. No note. You were just gone, like you were never there to begin with. And so he turned up at mine and Frank’s place. He was hysterical. He was crying and rambling, not making any sense. But after Frank managed to calm him down, he told us you left. It cut him deep. He moped so much after that. More irritable than usual, snapping at everyone. Some days he just wouldn't bother to turn up to work and when Frank would go to check on him, he’d be drunk at home in his sweats,” Karen murmured. Your frown only deepened as a pain started in your chest and seemed to reverberate throughout your entire body.

“Is this supposed to be helping me?” you asked in horror, but she shushed you and squeezed your hand.

“Let me finish. After a bit, he seemed to get better. He came back to work, back to the usual Billy, minus the frivolous love life he used to have before you. We started to think he was doing okay. And then he found out you’d been texting me. He was so pissed that I hadn't told him that he didn't speak to me for a week. But after that, he’d always ask me how you were, what you were up to. I lied to him for you. I never told him about therapy or how you were really doing because it wasn't my place to tell him. When he asked where you were living now, I lied and told him I didn't know. I knew it wouldn't help either of you but I hated lying to him like that,” she said with a shake of her head. You lowered your eyes, not knowing how to take the information. It made you feel even worse to know just how much you’d affected Billy after you'd left. You didn't say goodbye because you thought he wouldn't want you to. But also knowing you’d caused Karen to lie to one of her closest friends made you feel dirty.

“Despite the brave face he was putting on, Frank knew something was off. He’s been through so much with Billy, he recognised the haunted look in his eyes he’d have sometimes. He knew something was still going on with him. And then suddenly Louisa happened. We were all shocked but we hoped that meant he’d moved on. Part of me thought it was a rebound thing, so once we realized what she really wanted from Billy, I thought that was why he was being so blind to it. He was trying to get over you. But now we all know that relationship wasn’t even real and he admitted to Frank yesterday he’d never gotten over you,” she explained, giving you a pitying look.

“I still don't get how this is supposed to make me see why we should be happy together. All I’m hearing is that I fucked up royally and hurt him in the worst way,” you bit out as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat down. 

“Because the past is the past. You know why you did what you did, you found that out. You didn't do it to hurt him on purpose. You didn't set out to make him feel that way. You had your own issues and you're dealing with them now. You know you care about him. And despite everything, Billy still cares about you. He doesn't care what happened in the past and you’ve explained yourself to him now so he gets it even more. He’d never hold the past against you because he just wants to be with you,” she implored. 

“And what am I supposed to do about the guilt every time I look at him? The crushing weight that settles on my chest when I remember what I did?” you asked desperately. Such a big part of you wanted to listen to Karen’s words. To just throw caution to the wind and be with Billy. But the guilt was holding you back and unfortunately for you, it was winning. 

“Billy’s forgiven you for what happened, Y/N. It’s time to forgive yourself,” she said with a firm but caring look. You didn't know what to say. Your head was swimming, nothing but confusion curling around you as you couldn't figure out where to go from here. You wondered if maybe you should swallow your pride and talk to Billy. See if he really had forgiven you, see if there was any hope. But you knew you didn't deserve it.

Seeing you overwhelmed and shutting down, Karen decided to drop it and gave your hand another squeeze before she dropped it. 

“You should come back to mine for a bit. Frank’s with Billy at Anvil. We could have some girl time, maybe some ice cream and a movie?” she suggested with a grin. The idea was welcoming to you. A distraction from your messy head.

“I’d love that,” you admitted, relief in your voice to be no longer talking about the mess you called a love life. She beamed at your answer before standing up.

“Okay, I’ll be back out in a minute. If I don’t get Frank a donut for when he comes back from work, he’s gonna cry about it for a week,” she smirked, making you snort. She grabbed your now empty cups as she breezed back inside and you stood up, stretching a little before slowly making your way to the sidewalk so some other people could have your table. You got your phone out of your pocket, quickly checking your emails. You’d gotten one from work saying the website would be down for maintenance. Not that you cared since you were taking the week off here. 

“You bitch!” a voice screeched. You glanced up from your phone, wondering just what drama was happening in the middle of the street, but saw Louisa storming right your way with a face like thunder. You glanced around, almost as if you thought she was yelling at someone else. But she obviously wasn't. You half expected her to barrel right into you and start pulling your hair, but she stopped a little ways from you, glaring you down.

“Who do you think you are?!” she seethed, her body held tightly with her hands stuffed in her large fur coat.

“Uh… what?” you asked warily.

“You think I don't know who you are?” she asked, voice shaking with rage.

“We met at Karen's party…” you trailed off. You knew in the back of your head this had something to do with Billy, but it didn't make sense. Did he tell her about the kiss? You weren't sure why he’d do that since he was only seeing her for information.

“He never really mentioned you, not outright. But some nights he’d wake up having nightmares with your name on his tongue. And when I asked, he shut down. He refused to talk about it. I didn't get it. With the way he acted, I thought you were dead or something. And when you turned up at Karen’s party, I just thought you were someone else with the same name. It didn't click. But now I get it, now I know,” she pointed an accusing finger at you and you silently willed Karen to hurry up to help you out of this very uncomfortable situation. 

“Get what?” you asked confused.

“Don't play dumb with me! I know what you're doing and I won't let you do it! You don't get to come back here and try to take him away from me! You don’t get to come here and take the money away!” she screeched like a deranged person. The whole thing was drawing a crowd and you felt your cheeks burn.

“Hey, get away from her you crazy bitch!” Karen yelled as she burst through the door. She made a move to rush to where you were on the sidewalk, but then an almighty bang rang out in the air and your ears were ringing. You looked back to Louisa, confused by what had happened, and noticed she was aiming a gun right at you. You blinked slowly and then you felt it. It felt like being set on fire from the inside out and you looked down, noticing blood rapidly pooling on your t-shirt from your stomach. Oh.

“No!” Karen screamed, running towards you as some people on the street started fighting with Louisa to restrain her and take her gun. You fell to the floor heavily before Karen reached you. She hovered over you with wide and wet eyes, looking shocked and panicked. She was yelling something but you couldn't hear anything anymore other than the ringing in your ears. People were rushing about around you and you felt the pain worsen as Karen pressed something to your wound, shouting at you once more. You felt cold, why was it so cold? The edges of your vision blurred as you looked up to the clouds. Everything felt like slow motion, like you were underwater and then it suddenly dawned on you. You were dying. You weren't going to be coming back from this. You'd never get to tell Billy you loved him or to see what would happen between you two. You’d never get that happy ever after. The idea of leaving this world without at least letting Billy know you cared made you feel more sadness than the idea of you dying. He didn't deserve that. He needed to know he could be loved, that he was loved. Maybe then he could actually move on. 

“Tell… Billy… Tell him… I love him,” you whispered. Or you hoped you did. You felt disconnected from your body and you couldn't hear anything, including your own voice. But your dancing vision saw how Karen's hand flew to her mouth as she sobbed, nodding frantically as she no doubt said something to try and soothe you. You trusted she’d do as you asked. Your body got colder and weaker by the second and your eyes fluttered shut. All the pain left your body and suddenly you felt serene. 

—----------------

Your mind woke before your body did. There was a faint beeping in your ears and the smell of bleach felt like it was choking you. Where were you? You didn't remember having to deal with this bullshit at the hotel. You blinked your eyes open slowly, they felt so heavy. You squinted at the white tile ceiling as you tried to figure out what was going on. You made a move to sit up, gasping at a pain in your stomach as you did. And then Billy was in front of you.

“Easy, gotta be careful,” he murmured, keeping you where you were. You glanced around quickly, noticing you were in a hospital room. You were confused and it felt like your brain was working overtime just to function normally. You felt so out of it. Billy pressed a button that made the bed move and position to sit you up. You took the time to look him over as he wasn't looking at you. He was in sweats and a black t-shirt, his hair a mess. His eyes were bloodshot and had deep purple rings around them. He looked unwell, pale and sickly. 

“Wh-” you were cut off as you started coughing, your throat felt dry and raw like sandpaper. Billy jumped up, grabbing a pitcher of water off the bedside table before pouring some in a cup for you. There was a cup on the floor next to the chair beside your bed and you mused the pitcher had been for him. He helped you drink and you did so greedily. You felt like you hadn't had a drink in days and you polished the water off. He put the cup back on the bedside table before he perched on the side of your bed. He was looking at you like he’d seen a ghost, the saddest look on his face.

“What happened?” you rasped, wincing at your throat. He swallowed thickly, rolling his shoulder as his eyes drifted away from you.

“Louisa shot you,” he bit out. The memories hit you then, flashes of them bursting behind your eyes. You remembered her screaming at you, the big bang, the pain. Then nothing. 

“Oh… right…” you murmured. You felt drunk or something. Your head was woozy and topsy-turvy. 

“How long was I out?” you asked curiously.

“4 days,” he answered and you wondered if he’d been here the whole time with how rough he looked. Billy took a large inhale and you watched through hazy eyes as he opened his mouth to say something. But his mouth clamped shut and then the tears began. You’d seen him cry before. The time you broke his heart like a real asshole. But this was something else. This was gut-wrenching sobs that made your eyes widen and you had no idea why he was so upset or how to fix it.

“Billy…?” you questioned softly, reaching out for his hand. He gripped it in a death grip, angrily wiping his eyes with his other hand. He was inhaling air like he couldn't breathe as he tried to calm himself enough to speak.

“You… You died. Flatlined on the scene and once again on the table,” he agonized with a shake of his head. Your brain was too fuzzy to really get the gravity of it.

“This is… it’s all my fault. I did this to you,” he lamented, taking his hand from you as he pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes. You frowned deeply at him, wishing you could sit forward and hug him or something.

“How is this your fault? You didn't shoot me,” you argued. He shook his head with a growl, finally looking at you once more but the look on his face hurt you. He looked like he was in so much pain.

“I wanted to break up with her. I needed to. I was done with her, got what I needed and I didn't want her around. I wanted to talk to you, to see if we could… But we couldn't do anything with her loomin’ over us. So I called it off. But I couldn't tell her the truth, couldn't tell her about her dad or the plan would go to shit,” he started through his tears, a sneer on his face that you thought might be directed at himself. 

“I couldn't tell her the truth about that but I had to tell her somethin’ or she wouldn't drop it. So I told her the other truth,” he sniffled, staring at the wall. He seemed to be slowly calming down with his tears but the emotion in his voice never wavered.

“The other truth?” you asked curiously. He hung his head for a moment, taking a few steadying breaths before his dark and intense eyes pinned you in place.

“I told her I love you. Told her it was always you, that she was just a distraction. But now you were back and I couldn't do it anymore. I told her… I told her that it didn't matter what she said or did because the only one I wanted was you,” he breathed softly. His words had your heart racing and you knew not just because you felt it but because the heart monitor sped up slightly. 

“And then she fuckin’ shot you because of it,” he lamented, running his hands through his hair and tugging on it frustratedly. 

You remembered her words then, the things she’d screamed at you. It made a little more sense, but you hated seeing Billy hating himself like this. He always carried around so much guilt for everything, even things beyond his control.

“That still doesn't make it your fault, Billy. A normal person doesn't go around shooting people, how were you to know what she was going to do? You didn't pull the trigger, she did. That's on her and no one else,” you said firmly. He wiped his eyes quickly again and you knew he wanted to argue your point but he seemed to think better of it. This was what he did. He did the same with Frank. He carried the burden of guilt of the death of Frank’s family no matter how many times Frank would tell him it wasn't on him. He knew better than to talk about his guilt when everyone would tell him it wasn't his fault. So he’d internalize it and suffer silently. You weren't sure what to say now and the atmosphere in the room was heavy. You didn't like it and your head still felt fuzzy. You’d noticed an IV in your arm and you wondered if they’d given you pain meds. 

“Besides, now I have a cool scar to talk about,” you murmured, shooting him a rueful smile as he looked at you incredulously. His shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly at your quip and you hoped he’d stop beating himself up so badly. 

“Oh my god, Y/N,” the voice made your head snap to the door as Karen rushed in like a whirlwind. Billy got up off the bed, moving to sit back in his chair as Karen grabbed you in a hug. You squeaked as she squeezed too hard.

“Careful, babe. She’s been shot, remember?” Frank chuckled from behind her. 

“Oh right, I’m sorry,” she frowned, moving away from you. Frank loitered at the end of your bed and you noticed he was holding a bouquet of flowers. He noticed your curious glance at them and he smiled.

“These are for you,” he said, looking a little out of place as he set them on the overbed table which was at the end of your bed. 

“Thanks,” you smiled softly. 

“How are you feeling?” Karen asked, hovering by the side of your bed like a worried mother.

“Like I was shot in the stomach,” you snorted and she gave you a look.

“Welcome to the club. Now we just need to talk Karen into gettin’ shot and we can all match,” Frank smirked wryly.

“Frank!” Karen chided, a horrified look on her face. Billy’s eyes narrowed to slits at his best friend.

“What?” Frank asked, looking confused as he shrugged. But you snorted, biting your lip as Karen and Billy’s disapproving looks turned to you.

“I don’t think she’s ready for the cool kids club just yet,” you murmured cheekily.

“You two are insufferable,” Karen huffed.

“Hey, if the girl with the gunshot wound to the stomach found it funny, I say I didn't do anything wrong,” Frank smirked. Karen rolled her eyes before turning back to you.

“I’m glad you're awake. We were all really worried for a minute,” she murmured, a haunted look passing on her face. You couldn't imagine how she felt watching you get shot like that.

“Anyway, we’ll leave you two to it,” she added, giving you a smile and a squeeze to your arm. 

“We only just got here,” Frank frowned, sounding confused. Karen shot him a pointed look and you didn't miss how her eyes darted to Billy who was sitting in the chair silently. 

“Right…  we got that… thing we gotta do. Was good seein’ you, Y/N,” Frank smiled with a nod.

“Thanks, guys,” you smiled back, watching as they left again.

The room fell silent once more and you glanced over to Billy. He looked so worn out, like he might just collapse into a heap on the floor at any moment. But then he stood and scooted the chair closer to your bed before sitting back on it with his arms resting on his legs, hands clasped together. He was staring at the floor and you just watched him, unsure what to say.

“Karen said… She said when you got shot… you asked her to tell me you loved me,” he murmured as he brought his eyes to you. You nibbled your lower lip as you remembered. Literally your dying words. You hadn't really thought you’d be sticking around long enough to know what he thought about it.

“Did you mean it?” he asked warily. When you looked back at him, he looked so vulnerable. Not that you could blame him after how you’d hurt him in the past. You had the power to destroy him and it was terrifying. And he knew it too.

“Yeah, I did,” you admitted quietly. He reached for your hand then, taking it in both of his. 

“This… What happened to you… I almost lost you. I did, twice, for a few moments. And I can’t… I can’t lose you. It made me realize how stupid all this is. We love each other and we’re just dancin’ around in circles, making excuses about shit. I’m tired of it. I want you, I want us,” he said earnestly, his eyes gazing at you. His words made a shy smile grace your face as you looked to your joined hands. 

“I know it's scary. I know ‘cause I went through it when I realized I had feelings for you. I freaked out. I got scared ‘cause I knew if I opened up to you I could get hurt,” he murmured.

“You did get hurt,” you pointed out, voice tense as you felt the bitter reminder.

“I got hurt ‘cause you weren't ready. And you can blame yourself for that all you want, but you know now why you reacted that way. It wasn’t your fault. You weren't ready and I scared you off. But you're back now. You're back and you love me, so… Can we do this shit? Can you let me in?” he implored. You could read it all over his face how desperate he was and you knew you kind of dying probably only intensified those feelings. But they’d intensified yours too.

“When I lay bleeding out on the sidewalk, all I could think about was you. How I hadn't told you how I felt. How I’d never get to know how things with us went. And you're right, I am scared, but almost dying really kinda puts things in perspective for you. Because I’m sick of running from something I want. I love you and I know that now. And if you… if you really want this, then I’ll try my best,” you admitted shakily. The idea was terrifying. You’d never had a relationship before and you were having to completely ignore the part of your brain that was screaming at you that you'd get hurt. But you knew as you saw how Billy’s face lit up at your words brighter than the sun that you had no reason to be scared. Not when it was Billy. If you could trust anyone with your heart, it was the man sitting in front of you and you knew he’d keep it safe. It was time for the both of you to let go of your guilt. To let go of your baggage from the past that was weighing you down. It was time the both of you finally got the happily ever after that you deserved. 

[hcrvelles]

hc + the winchesters. brownie points if you talk about how wallace feels about william's loathing for them.

now that's a touchy subject. for a long time after wallace found out john had been the reason bill died, he hated dean and sam. cursed their names under the sun until he was blue in the face. and then . . . he realized that the boys weren't john. they didn't kill his father, john's selfishness and stupidity did. so he forgave them without ever really telling them he even hated them in the first place. no one had to know about it except wallace himself and will who he'd ranted to time and again about it.

then his mother and sister died. and . . . honestly? even now he doesn't hate them, not really. they hadn't been the ones to make ellen and jo do what they did. they chose that for themselves. and as much as wallace wants to blame it on the winchesters because they wouldn't have even been in that situation if it weren't for them . . . he couldn't find it in himself to hate them. if not for anything more than for his mother and sister. especially jo who he knew thought the world of dean.

wallace can't really control how his brother feels about them, even if he's tried to talk to will about it a few times now. telling him that ellen and jo wouldn't want either of them to hate the brothers the way will now does. will's going to feel how he feels about it and wallace wants to support him in that. he doesn't want to make will do anything he doesn't want to do because he knows how well that ends for everyone.

[honeybeewhereartthee]

my dumb ass tried to make an essay for distorted party

1.5k explanation that probably doesn't explain shit for you three

@crispm-75 @valeriele3 @yinenovica

Distorted Party

It Happened After the True Prequel of the Story.

Where Mc Follow Suit Their Destiny, Which Is to Be a Sacrificial Lamb to Return the Destroyed Universe as Well Another Purpose Which Is Connected to The Gallery,

They Choice the Route Where They Are the One Who Parish and Help the Chaos Butterfly to Find Their Happy Ending Out of Selfish Selfless Greed to Do Best for The World, To Follow the Fate That Is Given to Them, and to Make the People They Care About Live for Another Day. Knowing That They Will Be Sad, They Made a Plan Years Before, That Someone Will Wish the Reason of Their Existence Away, Freeing Chaos Butterfly from His Curse and Damn Life, To Find His Own Happy End Even It Mean Being Forgotten and to Cox to Exist.

Instead of an Alternative Future That Have No Possible Ending [ Where Main Story Happened but Koha Never Abandoned His Name]

But Not Knowing That, Their Spell Will Never Work to Another Core Fae—Kohaku. Kohaku Who Remember Everything, Hated and Loath Everything Because of What They Did], Because in The Bitter End. Mc Never Once Let Their Smile Down as They Give Their Farewell to Him, Giving Their Heart to Him, To Confess to Him About Their Passionate Love… Before They Disappear for The World They Love and Thought as A Beautiful Place with The Precious People That Cared for Them.

Out of Emotional Break Down, He Destroyed the Au, Hating The World That Deemed and Decided the Fate of Mc. It Was the People Fault Who Decided That Mc Is to Live as They Wish and They All Forget Them (Blind to See That Mc Made Sure in The End No One Would Remember and Shed Tears for Them) His Anger Almost Destroyed Other Au in The Process but He Was Taken to The Gallery by The Morpho Guardian Who Is Force to Help Him.

He Quickly Agreed to Just See Mc Again. Because of The Process. Kohaku Who Abandoned His Name Become Two. The Other Is Called Bee Who Is Consist of the Dark Fae Side of Him [ In This Slide Show That Its Like Ying and Yang. In Darkness There Is Light, In The Light There Is Darkness] No Name Who Is Consist of Light Side—An Angel, Hated Everything but Mc Yet Willing to Go for The Ordeal. While bee don’t hate the world like no name does, but still would go to a far length for them.

[The Time in Gallery and Crystal Heart Au Is Complicated, It Could Be the Present There and The Past in Crystal Au. Time Could Be Slow and Super-Fast. It’s A Place Not Determined by Time or Space. It Is Not Within Those Two Spectrum.]

After Bee is sent back to the world of fae that is return to the time after MC died ( it seems that there’s an error that occurred in trying to reverse the time before the accident. Its simply impossible to happen.) Bee cant do the task alone and saw aira who seems to be healing by magic even so his a living donut. Thinking of the “memories” as its “aira” “fault” that mc is forgotten he chooses aira to drag him to do the task with him since aira knows more of the history of fae that he does. But to make aira remember, he have to have a core heart. He don’t want to give mc heart but only mc heart is fitted with aira. Maybe because his heart is corrupted with chaos (hence his heart have dark aura in it. But its chaos that is different from mayoi or stigma have, because chaos actually began with no name who created the sequence of event, the third party that was said to give back what was lost to him was aira and the fragment of chaos back in the main story, its one of the processes of no name being able to return as a whole and bee truly disappear as he has almost done his part but since kkoma played a role in this bee wont disappear just like that. Cause we do love so squire harem ahahaha. Fuk)

Btw what bee and aira did is:

Travel to the hundred or so years, it take the same time as they went back. So they went around the time period for a hundred or so years to the time years before mc is born or supposed to be born. Terrorize some fae because they can (they are core fae after all) and when mc is finally born years later, they take them as a new born. Cause why not, its normal for fairy to kidnap children after all(base in our real life lure). So no judging there. They take care of mc and learn how to improve their core magic as the process of birth of mc cause an uproar and war against the two type of fae.

[ note: when they finally did control the fae (before mc was born) bee already have borrowed the power of blood mad hatter or helter spider form of his. Which is max out. (it means complete understanding of the ability) being able to summon the madness mansion is one deal, the other is creating the puppet of the 4 spiders is another. In often times. Blood would chat to him, warning him about his being a vessel but indirectly. And how his just being controlled by someone (no name) and unlike blood he can do something about it. But Bee even with conscious mind still did what he needed to do, not because he cant refuse because in “his memories” his love for mc is true and he will change their fate no matter what]

Before the fae upraise against the two, the three did live a normal lives in the mansion. Making sure mc have a nice childhood and family. But they never really called mc by the name mc but rather the nickname they have for them. “omae” and “my flower”

When they engage in war, it's actually really bad because even if they did learn some stuff about being core. One never knows magic since birth, the other is not born a core fea. And they are outnumbered. The only time they manage to turn the table down is when they use the two-core crystals to recreate the domain of vermillion castle from twisted wonderland which is a very good defense and can eliminate enemies in large areas.

It's larger than madness mansion through, it's an ODD thing to use madness mansion's ability to shift its form to change it to another fortress in the same au with no help of the leader of the suit or card (hiiro) or the emperor of Vermillion (eichi) [it is possible but they doubt and fear that mc crystal heart will break in the process]

Aira use a area based spell which is vermillion and able to kill all the fae, those fae that become fertilizer for the last part of their goal—to put mc to a long sleep with the help of the noir flowers and protect mc for many years while they sleep.

When the war is finally over, the time for those two slowly run out, but they transform the fortress of Vermillion into the forest that was known to the present day where no one can enter and where the core fae slumber for a very long time.

Little bun Mc is still a core fae. They can snoop around the future at this point. They know about no name plan and don’t do anything about it. But really sad about the bee part. So that’s why they’ll do something about it. They actually know about morpho plan of love triangle.  They only agreed on cause it mean Ai won't be died in mysterious reasons because of certain someone and they value and cared for ai no less than they did for kohaku.

Ai left first with a promise that he will become their prince charming which will wake them up from slumber and the three of them will be together again before his current form turn into flowers. And wake up In [ prequel with the memories of the end that mc made in the secret chapter]

Mc turns bee into a cute little bun like them so it wont be an awkward thing. Before long they fall asleep and bee hugs them till the very end, before they too become flowers of noir that made sure to protect them from anyone in the very end till aira will come one day to wake them up.

NOTE REFERENCE:

CORE MAGIC CAN ONLY BE COUNTERED BY ANOTHER CORE. THAT’S WHY MC CANT TRULY DESTROY CHAOS EVEN IF THEY WANTED IT. BECAUSE CHAOS IS MADE BY ANOTHER CORE WHICH IS KOHAKU. BESIDES THE PART THEY DON’T REALLY WANT TO GO AGAINST THEIR “LIFE PURPOSE”

AND IF MC LIFE IS MEANT FOR THE END.

KOHAKU MADE AN END FOR THEM, SO THEY ARE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER <3

2. vermillion evolve to be noir flowers btw. So wishing flowers is the final form of vermillion in the chau.

3. the au that no name saw is pink kkoma btw. and its a scene before mc in the far future lovingly kidnaps adopted morpho little brother when his eyes is turn for a moment. <3 and blob is found by Reaper based on pink kkoma. so his totally fine <3<3<3