#it consumes every waking moment of my existence

[astrobei]

listen.

[adreamfromnevermore]

Ok ok, but hear me out on a Superbat AU

Clark is 14 when Luthor learns the truth about his origin. He goes missing 3 days after school finishes for the summer. His parents search for him relentlessly, for years they beg for the return of their son. But despite the search parties and the press conferences no one comes forward and Clark is never found. A missing persons case that haunts Smallville for the years to come.

On the eve of Clark's 18th birthday Superman appears. Hovering over Metropolis in a pitch black uniform. Martha recognizes her son instantly, and watches in horror as he sweeps through the streets with a single minded focus. He returns to Lexcorp with a thief clutched in one hand and the same eerily blank face he'd had in every clip that had been captured of him.

Luthor heralded him as a superhero, thanked him publicly for returning the thief to Lexcorp to be prosecuted. No one notices when the thief disappears, and though they ask where the Superman goes when he isn't hanging in the sky above Metropolis there is no one who seems to have an answer.

Lexcorp tells the world that they should trust this being that has come to help. That he has shown only kindness towards them. That if he goes after someone, it is only because they must have done something terrible to deserve it.

In Metropolis Superman haunts the golden city, hangs in the air high above them and listens to Luthors orders in his ears. He has never wanted to hurt someone, but he has no choice. He is Luthor's favorite weapon, this he knows. And if he strays, Luthor will know.

Across the bay a Court stirs, they have always worked from the shadows. Hidden in Gothams walls and with their hands in every one of Gothams pots. Metropolis has a hero hanging high above their head, but the Court has done business with the man who pulls it's strings and they believe this is something they can work together on.

So the Court calls for a meeting and they plot their own path.

3 months after Superman debuts the Voice of the Court meets with Lex Luthor and offers a deal.

A decade before Superman debuts the Waynes die, their son is never found. It is a tragedy that haunts Gotham for a decade. It is a warning. The Wayne family has long stood apart from the Court, but Thomas and Martha got in the way. Thomas and Martha hampered the Court's goals, and so they had to go. Their son was a warning.

And now, their son is the warning.

The Talon stalking from shadowed perch. The greatest the Court has ever produced. And so they send their greatest weapon alongside the Voice of the Court and a deal is struck.

Superman meets a Talon. They see another made a weapon, and they begin to wonder.

Must they always be weapons?

[thezutarchive]

I still haven’t gotten around to watching NATLA yet rip my fandom cred

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲

yandere!nanami x reader

tags: yandere – extreme possessive and obsessive behaviour, like extreme, cage, angst no comfort, twisted love notes: request by: @superslutny wc: 1.8k

Nanami sat in his dimly lit apartment, his eyes fixed on the clock ticking away on the wall. Each second felt like an eternity, his mind consumed by thoughts of you. You, his everything, the light that brightened his otherwise dull existence. You were his girlfriend, his confidante, his reason for waking up every morning. But lately, something gnawed at Nanami, something dark and relentless.

Jealousy had always been a shadow lurking in the corners of his mind, but recently it had grown into a raging storm, consuming his every thought. He tried to control it, tried to push it down deep inside, but it clawed its way back, stronger and more insistent than before.

You were the only good thing in Nanami's life, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you. You were beautiful, kind, and fiercely independent. But to Nanami, you were also a prize to be protected at all costs, a possession that he couldn't bear to share with the world.

He would watch you closely, his eyes following your every move, his heart racing with fear at the mere thought of someone else stealing you away. He knew it was irrational, he knew he was being unfair to you, but he couldn't help it. The jealousy consumed him, twisted his thoughts into dark, irrational patterns.

He tried to control it, tried to be the loving boyfriend he knew you deserved, but his efforts were futile. He couldn't help but question your every move, interrogate you about your whereabouts, and demand constant reassurance of your love and fidelity.

You tried to understand, tried to be patient with Nanami, but the constant scrutiny and possessiveness began to wear you down. You felt suffocated, trapped in a relationship that was becoming more suffocating by the day.

One evening, after yet another explosive argument fueled by Nanami’s jealousy, you couldn't take it anymore. With tears in your eyes, you packed your bags and tried to walk out the door.

Nanami couldn’t let you leave.

As you packed your bags, Nanami's anxiety and possessiveness intensified. He couldn't fathom a life without you, couldn't imagine facing the world alone. With each item you placed in your suitcase, his desperation grew, a knot tightening in his chest.

"Please, my love," Nanami pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion. "Don't go. I need you. You're everything to me."

You paused, your eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. You knew Nanami loved you deeply, but his jealousy was suffocating you. You longed for space, for freedom from his constant scrutiny and control.

"Kento," you said softly, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder. "I need some time to think. I'll stay tonight, but tomorrow I have to go."

Nanami nodded, his heart sinking with resignation. He knew he couldn't force you to stay, but the thought of you leaving tore him apart inside. He resolved to make the most of your remaining time together, to show you just how much you meant to him.

But as the night wore on, Nanami’s jealousy bubbled to the surface once again. He couldn't shake the feeling that you were slipping away from him, that you were already planning your escape. Every innocent glance at your phone, every moment of silence between you, fueled his paranoia. He can’t let you leave, he won’t let you.

Despite the darkness that now enveloped Nanami's mind, there were moments of light, memories that shone like beacons in the fog of his obsession.

He remembered the first time you met, your eyes locking across a crowded room, a spark igniting between you that would soon blossom into love. He remembered your laughter, the sound of your infectious giggles echoing through the air as you shared inside jokes and silly stories.

He remembered your late-night conversations, the deep, meaningful talks that lasted until the early hours of the morning. You bared your souls to each other, sharing hopes, fears, and dreams with a level of intimacy that Nanami had never known before.

He remembered your walks in the park, hand in hand, the world fading away as you lost yourselves in each other's presence. The warmth of the sun on your faces, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze—it was in these moments that Nanami felt truly alive, truly loved.

And above all, he remembered the way you looked at him, your eyes filled with a love so pure and unconditional that it took his breath away. In your arms, he found solace from the demons that haunted him, a sense of peace that he had never known before.

Tears welled up in Nanami's eyes as he reached out to you, his fingers brushing against your sleeping form. "I'm sorry, my love," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you more than anything in this world. Please forgive me."

As you slept peacefully beside him, Nanami's mind churned with a plan born from his darkest impulses. With each breath you took, he felt the weight of his possessiveness pressing down on him, suffocating him with the fear of losing you.

Quietly, Nanami slipped out of bed, his movements deliberate and stealthy. He moved through the apartment like a shadow, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread. In the corner of the room, hidden from sight, stood the cage he had meticulously prepared for this moment.

With trembling hands, Nanami approached the cage and swung open the door, the metal hinges creaking softly in the stillness of the night. He returned to the bed where you lay, your form bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, and gently lifted your sleeping body into his arms.

With great care, Nanami carried you to the cage and laid you down inside, your limbs falling limply against the cold metal bars. He fastened the lock with shaking hands, the sound echoing through the room like a final, ominous chord.

The cage stood as a looming testament to Nanami's descent into madness, yet within its confines lay a paradoxical blend of memories and attempts at comfort. 

Constructed from sturdy steel bars, it was large enough for you to move around, to stretch your limbs and turn, yet small enough to serve its purpose—to confine you to Nanami's world, to keep you close at all costs. 

Despite its stark appearance, the cage was not devoid of warmth. Nanami had adorned its interior with small touches meant to evoke the memories you had shared together. A soft blanket, the one you had cuddled under on countless nights, draped over a corner. A stack of books you had read together rested nearby, their pages worn and dog-eared from hours of shared exploration. 

In one corner, Nanami had placed a small photo album, filled with snapshots of your happiest moments—smiling faces, stolen kisses, and adventures captured in frozen time. It was a reminder of the love you had once shared, a testament to the bond that had brought you together.

Despite his actions, Nanami had tried to make the cage as bearable as possible for you. He had stocked it with food and water, enough to sustain you until he could find a way to make things right. He had even left a note, a heartfelt apology penned in shaky handwriting, expressing his love and regret for what he had done.

But no amount of comfort could mask the reality of your captivity, the suffocating weight of Nanami's possessiveness bearing down on you with each passing moment. 

As you began to stir, Nanami stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched with a mixture of dread and fascination as you slowly woke, confusion clouding your eyes as you realized your predicament.

"What... what's going on?" your voice was barely a whisper, filled with equal parts fear and disbelief.

Nanami approached the cage, his eyes filled with desperation as he tried to explain himself. "I'm sorry, love," he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. I had to do something to keep you with me, to make sure you never leave."

Your eyes widened in horror as the truth of Nanami's actions sank in. You rattled the bars of the cage, your voice rising to a panicked scream as you begged him to let you out.

But Nanmi was lost to his own madness, consumed by his obsessive need to possess you. He watched you from the other side of the cage, his heart torn between love and despair as he realized the depth of his own depravity.

He paced back and forth in front of the cage, his emotions a tempest raging within him. His eyes bore into you, filled with a mixture of desperation and love, as he began to rant, the words pouring out of him like a torrential downpour.

"I love you, darling. God, I love you more than anything in this world," he began, his voice trembling with raw emotion. "I would do anything for you, anything to keep you safe, to protect you from the dangers of this world."

He paused, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions, before continuing with increasing fervor. "I can't stand the thought of you out there, exposed and vulnerable, surrounded by people who don't understand you like I do. People who don't appreciate you, who don't see you for the incredible person that you are."

Nanami's voice rose to a crescendo as he spoke, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I just want to keep you close, my love. To shelter you from the storms that rage outside these walls, to shield you from the pain and heartache that the world can inflict. Can't you see that everything I've done, everything I've built, it's all for you? Because I love you. Because I need you."

Tears welled up in Nanami's eyes as he spoke, his voice cracking with emotion. "I know I've made mistakes, darling. I know I've hurt you, and I'm sorry. But please, please don't leave me. Don't abandon me to face this world alone. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't survive without you."

He fell silent then, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. He watched you through tear-blurred eyes, his heart laid bare before you, praying with every fiber of his being that you would understand, that you would forgive him, that you would stay.

“This is insane, Kento! This isn’t love!”

And as your cries echoed through the empty apartment, Nanami knew that he had crossed a line from which there could be no return. In locking you away, he had lost not only your love, but his own soul as well.

"I can’t cage my jealousy so I’ll have to just cage you."

[euphoricfilter]

the silent ‘i love you’

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || non-idol au

summary: sometimes you don’t need words

word count: 1.1k

tags/ warnings: fluff!!!! just very soft and nice and easy to read for tonight. intensional lowercase. sort of sleepy thoughts about love <3

where you can find my other works :D

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

some days jungkook simply felt like those three words weren’t enough. that the warm glow of his fragile soul couldn’t scream loud enough for your own precious existence to know how much he truly loved you.

that the whispered words of love as the both of you woke, or a gentle kiss before you both slept and met in your dreams— it simply was only the surface of how he felt. that the silent ‘i love you’ the both of you shared each day was somehow louder than the words themselves.

tender souls touching in a whimsical dance between your existence.

tangled so tight, unmoving, seeping out of you with that fluttery sort of love.

the kind of love that pulls a smile onto your lips at the mere thought of them. gentle touch enough to have your skin alight. obsessive, itching greed consuming every fibre of your being, needing them closer than humanly possible. bodies pressed together and heart beats in sync, tied together by a string of fate and life times you shared before this one.

and some days neither of you had to say ‘i love you’ but that didn’t mean the love wasn’t there. that either of you loved the other any less than you had the day before. or more than you would tomorrow. because it was ever-growing. blooming in both your chests, a flower that would live through all of eternity.

it would be him waking before you, purple and blue toothbrushes sat beside one another in the cup on the sink. or how on some days he’d pick your shower gel over his own. for no other particular reason that he loved everything about your existence, that he felt that little bit closer to you in the hours you had to part.

or remembering to tuck one of your hairties in one of his pockets, just in case.

the same hair tie you’ll find in the washing machine days later, smile tugging at your lips. because as much as you remind him to take everything out his pockets before putting them into the washing machine, there were things you could never get mad over. not when he thinks of you, even when you’re not there. a silent show of care that you never bring up because that was his secret to keep, dissolved into the back of your mind for safe keeping.

he likes to hold your hand as you cross the road, fingers interlaced. because he knows sometimes you get too caught up in your own head, unaware of the wider world around you. so he keeps you glued to the pavement before tugging you across the road. fingers squeezing yours when he knows the both of you are back to safety and you’ll let him pull you around, blind trust in him to take you where you need to go

you like picking him up from work, sat outside on a bench with a box of treats for the walk home. and he would indulge you, even if he had the car parked a block away. not caring if it would mean he had to walk the next morning. because he would never abandon those gentle moments with you, shoulders knocking as you kiss sweet cream from his lips, desperate to hear about his day just as much as you want to share yours

you liked to say ‘i love you’ through the stars. tugging him to the roof of the apartment building, legs tangled as you lay on a blanket.

you both look up at the sky.

so many questions slipping off your tongue. where you talk of fate and destiny and how you loved to believe that two souls so intricately intertwined like your own was probably crafted by something as beautiful as the stars, or another celestial being that just knew what the future held. speckles of fine stardust crafted and moulded, so, when you found a mortal body there would be no doubt he was the one for you, just as you were the one for him.

he likes sending you photos of cats. adopting the habit of carrying a small bag of treats around with him; though neither of you have a pet.

he remembers the frown that would tug on your face each time you’d come across a stray. and he’d stand there for as long as you like as your fingers pet over fluffy heads and behind furry ears. another silent vow of love to a lonely creature.

you liked to pack him lunches, hours spent in the kitchen of a nighttime experimenting, because you never wanted him to have a dull meal. and he’d sit there at the table, reading as a piano piece plays over your phone. not a word spoken between the both of you, and some nights you scuttle his way with a fork-full of something for him to try.

there was love in the tv shows you watched together, the music you shared, the space you both lived in. the closet was a muddle of clothes and accessories that he liked to steal from you just like you steal from him. racks of both your shoes line the entry way of the apartment, collection of mugs a sudden birthday tradition that will go on for as long as you’re alive.

you lived in his mind like you lived in the plants around the house. or the posters you’d put on the walls. and he lived in your mind with gaming consoles and photos of you hung up that he had taken, loved and forever cherished; thriving in the memory of you and how much he loved you then and how much he loves you now.

jungkook had tried to find a better word.

hours spent laying in bed, with your head on his chest, moon spilling into the room as he mulls over the thought of you.

how he likes how warm you are, how he likes sharing this space with you. that he’s glad he’s found you, grateful that you exist within the same time line as him.

your silly little stories of a wonderful sweet sort of love filling his own mind— because maybe you really were crafted for one another. and even if he forgets three simple words, the both of you know love lives within the sphere of your existence.

because maybe that’s what the both of you are when you’re together. maybe even in those moments you’re apart. perhaps you’re the epitome of the word love and that’s why all the silent ‘i love yous’ equal more than words ever will

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ʙ ʀ ᴏ ᴋ ᴇ ɴ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere Anakin Skywalker x Fem Reader

Headcanon: What if his darling die?

Notes: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

When you die, Anakin doesn’t simply lose you—he loses himself. The moment your life slips away, the galaxy itself seems to go silent, as if mourning alongside him. Everything he fought for, everything he dreamed of, collapses into ash. You were his light in the darkness, his anchor, and now, with you gone, there is nothing left but chaos.

Your death is something Anakin refuses to accept at first. His hands shake as he cradles your lifeless body, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he whispers your name over and over, as though the sound alone could bring you back.

“No,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as he presses his forehead to yours. “This isn’t real. It can’t be real. Wake up. Please, wake up!”

When the truth sets in, it’s like a physical blow. A scream tears from his throat—a raw, animalistic sound that echoes through the air. It’s a sound born of pure anguish, a howl that could shatter stars.

Anakin doesn’t let go of your body for hours—perhaps days. He refuses to leave you, refusing to let the reality of your absence settle in. He strokes your hair, brushes his lips against your forehead, and whispers promises he knows you can’t hear.

“I’ll fix this,” he vows, his voice trembling with desperation. “I’ll find a way. You’re not gone. You can’t be gone.”

His mind immediately turns to the Force, to the possibility of reversing death itself. He becomes consumed by the idea of bringing you back, no matter what it costs him. Memories of Palpatine’s whispers, of the Sith’s promises of power over life and death, resurface in his mind like a venomous snake.

Without you, the darkness within Anakin flourishes. He doesn’t care about right or wrong anymore—he only cares about you. The galaxy could burn to ashes, and he wouldn’t bat an eye if it meant holding you in his arms again.

He delves into forbidden knowledge, seeking answers that others fear to even contemplate. He becomes obsessed, pouring over ancient Sith holocrons, experimenting with powers that twist the Force into something unnatural. He’s willing to sacrifice anything—anyone—to bring you back. His moral compass shatters entirely, and those who stand in his way are met with unrelenting fury.

“Don’t lecture me about the Force,” he snarls at anyone who dares to question him. “If the Force won’t save her, then I’ll tear it apart and make it obey me.”

Anakin isolates himself completely. He pushes away everyone who once cared for him—Obi-Wan, Padmé, Ahsoka—because they don’t understand. They can’t understand. They call him insane, accuse him of losing his way, but he doesn’t care. To him, they’re all hypocrites who speak of compassion yet refuse to help him bring back the person who mattered most.

His obsession with you consumes every waking moment. He surrounds himself with reminders of you—your favorite things, holos of your smile, even the scent of your perfume lingering on your clothes. He talks to these remnants as if you’re still there, as if you’ll answer him any second now.

“I’m doing this for you,” he whispers into the void, his fingers brushing over a holo of you. “I’ll make it right. I’ll make you proud.”

If Anakin’s attempts to bring you back ultimately fail, he becomes a broken shell of himself. His once vibrant blue eyes grow dull, and every ounce of warmth and humanity he had left is snuffed out.

Your death becomes his defining moment—the catalyst that fully pushes him into the abyss. His grief morphs into rage, directed at the galaxy, the Force, and even himself. He blames everyone and everything for your loss, but deep down, he blames himself most of all.

He becomes more machine than man, emotionally and spiritually. The Anakin Skywalker you loved ceases to exist, replaced by a figure of cold, unyielding wrath. The only thing that keeps him moving is the memory of you—a haunting, bittersweet echo that never leaves his mind.

If, by some dark miracle, Anakin succeeds in bringing you back, it doesn’t end the way he imagines. Perhaps you return incomplete—your memories fragmented, your soul scarred. Or perhaps you fear him, seeing the monster he’s become in his efforts to defy nature itself.

Even then, he refuses to let you go. He clings to you, no matter what, convinced that this twisted reunion is better than losing you forever. “I did this for us,” he says, his voice trembling with both pride and desperation. “You’re back where you belong—where I need you.”

But even with you by his side, the shadow of what he did to bring you back hangs over him. It’s a hollow victory, one that will never truly heal the wound your death left behind.

Anakin is a man defined by love, and your death strips him of that love in the cruelest way imaginable. Whether it leads him to madness, darkness, or destruction, one thing is certain: he will never be the same. Your absence leaves a void so deep that not even the Force can fill it.

In the end, Anakin’s obsession with you becomes both his greatest strength and his ultimate downfall—a tragic testament to the love he couldn’t bear to lose.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[meowzfordayz]

i belong to you

Author’s Note: short ‘n’ fluffy (w/ a hint of bittersweet 😅). 🥰

i belong to you

Hashira x Reader, Iguro Obanai x Reader, Tokito Muichiro x Reader

Word Count: ~1,800

CW: death content, Fem!Reader, mild sexual content

Song Inspo: I Belong to You by Jacob Lee

~faqs~

They’re all here for us, and I feel their aura, but just for a moment, I’ll pretend it’s just you

He’d never thought of himself as the marrying type, and yet, standing before you, he suddenly couldn’t imagine himself any other way. But truly, it wasn’t even sudden, this slow burning, building, consuming love for the feeling of your hand in his. It was inevitable, the revelation of his heart to yours, just as you gradually unveiled your own for his.

“In this existence of hardship and darkness, I can somehow wake every morning to an absolute truth: that you are beside me, and together, we will overcome anything.”

Perhaps this is a tall promise when every morning brings a different absolute truth as well — that death will come. Some day, somewhere, and likely all too soon. But it’s a promise worth fighting for. This much he knows in his chest as he feels your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing gently as if to promise in return Yes, yes we will.

As Gyomei kisses you, soft and certain, he swears that the world falls to pieces leaving only your body pressed into his, an achingly sweet melody ringing in his ears. And when you whisper I love you, he’s confident that you hear it too.

And I will wait to hear you say, as a tear rolls down your face, I belong to you

“Darling,” she whispers, a steady thumb reaching out to smooth your teardrop into your skin, “Are you okay?”

You nod once, a drowsy smile crinkling the corners of your eyes as more tears escape, tongue heavy in your mouth as she continues wiping your cheeks, her brow furrowed with an adoration that’s always been impossible to resist.

“I’m amazing,” you rasp, catching her hand and cradling it to your chest, ears warming as she kneads her fingertips into your sternum, “I belong to you.”

Mitsuri’s nose scrunches, worried expression soon replaced by a beaming grin, the sweetest of giggles filling the room as she maneuvers herself on top of you, hovering with her palms planted on either side of you while her breasts rest plush against your own.

“I am so in love with you,” she gushes, “With my wife.”

Her lips touch your forehead then your chin, careful fingers tilting your head left and then right to kiss your earlobes, goosebumps raising along your forearms and spine.

“We’re married,” you gasp, stopping her ministrations with a gentle squeeze to her hips, “I get to love you for the rest of our lives.”

Shining eyes meet shining eyes as she lets out a happy sob, bodies intertwined as you settle into the perfect quiet of forever.

Tomorrow I’ll open my eyes, and I will whisper to my wife, I belong to you

Loving you hadn’t come easy, but it hadn’t come especially hard either. For all the anger and regret of her past, you had reminded Shinobu that the present and future persisted, irregardless of her willingness to live in or for them. Perhaps this is why she yelled at you so many months ago, and perhaps this is also why she’d cried. You’d accepted her emotion so simply and resolutely, welcoming her frustration and grief with open arms instead of the very spite and scorn she’d always reserved for herself. And she’d heard herself, for the first time in too long of a time, say I’m sorry. Those two words muffled in the armpit of your haori, her face buried in your embrace, had made your devotion clear as day — a devotion she’d found herself happy and happier to reciprocate.

“Good morning,” she murmurs, airy voice tinged with a solemn adoration discernible only to you.

“Mmm,” you mumble, yawning widely as you burrow yourself deeper into her chest, “Hi.”

“Would you like to know something?” she asks, warming her cheek on the top of your sunkissed head.

“Definitely,” you mumble, limbs clinging drowsily to her small frame, “I enjoy knowing things.”

She slips a cool finger beneath your chin, raising your sleepy gaze to meet her determined stare, mouth soft and decisive when she kisses you. You sigh sweetly into her affection, her smile familiar yet delicate against your own, trying her best to tell you I belong to you. 

I know they see us but they don’t stand a chance, I have kissed those lips a thousand times before this

The first time he kisses you, you think he’s dying. Of course, all paths lead to death, and being a Hashira tends to make this path even shorter, but expected pain is pain nonetheless. You cradle his head in your lap, his hair sticky with blood, his strength overwhelming you Kyojuro-san, stop moving! despite his wounds as he cranes upward to touch his mouth to yours. Tasting of sweat and ashes, your tears cleanse his cheeks and chest, a silly little grin brightening his face while grief and longing sit deep into your stomach.

The second time he kisses you, you’re pissed he’s alive. Well, not that he’s alive, but that he took so long to tell you. Maybe that isn’t fair of you considering he’s just woken from a coma, and maybe that isn’t fair of you considering he limped literal miles to locate you, and maybe that isn’t fair of you considering you were his sole thought and concern as soon as he regained enough consciousness to process that he was, in fact, conscious. But the brittle dread of He’s unlikely to make it has haunted you for months, and-

“Hey,” he rasps, cupping your jaw with a shy tenderness, “No need to ruminate, I am still here.”

Your gaze flits left and right, blurred as you avoid focusing on the steadfast devotion in his eyes, lips tingling from the surety of his kiss.

“I can see that,” you state dryly, your shaky inhale dissolving into a disbelieving sob, his arms atrophied yet certain as they wrap around you, his weight leaning shaky and perfectly against you.

The third time he kisses you, the fourth, and fifth — they are as precious and known, new and familiar, as the very first time.

And when he kisses you for the nth time, when he kisses you as your newly wedded husband, you realize you have already lived a thousand best moments of your life, and that a thousand and more await you.

If I could be honest, here at the altar, I refuse to grow older unless it’s with you

Age has always been a distant thing to Sanemi. He isn’t oblivious to it — the passing of snow into buds, to blossoms and then to the falling of leaves. But it’s a torturous thing to acknowledge. To remember how many more years he’s gotten to live than his mother. His five siblings. Colleagues and strangers alike. He feels as old as he is still young, steeped in death and dishevelment, sticky with yearning and fear, a projection of surety and arrogance fooling even himself. Strong and foolhardy, the clock ticks as he loses a piece of himself, another piece, another and another, to the illusion of living. And then you come slicing into his horizon.

Everything about you is almost polished. Your form, your strength, your five senses, flexibility and endurance… and somehow, he can’t find it in himself to loath you for being less than. Because you are more. You are more than the endless repetitions completed silently before him; you are more than the scrapes and bruises, stubborn retorts and near misses. You are the plate of ohagi left on his doorstep after a particularly harsh exchange of words. He knows he struck first, and yet, you open yourself to forgiveness. You are the letter received when he’s gone on an especially grueling mission. There’s not much to say, but your consideration of him makes him hesitate. You are the sight for sore eyes when he finally realizes, a year and some months into pondering your existence practically every day, that he wants you to be close. Closer. As close as you’re willing to be.

And if close means noticing when your face begins to wrinkle, your hair starts to grey, and your body learns what it is to ache, then he’s ready to remember. To reclaim. The pieces of himself he’d surrendered to time and space; he wants them back as much as he wants you.  All you ask of him is his whole self, and if he is to grant your wish, then he must acknowledge a simple truth: growing old need not be a curse any longer when it could instead be a gift to share with you.

“You’re crying,” you giggle, tears of your own dripping down your cheeks.

“Of course I’m crying,” he scoffs, faint grin softening the edge in his tone, “I get to marry you.”

Yes they can see us but only at a glance, only you know the man that I am beyond the surface

Marriage is hard. Learning someone inside and out is hard. Choosing that same someone day after day is hard. Growing and relapsing, nurturing and surrendering, saying Yes, and. A lifelong commitment of love is hard. And, honestly, Giyuu didn’t think he’d ever get there. He didn’t think he’d be waking up most mornings with your nose nestled in his chest or his arm, your leg stuck between his. He didn’t think he’d be murmuring I love you, a cold and desperate determination I will come home to you flooding his lungs as you do your best to stand strong when he waves. When he leaves. Knowing without a doubt that you’d crumpled as soon as he disappeared from view. He didn’t think he’d be returning to the softest, the greediest, the fondest and proudest, kisses. Kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, ears and chin. Kisses on his lips. Your hands checking his limbs while you listen to his breath; your eyes glistening as he whispers over and over I missed you, I love you, I missed you, I love you. He didn’t think he’d be this intimate, this familiar, this devastatingly and perfectly close to anyone. To you. And yet, here he is.

“Giyuu?”

“My love?”

“I love when you call me that.”

“I know.”

You blush, “Oh,” promptly hiding your face in his armpit.

“And I love getting to love you. I love that you are my love.”

[mariahcarreyyy]

Hi!!! I absolutely adore your writing!!! Could I please request prompt number 8 from the angst dialogue list for Charles Leclerc? Thank you!!!

# prompt no.8, "what do you want from me? to throw away all i've worked for?" // "all i'm asking for is your time."

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

Change was something you did not lightly graze over or dismiss with a nonchalant wave of your hand. It slowly seeped inside the cracks of your monaco apartment walls, finding solace in your discomfort. But once even a portion of it was there, there was no denying its presence.

Not when the dent of Charles' curves is no longer easy to trace; yours was everpresent, wallowing and growing familiar with the ache in your bones every time you'd wake up to an cold, empty bed.

Not when, despite being allocated time off from work, Charles had let his job consume him. Nipping at his heart and head, wrapped in a frantic worry of not living up to his potential. Lately, it was as if it held greater priority than the peace you'd once been able to bring him.

He's slouched on his chair, fingers tightly wrapped around the wheel of the simulator; his movements are jerky yet cautious, risky, yet he is all but willing. Standing at the burgundy doorframe, you felt like you'd regressed to the age of a toddler—thrashing in your father's hold, begging for an ounce of attention, of care.

"Charles?"

The word drifts away, following the breeze of the opened window, swirling in the starry night sky. He does not answer. That's fine, nothing new. Your lips part to the shape of his name again, timid and picking dutifully at your fingertips. An exhasperated huff escapes his mouth, latching on to the side of his headphones and not-so-lightly placing them on the table.

With gritted teeth and a slight crane to his neck, barely allowing you to enter his peripheral vision, he mutters, "Yes, y/n?"

"Dinner's ready," you house your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting patiently for the dismissive 'not hungry right now' that would roll off his tongue in mere moments.

And Charles does not fail you or your expectations. He motions a hand to his simulator, sending you a pitiful excuse of a sorry smile that makes your palms furl into fists.

"Charles, I said—"

"I know what you said, mon amour," he sighs, and the pet name feels foreign on his tongue and bitter to your ears. "'Can't leave the sim."

Any shame you have left dwindles next to your bruised ego and non-existent dignity.

"One dinner, Charles, 'won't even take twenty minutes out of your day." Your voice is small, directed towards the back of his head, satisfaction pricking at your heart when his hands freeze, sending him crashing through the virtual track.

Desperate, do you even care anymore?

Abruptly, he stands up, arms extended on the table, to steady himself. The shift in atmosphere made you gnaw at your lip harder, and the metallic crimson made you wince. Your feet are glued to the floor.

Charles turns, standing up right to face you. He looks normal, you realize. You've been trying to figure out how to breathewithout him near you, and he looks normal.

"What do you want from me? To throw away all I've worked for?" He raises a predatory brow, malice dripping from his tongue. "Eat, y/n. I'll probably order something later, but I'm not wasting my time with—with."

He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

With you, is left unspoken.

"All I'm asking for is your time." You meet his hard stare and refrain from cowering at the sight. "But it's obvious you don't give a fuck to at least give me that."

You don't run, but you'd never walked so frantically out of a room before. A small part of you is waiting for Charles to scurry behind you, shouting a 'wait! wait, y/n!'. Which would probably not grant him immediate forgiveness but perhaps warm the shivers coursing through your body.

He doesn't.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Only you

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female) Authors note: so you filthy heathens - you all voted for the sihtric x wife!reader pwp - so here it is. I had it already half written for my fictober before life got nasty and threw me out of tracks. In my mind it's S3 Sihtric and wife having missed each other after a long time apart but you can imagine him however you want as there are actually no direct references to any time period and no plot either just pure smut. Sorry, not sorry. Warnings: pure SMUT 18+ Word Count: 2,6K Summary: plot? never heard of it. Sihtric and wife!reader just can't get enough of each other, breeding kink to some extent, pwp

Please remember that comments and reblogs are two things that make writers smile and keep us motivated.

Sihtric runs his hands from your ass up to your bare hips, squeezing them. His large, calloused palms grip your hips with a bruising intensity, his tattooed fingers digging deep into your flesh, leaving red marks in their wake as he guides your movements. His eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide as his ragged breaths escape him—he’s completely consumed by the sight of you, as though nothing in this world could ever be enough to quench his hunger. He loves to watch you riding him.

With your palms pressed against the solid plane of his chest, you bounce rhythmically on his cock, each movement sending ripples of pleasure through his body. Your hair falls in wild strands across your face, half-lidded eyes glazed with desire, lips parted with breathless moans as your breasts bounce before his eyes. 

You are so beautiful. Sometimes he still can’t really fathom that you are his. His wife, his woman, his anchor in the chaos, his everything. The pleasure you are giving him right now is beyond anything he could ever express. He moans loudly. “Yes, baby… just like that,” he groans, his voice rough and strained with pleasure. 

You lean forward, bracing yourself against his shoulders, your lips finding the tender curve of his neck. You suck lightly on his skin, drawing a shudder from him that makes his hands falter for a moment.

“Sihtric,” you murmur, the sound of it sending a thrill down his spine. His response is immediate—his hips buck upward, driving him deeper into you, and the gasp that escapes your mouth has him smirking faintly through the haze of pleasure.

“You feel so good,” he growls, his eyes locking onto yours. There’s fire in them, a hunger that only you can sate. “So perfect. Mine.”

The words send a rush of heat through you, and you can only nod, too lost in the sensations to form coherent words.

His thoughts are a blur, his mind consumed entirely by you. In this moment, nothing else exists—no worries, no duties, no other needs. There is only you, riding him with the ferocity of a valkyrie, stealing the air from his lungs and wrenching broken moans from his lips.

“By Freya, you’re driving me mad,” he growls, his voice rough and frayed, heavy with the strain of holding himself together as your walls clench tightly around him, drawing him in deeper with every roll of your hips.

His mismatched eyes trail downward, fixating on the place where your bodies are joined. He watches how you move on top of him, the rhythmic sway of your hips, the way his cock disappears into your slick heat as you take him in over and over again, your arousal coating his length – the sight alone threatens to unravel him. 

“Gods…” he rasps, his breath hitching, the hunger in his gaze unrestrained. “Keep going,” he murmurs hoarsely, his eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to watch your every movement. “You’re perfect—so perfect.”

The feeling of your tight walls squeezing around his cock draws another ragged moan from his throat, his hands tightening their grip on your hips. You feel like you were made for him, your body crafted to take him, to hold him, to pull him deeper into your molten heat.

He’s close—so agonisingly close—but he fights against the urge. For months, every lonely night away from you had been a torment. Following Uhtred from battle to battle, he had fallen asleep with your image burned behind his closed eyes, your name a silent prayer on his lips, his hand seeking a pale imitation of the release only you could give.

And now, with you finally here, your body wrapped so tightly around him, he aches to make this moment last forever. He wants to memorise every gasp, every shiver, every whispered moan, and draw them out until the stars fade and the sun rises. 

A loud whimper escapes your lips as his hands slide from your hips, trailing upward with deliberate slowness. His palms are rough, calloused from swinging his war axe, but the way they cup your breasts feels so gentle. His fingers tease over your sensitive skin, brushing against the hardened peaks before pinching gently, sending jolts of pleasure through your body and another gasp spills from your lips.

Sihtric’s one hand keeps cupping your breast while the other tangles in your hair, drawing your face to his. His lips crash against yours, the kiss wild and heated, his tongue delving into your mouth as if he can’t get enough of you.

You smile through your lust. Your mingled moans and gasps of pleasure fill the room, rising with every shared breath. You can feel he’s close—the hitch in his breathing, the way his muscles tense beneath your fingertips. His control is slipping, his restraint unravelling, and it sends a thrill coursing through you.

Sihtric’s hands slide down to your hips, his grip firm, almost desperate, as he guides you up and down his thick, throbbing length. “By the gods,” he groans, his voice deep and rough with want. “You’re so beautiful… so warm and tight around me. You feel—so good.”

His praise sends a shiver down your spine, and your body responds instinctively, your movements quickening, matching the rhythm he sets. You bite down on your bottom lip, the pleasure almost too much to bear, each drag of his cock inside you drawing out soft, breathless whines that make his eyes darken with desire.

You pick up your pace, hips slamming down against his, taking him deeper, stretching yourself around him. You’ve missed him—missed his touch, his presence, the way his body completes yours. Every dark, lonely night you spent chasing fleeting highs, imagining his hands on your skin, feeling the ache of your empty womb, longing for him to fill you, to claim you fully.

You lean forward, hands gripping harshly at Sihtric’s shoulders as your lips brush against the shell of his ear. You lick teasingly at the lobe, coaxing a low groan from him. You keep moving, savouring the feeling of your husband’s thick cock sliding in and out of you, splitting you open like only he can. You dig your nails into his shoulders, “Give it to me,” you hiss between clenched teeth, your breath hot against his ear. “I want every drop. Fill me up.”

Sihtric’s eyes roll back, your words a trigger that unleashes something primal, untamed inside him. With a guttural groan, his grip tightens on your hips, his hands trembling with raw need as he holds you in place and begins pounding up into your aching cunt from below with a fierce, unstoppable rhythm. 

Your mind spins with the sinful pleasure, his cock hitting that swollen, sensitive spot inside you again and again, each thrust more demanding than the last. Your core clenches around him, your body teetering on the edge, the pleasure too intense, too consuming. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your teeth and lips leaving marks on his sensitive flesh as your whimpers and moans are getting louder and louder the harder and faster your husband fucks you.

You cry out, your voice ragged, as the overwhelming heat courses through you, your body surrendering completely to the climax ripping through you. Your muscles tense, thighs quivering as waves of pleasure crash over you, relentless and consuming. But you don’t stop—your hips continue their rhythm, meeting his every thrust, determined to draw every last ounce of his pleasure, to claim everything he has to give.

Your walls flutter and tighten around Sihtric’s cock, silently begging him to fill you, pulling him deeper and deeper. “Sihtric, please,” you whisper. “Give it to me,” you beg.

Your plea shatters whatever restraint he has left. His cock twitches inside you, and with a hoarse groan, he thrusts up into you, his release surging in hot, endless waves. He spills deep within you, his seed filling you in long, heated spurts that seem to last forever. His breathless moans blend with your own as he empties himself completely, his body trembling beneath yours.

Panting, you collapse against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you tightly against this chest.

“Gods, I love you,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble, his lips brushing against your hair. “My wife, my goddess,” he groans. “You can’t even imagine how much I’ve missed you.”

A tired but contented smile tugs at your lips. Threading your fingers through his damp hair, you whisper, “I’ve missed you too.” Your voice is low, a tender echo of his confession. But mischief flickers in your eyes as you add, “And don’t think we’re done, Sihtric Kjartansson. Mark my words, you’re not leaving this bed until you’ve put a pup in me.”

His body stills beneath you, your words sinking in like a spark igniting dry tinder. His breath catches, and then, with a low, dangerous growl, he shifts. In one smooth motion, he rolls you onto your back, his strong frame towering over you, every inch of him radiating purpose. His lips crash against yours, the kiss searing and demanding, rekindling the fire in your veins.

“Then we won’t stop,” he whispers against your lips, his voice a gravelly promise that sends a shiver racing down your spine. “Not until you’re mine in every way.”

His hand slides down between your bodies, his fingers slipping through the wet, heated mess of his release mingled with your own. He teases you with a skillful touch, stroking and circling until your body arches against him, trembling with renewed need. You moan into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders as his touch brings you closer and closer to the brink once more.

“I’ll fill you again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear, his voice low and commanding. “Again and again, until you can’t take it anymore. Until you cry tears of pleasure and beg me to stop.”

His hips shift, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing, testing. His mismatched eyes burn into yours, as he continues, “Until you’re carrying my child. Until there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that you’re mine.”

Your breath catches as he pushes into you once more, slow and deliberate, savouring the way your body stretches to take him. You clutch at him, helpless under the spell of his touch. 

His movements are languid, tender, but there's an underlying urgency in the way his eyes never leave yours, as if he's memorising every gasp, every flutter of your lashes, every soft whimper that escapes your lips.

"Sihtric," you breathe, your hands grasping at him, pulling him closer. "Don't stop."

He doesn't. He moves with purpose, his thrusts deep and steady, his lips tracing a path down your neck, across your collarbone, marking you as his own with every press of his mouth against your skin. His hands roam your body, worshipping every inch, every curve, until you're nothing more than a whimpering, gasping mess beneath him.

Sihtric fastens his pace, his hips snapping against yours. “Tell me how much you missed me?” he demands. 

“More than anything,” you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper, words trembling as his relentless pace robs you of breath. “I dreamed of you every night, Sihtric. I ached for you.”

“And there was nobody else?” the question slips his lips almost unintentionally, and he regrets it the very same moment. His movements falter, his forehead pressing against yours as a shadow crosses his expression. He wants to take it back, but he can’t. It’s out there. It lingers in the air, heavy with the weight of his fears. Is he enough for you?

All those sleepless nights on the road, lying awake on cold, hard ground, the stars above offering no comfort, the ache in his chest had been constant, gnawing at him with every mile that stretched between you, imagining you sitting by the fire alone, your beautiful face lit by the flickering flames, but your eyes filled with sadness. 

There were moments when he couldn't stop his mind from whispering cruel things. What if she’s had enough of waiting? What if she finds someone else—someone who’s there, who can hold her every night and promise her a life he could only dream of giving?

You cup his face in your trembling hands, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “No one else,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “It’s always been you, Sihtric. Only you.”

His voice trembles, words spilling out in a rush, breath hitching. “I was afraid you’d wake up one day and realise I'm not the man you needed. That you’d stop loving me because I wasn’t here for you, because I wasn’t enough.”

You shake your head. “Sihtric,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the tears welling in your eyes. “You’ve always been enough for me. More than enough. Every night I waited, every tear I cried, every time I missed you—it wasn’t because I wanted someone else. It was because I wanted you. Only you.”

Your words drive him wild. A guttural growl escapes his lips as his hands grip your thighs, pulling you even closer, deeper, until it feels like there’s no part of you he hasn’t claimed. His lips crash against yours again and again, devouring your moans, his kisses searing and desperate, as though he’s trying to pour all of his longing, all of his love and gratitude into you.

“You don’t know what that means to me,” he murmurs. “You... you’re everything to me,” he rasps against your lips, his breath hot, his mismatched eyes blazing with raw need. “I want you to remember this, always. How much I’ve missed you, how much I need you.”

“Show me, Sihtric,” you whisper back, your voice fading into soft moans of pleasure. “Show me how much.”

And he does. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word speaks of his love, his devotion, his desperation to be enough for you. 

You shudder beneath him, your hands clawing at his back, feeling the ripple of his muscles with every forceful thrust. His name falls from your lips again and again, a mantra, a prayer, as he drives you closer to the edge. His touch is everywhere—his hands gripping, caressing; his lips trailing down your neck, sucking and biting gently to leave his mark; his body pressing into yours with unrelenting force.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, the words vibrating against your skin. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you manage to choke out. “Always, Sihtric. Only yours.”

The sound he makes is primal, filled with satisfaction and something deeper—something possessive, protective, and utterly devoted. His movements grow erratic, the rhythm faltering as he loses himself in you, his hands clutching at you as though letting go would shatter him.

“Come for me,” he growls, his voice rough, his gaze locked on yours as he drives into you. “Let me feel you.”

Sihtric’s words are your undoing, the command tipping you over the edge. You cry out his name as pleasure crashes through you, your body trembling, clenching around him as waves of ecstasy wash over you. 

His own release follows, his body shuddering above you as he spills into you once more with a low, broken moan, burying himself as deep as he can.

Sihtric collapses near you, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps. For a while, the two of you lay there, tangled in each other. Your breaths are heavy and mingled, your bodies still thrumming with the echo of your highs.

Finally, Sihtric lifts his head, his lips curving into a lazy, satisfied grin as he gazes down at you. "I think I could get used to this," he says, his voice soft but teasing.

You laugh, breathless and exhausted, but utterly content. "Good," you reply, your fingers brushing against his cheek. "Because you're not going anywhere."

He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his hand splayed possessively across your belly. "Not until I've given you everything I've promised."

[tora-ken]

crooked memory

genre fluff, angst, major character death, mentions of blood

tags gojo satoru x reader, biker!gojo

summary gojo satoru loves you so much.

wc; 1.3k

reblogs would be appreciated, please do not plagiarise my work, or share it on any other social media platform!

you would risk absolutely anything to see your boyfriend — the boyfriend your parents forbade you from dating, the boyfriend everybody told you was a red flag, the boyfriend even you told yourself to not fall for. but god, was satoru gojo irresistable.

the sweetest boy you had ever come to discover in this short life of yours. how the loving words he told you melted off his tongue like honey, how his arms embraced you like a soft blanket, how his eyes were the most alluring sight to fall for. he was dream, and he was yours.

light taps against your window turn your head suddenly, to notice your boyfriend outside your house, looking up at you with another pebble in his hands.

“hi baby!” he cheers, and drops the pebble, beginning to climb his way up to your room as you open your window.

“you’re not supposed to be here, what are you doing?” you walk backwards, letting him into your bedroom.

“i wanted to see you, but your parents won’t let me in.” his smile blinds you, and he closes your window quietly. he takes off his shoes, and crawls into your bed.

“hey, i just changed the sheets, at least wear the sweatpants you left here.” you whine, and open your drawer, taking out his clothes for him to wear.

he smiles at the thought of you having his things, the thought of him being a part of you, everything of him is part of you. he can’t define himself without you. the girl who makes him who he is.

“okay, baby, anything you want.” he gives you a longing kiss, before changing into appropriate clothes.

the two of you curl up in your freshly changed sheets, smelling exactly like you. he lays on your side of the bed, which you allow because you know he loves the smell of your hair on the pillow. you’re facing each other, his hands trailing your face, and yours in his hair, a moment he wishes would never end.

“how’d you get here, i thought your parents weren’t letting you out of the house.” you finally speak.

“i snuck out! i found the keys to my motorbike and just got here.” oh, how this boy would do absolutely anything for you — he was smitten. he would walk naked through a blizzard if it meant getting to you.

you held his entire heart, his entire being belonged to you and you only — and he never forgot to show that. how could he? you consumed his existence, every waking thought of his was devoured by you. a world without you was a world without him.

“what are you gonna do if you get caught?” your eyes widen in panic, excuses of what to say flourish in your mind.

“don’t worry i won’t get caugh-“ the door opens, and satoru sees your parents, seething. he looks on your side of the bed, only to see that you’ve vanished, and reality slaps him in the face.

you’re gone.

“what are you doing here? i thought we told you to never show your face again!” your father lifts the poor boy up by his sweater, the sweater you got him for his birthday, and satoru worries that it’ll tear.

“honey, please let him go, don’t hurt him.” your mother interjects, pulling him away from satoru’s neck, to which he releases a gasp. “you need to leave, sweetheart. you can’t just sneak into our house like this for no reason.” she tries to reassure satoru kindly.

“i came here for y/n.” he feels the tears well up in his eyes, his bottom lip trembles as he tries to conceal the cry for help that’s about to explode on his expression.

“you know damn well she’s not here. and it’s all your fault you fuck-“ your father starts, and your mother places her hand on his chest.

“we know you miss her satoru, we do too. what happened to her was horrible for everyone, but you need to go home, we spoke to your parents, they said you weren’t leaving the house.”

satoru suddenly remembers everything, how he made you sneak out one night with him to go on a motorbike ride, the rides your parents always hated you going on. but you had done it millions of times before then, so you left, helmet in hand.

he remembers everything so clearly, how you begged him to stop going so fast, how it was too scary, and how he laughed and just said to hold on tight. he remembers your arms around his waist, how strong of a grip you had around him — he remembers how cold it was that night, the wind and the rain soaking your outfits. he remembers the oncoming truck and your screams before everything goes dark.

he remembers gaining consciousness shortly after, how your helmet screen is cracked, face bloodied, yet you still tried to reach a hand out towards him. he remembers how you tried to shuffle towards him, and him to you, before you eventually got slower, your arm lowering, and how you laid limp, only a few centimetres before him.

he remembers being in the hospital, waiting for you, asking the doctors, nurses, his family and friends about you, only to get the same answer each time — “she’s resting.” he remembers the day you died, the same day he got discharged from the hospital, and immediately went to visit you.

he remembers hearing the monotonous beep of the machine beside you, and how his world comes crashing down, how he begins to realise it was all his fault. he should’ve never made you sneak out on such a rainy night, he should’ve slowed down when you begged him to, he should’ve just stayed in your room with you that night like he had done before.

he remembers how weeks after your funeral, he got out of bed late at night, and decided to go to your house, your room, and climbing up your house to get into your room, because you had always kept the window open for him. he remembers going into your drawers to get his clothes out, before laying in your bed, muttering to himself, saying your name, calling you baby, all before he had gotten caught by your parents.

“i-i’m sorry, i know it’s my fault, i don’t know what came over me mr and mrs l/n, i’m sorry, i’ll go-“ he breaks out into a violent sob, before getting up and trying to leave through your window, only to be stopped by your father.

“stop.” satoru turns around, with eyes like a puppy. “stay for the night, you can sleep here.” and your father walks off, with your mother following suit, after closing the for satoru, and telling him sweet dreams.

your parents knew how much you loved satoru, how happy he made you, no matter how much of a bad influence he was. they knew how much he brought light to your eyes, how you would rather disappear forever than be in a world without satoru, because he defined you, and a world without him was a world without you. no matter how much your father disapproved of the gojou boy, he knew that satoru was always going to be the one for you, in this life and the next.

satoru sniffles, looking around your room, how cold and empty it felt. even if it was full of memories and photos and posters that represented, the room was shallow, yet so spacious and deep, all because it lacked you. satoru looks at the polaroids of you and your friends taped above your desk, and notices a press dried flower besides it, with a label underneath that wrote “first date with satoru <3”, and satoru breaks all over again. you consumed him, yet you weren’t around, and that was the worst part.

and it’s at this point, satoru absolutely knows for sure, a world without you, is a world without him.

a/n: sorry, kinda bad but i was listening to nomad by clairo on repeat whilst listening to this i think i definitely cldve worded this whole thing better

©️ tora-ken 2024

[shaesinflames]

🌥️ Rainbow Factory Infection AU🌥️

Hello everypony!! Ive been loving the infection stuff and wanted to jump onto the trend myself with an AU that came to me very suddenly. I'm gonna try and get all my thoughts out here:

☁️ Scootaloo fails her flying assessment by getting disqualified for checking on her injured friend who had crashed during their turn. The two of them get taken to the Rainbow Factory as a punishment for their failure, and quickly realize the deadly situation they're in.

🌈 There are few dozen pegasi there already. All of their wings have been torn off of them, their cutiemarks are branded over, and chains are fastened around either their legs or neck. They all seem so... dull. As if the color has been stolen from them.

☁️ Rainbow Dash enters to examine the new sacrifices, and is mortified when she sees Scootaloo. She had trained her every day to prevent this from happening; she never wanted the pony she thought of as a little sister to end up here. Dash had to quickly decide if she was more loyal to her career, or to her friends.

🌈 She chooses Scootaloo. This does not go over well. Whether you enter the Rainbow Factory as a prisoner or an employee, you were not allowed to leave until you died. Rainbow Dash grabs Scootaloo and attempts to flee with her.

☁️ A chase ensues. She realizes that even if they do escape, they wouldn't be free. They would be hunted for as long as the factory existed. The answer suddenly seems obvious. Dash veers away from the exit and heads deeper into the building, straight for the core.

🌈 Because of her high status in the company (and a lot of kicking), Rainbow Dash gets into the restricted access room and corrupts the core, sparking a reactor meltdown. Her and Scootaloo manage to escape seconds before the core collapses, and the Rainbow Factory is lost to the rainbows it created.

☁️ Not long after, ponies begin to emerge from the ruins. Well, they seem to still be ponies. Mostly ponies. The Inital Victims. The pegasi who had been deemed useless and dispensable in one way or another, and had been put through torture for weeks or months in order to drain them of their very magic and soul.

🌈 The Victims seem to have a symbiotic relationship with the Rainbow Infection in their body. They live just out of reach of death; gaunt and hollow, yet somehow surviving. Blind, weak, and terrified, they seem to believe they're still trapped in the factory, and will viciously maul any living being they sense with a newfound strength. So far, they don't seem to be curable, or killable.

☁️ The Infected pegasi have a much more unpleasant experience. Every waking moment is nothing but agony as the infection consumes their magic and feast on their vessel, reducing them to nothing more than another fluffy white cloud looming in the sky.

🌈 The Infected aren't hostile, and seem to still be lucid up until their death. However, they are incredibly contagious, and the final stage of the infection seems to be designed specifically to further the disease.

☁️ Unicorns and Earth ponies are completely immune to the Rainbow Infection. Alicorns are not. The princess's have been barricaded in Celestia's castle to protect them all.

🌈 Without any pegasi to moderate the weather, it has become increasingly unpredictable and harsh, making typical farm work almost impossible. The Survivors are getting low on rations, and they're getting desperate and hungry.

I think thats about it. Idk at the time of writing this its 3am lol.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

The sun to me

Chapter III. Sun ray.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 3.4k

chapter summary: discovering a hidden place helps discover hidden feelings and the camera captures a fleeting moment of happiness.

warnings: description of a nightmare with drowning

~ Masterlist for the series

~ next part

🌻 Sunflower - happiness and positivity.

There's no air that can reach his lungs, Hyunjin realizes this as the feeling of water filling up his insides consumes his entire being.

He's grasping for a figurative straw, his arms are lifting up to reach towards the surface, where he can see the light reflecting off of it, the sliver of hope he craves to hold on to.

Bubbles leave his lips as he screams silently in panic, unable to swim up, like some kind of deep sea leviathan has gripped his ankles and it's pulling him further down.

Down where he'll disappear forever, his body becoming food for the fishes, his existence forgotten like he was never even alive.

Like his dreams, thoughts and wishes didn't matter. Like whatever painting he ever created was scraped away, washed away, faded away into oblivion.

There's warmness and comfort replacing the harsh iciness of the sea when he stops fighting against it, letting it take him into it's depths where he'll be safe from all the harm that the big bad world has brought him.

Hyunjin's eyes open abruptly and the warmness he felt in his nightmare comes in the shape of salty tears sliding down his cheeks. He coughs, sitting up quickly, feeling like the air from his lungs has actually been taken away.

He reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand and drinks the refreshing liquid with big gulps.

He shivers, eyes fluttering before he reaches up to wipe his tears away.

Hyunjin can't even remember the last time he cried, or the last time he had a nightmare like this.

Shaking it off, he checks the clock and as he slowly comes to his senses, the hope he wanted so desperately to cling onto in his dream, lingers in his chest again.

It's almost time to meet up with you.

With newfound excitement, Hyunjin slowly but surely forgets about the feeling of the cold sea enveloping him as he gets ready for the day.

His camera is a must as he grabs it last, before skipping two steps at a time as he makes his way downstairs.

"Good morning, Hyunjin."- Isaac almost scares him as he appears beside him in the hall, a newspaper in his hand.

"Oh, good morning Isaac."- Hyunjin smiles, after the mini heart attack he experienced.

"What's the plan for today?"- Isaac asks and doesn't miss the way Hyunjin's smile widens.

"I- uhm- managed to find a tour guide for the island."- he stutters out, redness spreading on his cheeks.

"Oh really? And who might that be? I know everyone here and I just wanna make sure you're safe."- Isaac half-jokes, he has every good intention in mind.

"Y/n."- Hyunjin answers and Isaac looks a little surprised.

"So, am I safe?"- Hyunjin asks as Isaac gets quiet suddenly.

"Yes, yes, very safe. I'm just a little surprised that she offered."- Isaac says, waving the newspaper around.

"How so?"- Hyunjin tilts his head curiously.

"She's kind of a... homebody. Or gardenbody, if you will."- Isaac snickers at his own joke. "Mostly keeps to herself and her flowers. But she's a good girl, really."- he finishes, with his signature warm smile.

"I thought so too."- Hyunjin nods.

"Well, have fun. I hope you'll indulge me later with a little visit to my studio."

The lump in Hyunjin's throat is back.

"I'll try."- and he really will.

With all he has in him, he will try to look deep within himself to find the strength and inspiration he lost somewhere along the way.

When your alarm wakes you up that morning, you don't feel annoyed or groggy, you feel excited.

The sun coming through the window lays on your body like a warm blanket, threatening to make you fall asleep again but your galloping heartbeat doesn't let you fall into the safety of your dreams again.

You get up with a kind of giddiness in your body, a skip in your step as you decide to wear your favorite yellow dress, the color of the sunflowers, the one kept in the back of your closet, existing only for special occasions.

The thought of spending time with and getting to know Hyunjin, makes for a pretty special occasion in your mind.

You're already planning a little route, imagining taking him to all your favorite places, the ones you saw so many times now being looked at from a new pair of eyes, the eyes of an artist with a paintbrush and a camera.

You wait for him in front of your flower shop, clutching at your little backpack, nervousness washing over you.

Hyunjin arrives on time, the sunlight making him shine brighter than any pretty jewel you've ever laid your eyes upon.

When he sees you, his face breaks into a smile as he runs his hand through his hair, a habit you already picked up on.

He's wearing sunglasses and his usual jewelry, his camera resting on his chest and a backpack on his shoulders.

"Morning!"- you greet when he's close enough.

"Morning!"- he returns the greeting equally excitedly as he cascades up to you.

"Did you sleep well?"- you ask and Hyunjin shivers a little, his lips parting as he blinks.

"Let's say I did."- he nods, pursing his lips.

"It takes some time to get used to all the smell of the varnished wood in Isaac's house."- you chuckle, starting to walk.

"Oh, you've been there?"- Hyunjin asks as he hurries up to follow you.

"Of course! Everyone's been at Isaac's."- you chuckle again. "We're like a little community here. He invites half the island to dinner sometimes. Well, when it's his son's or wife's anniversary mostly. He doesn't want to be alone then. I bring him flowers and my mom's famous cake."- you say as you approach the little restaurant you visit almost every day.

"Oh yeah, he told me about his son. Not about his wife though."- Hyunjin looks thoughtful.

"He'll tell you, I'm sure."- you say as you stop walking. "I thought we could eat breakfast first if you haven't had it yet."

"Oh yeah, actually I'm starving."- Hyunjin nods quickly, almost forgetting about the previous conversation.

You walk in and are greeted by Catherine immediately as she stands behind the bar and wipes away clean coffee cups, putting them back in their designated places.

Luna is sitting at one of the tables, coloring and lost in her own little world.

Catherine greets you, then stops when she looks at Hyunjin.

"Oh, hello there...?"- she looks at your new friend expectantly.

"Hyunjin. Nice to meet you."- he picks upon everyone wanting to meet the newcomer at their island.

"Catherine. That's my daughter Luna. And my husband, Bennet."- she points at him just as he walks out of the kitchen, carrying a plate of pancakes for his daughter.

"Oh, good morning, good people!"- Bennet smiles and you chuckle.

"Hyunjin just arrived on the island and I'm planning to show him around. But we can't really do that on an empty stomach."- you say and Catherine chuckles.

"Oh no, we can't have the two of you hungry. Why don't you two sit down and I'll bring a menu so your friend can look at it?"- Catherine says.

You take your usual spot, next to the window and she brings the menu for Hyunjin.

"You eat lunch here, right?"- Hyunjin asks as he scans the menu.

"How did you know?"- you ask, looking up from setting your backpack down on the floor.

"It's kind of the only restaurant in the vicinity."- Hyunjin chuckles and you feel your face warm up in embarassment.

"Right."- you giggle.

"Here's your lemonade."- Catherine appears.

"Ooh, can I order one too?"- Hyunjin asks.

"Of course, I'll get right on that."- Catherine says before she disappears again.

"So, what do you recommend?"- Hyunjin asks.

"Well, an omelette is always good. So are pancakes. Maybe some fruit?"- you say and he chuckles.

"How about all of it?"

"That sounds good."

After you order a little bit of everything, Luna appears next to your table.

She giggles at Hyunjin shyly, half-hiding behind your arm.

Hyunjin greets her and you bend down to her level.

"Don't be shy."- you chuckle and then sign something as Hyunjin observes the two of you and realizes that the little girl is deaf.

"Oh, okay."- you laugh, your face red, you sign something else and Luna giggles again before running away back to her table.

"She can't hear at all?"- Hyunjin asks quietly.

"No, she was born like that. But she's a happy little girl."- you smile.

"What did you sign to her last?"- he asks curiously.

"I told her she looks pretty."- you say and Hyunjin nods. "She also said that you look like a prince, and that I look like a princess."

Hyunjin sputters, almost choking on his lemonade, his hand on his chest.

"Well, not sure about the first one but I agree with the latter."

Your heart threatens to betray you in that very moment.

With tummies full and cheeks rosy, Hyunjin and you walk quietly together, the sound of gravel crunching under your feet seemingly loud in the comfortable silence.

"Have you been living on the island your whole life?"- he asks, breaking the silence suddenly.

"Pretty much, yeah. I've only moved for college shortly but I never finished."- you say.

"What did you study?"

"Journalism."

"Really?"- he chuckles. "If you graduated maybe you'd be the one interviewing me and maybe we'd meet then, in the showbiz world."

"Okay, mr. Big Shot."- you laugh and he laughs embarassingly at himself.

"Why didn't you finish? Lost motivation or?"

"My mother fell sick. Had to move back and take care of her."- you say and Hyunjin again feels like he's just here digging into people's wounds.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. It was a long time ago now. I'm glad I moved back here. I like this quiet little life. I think the big city would eat me up, honestly."- you confess, leading Hyunjin to the pretty forest behind the beach where you sat looking at the sunset the night before.

"The big city really does eat you up. You get stuck in a rut and washed away with all the other trash."

"Speaking from personal experience?"- you quirk up an eyebrow as you finally get under the shade of the big trees.

Hyunjin lifts his camera up, snapping a few pictures before he turns towards you and you lift your hand up just in time for him to snap a picture of you trying to hide your face.

"Yeah, I guess so."- he answers, the look in his eyes doleful.

"Is that why you came here?"- your finger is now pressing into Hyunjin's own wound.

"Kind of."- he says quietly. "The lifestyle I live right now is not something I'm proud of and definitely not what I wanted."

"Sometimes you have to do the things you hate to get to what you love."- you say as the two of you make your way to the neatly hidden cove you always loved to come to with your little notebooks and pencils.

Sometimes you would go there just to sit and think. Sometimes it was the only place that you could cry in peace at, your tears blending into the vastness of the salty sea, soothing and alluring.

Nobody asking you what's wrong and what they can do to make it better, because nothing can make it better, nothing except letting it all out, away from all the prying eyes and hands.

"I'm pretty sure I mostly do things I hate. Don't even know what I love about it anymore."- Hyunjin finds himself surprised with the fact that he can so easily tell you what's been weighing heavy on his mind for what feels like an eternity.

"Don't you love painting?"

"I used to. Not sure anymore."- Hyunjin shivers at the realization that it was the first time he's uttered that out loud except when he was screaming at his manager.

"I'm sure you can teach yourself to love it again. Maybe with a little help too. For example, what is your favorite thing to paint? Or was, rather."- you ask, curiously tilting your head at him as you near the narrow entrance to the cove.

"Flowers."- Hyunjin says as you come to a stop in front of the entrance and he lifts his camera up to take photos.

"I happen to know quite a lot about flowers."- you tease and Hyunjin chuckles, putting the camera down.

"Oh really now? Maybe I could use your knowledge as my inspiration if you'll let me."- he smiles and your heart flutters.

"Sure, you can come to my flower shop or garden any time."- you smile back and it's like some kind of relief keeps washing over Hyunjin whenever you smile at him like that.

"I'd love that."- he says and you lead him through the little cave out to the beach.

"This'll be a pretty picture."- Hyunjin mutters just as you turn around towards him, the beach coming into view behind you in the opening of the cave.

Click.

The camera clicks, capturing the moment in the frame forever.

You chuckle as you walk out to the cove and Hyunjin follows.

"Wow!"- he gasps. "So beautiful. How is this place still not discovered?"

"Eh, during the summer months people flood this place like moths to a flame. But during the rest of the year, it's mostly empty."

Hyunjin snaps a few pictures again.

"Maybe I should take some pics of you too."- you say.

"Be my guest."- Hyunjin doesn't hesitate to hand you his precious camera.

It doesn't do justice to Hyunjin's beauty, his face bathed in the sunlight, his eyes closed as he turns towards the sea, his lips upturned in a small blissful smile, his dimples showing.

He really looks like the lead of a romance movie, the ones you watched way too many times, knowing deep inside that you'd never be that girl who gets the main guy.

Always the girl on the sidelines, where you got used to being to the point it became hard for you to even imagine falling in love or imagine going out of your comfort zone and giving away your vunerability into someone's open palms like it was just a thing to toss around as everyone takes a turn picking at it, leaving with pieces of you.

Pieces you will never get back, leaving you with your soul bare.

You don't want that, you don't think you even know how to give that anymore.

Everything you give, goes to your flowers.

All your love, your hopes and your tears grow in the shape of stems sprouting out of the earth, blossoming into different colored petals drenched with intoxicating scents.

"Took enough?"- Hyunjin breaks you out of your thoughts and you chuckle a little.

"I think so."- you hand him back the camera before the two of you take a stroll on the beach.

Hyunjin feels like the lead in a romance movie, but there's a wall in front of him, one that is too high to climb up on, too sturdy to break and too deeply rooted into the earth that you can't even dig a hole in it.

The setting is there, the girl is there, only his heart is not. It's scared, hiding away like a wounded animal after a scuffle.

If it was a few years before Hyunjin would surely already let himself fall into you, assured that you'll welcome him with your arms wide open but that's not who he is anymore.

Whatever kind of fairytale he blindly believed in before was just that; a fairytale, not a reality he could touch with his fingertips, hold in his arms, taste on his lips.

But, he is willing to deceive himself even for a fleeting moment of happiness like this.

The walk is short and you end up sitting on the rocks and taking more photos of the picturesque beach, the conversation between you now more light, avoiding the heavy themes and instead commenting on something laugh worthy, something to alleviate the heavy atmosphere threatening to absorb you.

You take Hyunjin back through the forest, walking him all the way into Isaac's street, promising that you will show him another favorite 'secret' place on the island in the next few days.

The sun is almost setting as the two of you turn around and start making your way to your homes.

Hyunjin finally feels something.

It may be small and flickering, like a light at the end of a ceaseless dark tunnel but he can see it in the distance, welcoming him with it's warmth.

Your evening routine has never felt more special. Even though it's the same night after night, it's like there's glitter sprinkled on everything you touch, making it glow beautifully like it was something completely new.

And while you hum along to your music and cook dinner like some movie character waiting for their lover to arrive home, Hyunjin is sitting in his room.

Isaac wasn't home when he'd arrived so he just made his way upstairs, the wooden stairs creaking under his weight, each one singing a different specific song.

Hyunjin ended up sitting on his bed after a shower and a snack, his camera in his hands as he looked at the pictures both of you took that day.

There was something familiar in the sun rays bursting between trees, in the crease of his brow, in the wave of the sea, in your bright smile. It was as if all of the nature's beauty blended together and into the two of you, whispering quietly to him, coaxing him into a net of safety.

Hyunjin caught himself smiling wide at the thought of you.

A knock on the door burst his little bubble, and he cleared his throat before yelling a 'come in!'.

"Evening, Hyunjin. I was just wondering if you'd like to eat dinner with me."- it was Isaac with his warm smile.

"Of course. I'll be down in five."- he says and Isaac nods curtly before leaving Hyunjin's room.

He sets the camera aside, accidentally casting his eyes on the paintbrushes sticking out of his suitcase he hasn't even completely unpacked yet.

Something twists in his stomach and he turns away from the little devils, deciding to make his way downstairs.

Isaac looks up from preparing the table and Hyunjin joins in, helping him.

"So, how was your outing?"- Isaac asks with a small smile.

"Refreshing, honestly."- Hyunjin returns the smile. "I don't remember the last time I was this relaxed ever since I stepped foot on the island."

"Well, that is so good to hear! I'm glad this little island brings you a peace of mind like it did for me."- Isaac says as the two of them sit down.

"I used to live in the big city. Stop me if I'm wrong here but you probably feel exasperated and worn out from the lifestyle of a successful artist."- Isaac starts and Hyunjin stops him.

"How'd you know I'm successful?"- he asks with his brows lifted up in surprise, making the older man chuckle.

"It's easy to guess so. With one look at your attire, anyone can see you're well off."- Isaac concludes.

"Right."- Hyunjin nods, his cheeks becoming rosy in embarassment. "So, you used to be a successful artist too?"

"Hey, don't say used to!"- Isaac laughs and Hyunjin chuckles, apologizing before Isaac hits him with a 'just kidding'.

"But yes, I used to live the lifestyle you do now. And even with my wife beside me, I continued living the same... let's say festive lifestyle and I neglected her and my son. Ah, it's a long story for another day."- Isaac stops himself.

"Well, I'd like to hear it one day."

"The point I want to make is, don't make the same mistakes I did. If you see a good opportunity, grab it while you can."

Hyunjin can't help but think he's talking about you.

He barely manages to fall asleep that night, even after walking around and eating good food, his mind is restless.

He dreams of blank canvases and sun rays that night. He dreams of your smile and the warmth he feels doesn't come in the shape of tears this time, it comes in the shape of a good feeling blooming inside his chest.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight

[amalythea]

「 but does he really know me when the lights are on? 」

⤷ info: diluc & childe x gn!reader (separate) || angsty fic hehe || wc: 544 & 461 respectively

⤷ warnings: diluc n childe are a tad bit neglectful of their lovers bc theyre busy, mentions of childe's real name (does this even count as a warning), i tried to make this extra angsty as a treat for you guys <3

⤷ extra: i used the prompt i. “but does he really know me when the lights are on?” from @thexianzhoujade 's personal memoires (of the dearly beloved) event!! thank you so much to @mei-sm for proofreading!!

diluc.

As the owner of the renowned Dawn Winery, your lover's days were consumed by the meticulous tasks of wine-making and managing the estate. Diluc was a man of dedication, his every waking moment dedicated to upholding his family's legacy.

But amidst the clinking of glasses and the rustle of grapevines, there existed a longing within Diluc—a longing for companionship, for someone to share his burdens and his joys. It was in the quiet moments of the night, as he gazed out over the vineyards, that this longing weighed heaviest upon him.

Then, amidst the chaos of his busy life, you came into his world like a breath of fresh air. You who seemed to understand Diluc in a way no one else could. Your encounters were fleeting yet profound, each stolen moment leaving Diluc yearning for more.

Despite his limited time, Diluc cherished every second he spent with you. He memorized the curve of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled in the moonlight. In his mind, he constructed an image of you—a flawless portrait of a person he believed he knew inside and out.

But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Diluc's time grew ever scarcer. His duties at the winery demanded more of him, leaving little room for anything else. Yet, in the rare moments you shared, Diluc clung to the illusion of intimacy he had built in his mind.

One evening, as you sat together beneath the stars, your voice broke the silence. "Diluc," you said softly, your gaze searching his face, "do you truly believe you know me?"

Caught off guard by your question, Diluc faltered. "Of course, I do," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I know you better than anyone."

But your eyes held a sadness he had not seen before. "But do you?" you murmured, your words hanging heavy in the air. "Do you know the dreams I keep hidden in the depths of my heart? Do you know the fears that haunt me in the darkness of night?"

Diluc felt a pang of guilt deep within him. Despite his love for you, he realized that his knowledge of you was only surface-deep. He knew your smile, your laughter, your outward demeanor—but the depths of your soul remained a mystery to him.

In that moment, the realization hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Despite his best intentions, despite his unwavering devotion, he had failed to truly know the one he loved. And as he looked into your eyes, he saw the truth reflected back at him—the heartbreaking realization that your connection was built on a foundation of illusion.

Tears welled in your eyes as you rose to your feet, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wish things were different, Diluc," you whispered, your words heavy with sorrow. "But I fear that we are destined to remain strangers, even as lovers."

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving Diluc alone beneath the stars, his heart heavy with regret. For in that moment, he knew that despite his best efforts, he had let the one he loved slip through his fingers, never truly knowing you as he had believed.

childe.

In the heart of Liyue Harbor, beneath the grandeur of the illuminated archways and amidst the bustling streets, Childe found himself entangled in the mess of his own making. The weight of his duties pressed upon him like a leaden cloak, consuming his days and nights in a relentless pursuit of power and influence. Amidst the political machinations and secret dealings, there was but one respite for him – the presence of his lover.

Your relationship was an affair hidden behind veils of secrecy and deception. Childe reveled in the moments stolen away from the prying eyes of the world, where he could lose himself in the warmth of your embrace. Yet, even in your most intimate moments, there lingered an unspoken question, a whisper of doubt that haunted your thoughts.

Despite his professed affection, Childe remained a stranger in many ways, his mind consumed by the ceaseless demands of his position within the Fatui. He spoke in riddles, his words veiled in ambiguity, leaving you to decipher the depths of his intentions.

As the nights grew longer and the shadows darker, you found peace in the silence between you, a quiet refuge from the chaos of your intertwined lives. But beneath the facade of understanding, doubts festered, like seeds sown in barren soil, their roots entwined with the fragile threads of your bond.

One night, as the city slept beneath a blanket of stars, your doubts could no longer be silenced. With tears glistening in your eyes, you uttered the words that had long lingered unspoken between the two of you.

"Do you truly know me, Ajax?" you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath upon the wind. "Or do you see only the shadows of who I am, cast by the light of your own desires?"

For a moment, Childe was speechless, the weight of your words bearing down upon him like a crushing weight. In the silence that followed, he searched your eyes for answers, but found only the reflection of his own uncertainty staring back at him.

"I... I thought I knew you," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of the night breeze. "But perhaps... perhaps I was mistaken."

With those words, the fragile bonds that held you together shattered like glass, leaving nothing but shards of regret in their wake. In the cold light of dawn, you turned away, leaving Childe to face the emptiness of his own solitude.

Alone amidst the ruins of your shattered love, Childe found himself haunted by the echoes of your parting words. In the depths of his heart, he knew that he had lost more than just a lover – he had lost a piece of himself, forever hidden in the shadows of what might have been.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

@amalythea 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[imagine-you]

I Will Avenge My Ghost [Bucky Barnes/Reader] (2/?)

Summary: Your sacrifice on Vormir was meant to be your end. You did it for love. You did it for family. And you had no regrets in your decision to be the one to jump instead of Steve. But you never expected to wake up in Wakanda and you certainly never thought that you would still lose Steve and your sister in the years since your death. While you can't get Steve back, you're determined to figure out what happened to your sister and you end up dragging Bucky along for the ride. Your questions lead you to Westview, a sleepy little town harboring a dark past, and a witch named Agatha Harkness. Will you find what you truly seek down, down, down the Witches' Road or will Death finally come to claim you?

Word Count: 3.8k

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who responded to the last chapter and showed this fic some love. Y'all kept me going. 💖

Chapter One //

Read on AO3

"She's dead," Stephen choked out once you loosened your grip enough to allow him to speak. 

"Bullshit," you snapped, watching the way the darkness around him swirled, attempting to curl around your magic.  

"Your sister was not the same person you remember,” he tried to claim, as if that would make any of it better for you. 

“Then tell me,” you snarled, keeping him pinned to the wall with your magic. “Tell me what kind of person she was.” 

Stephen seemed like he was hesitant to answer, but when you tightened your hold on him, he finally spoke. “She was consumed by her grief and she did terrible things because of it. She enslaved a town with her mind and created a whole reality for herself where she got to have a family with Vision and her children at the expense of innocent civilians. She let the Darkhold corrupt her, because she was looking for the children she created across the multiverse, and she nearly killed a girl just to steal her power. She was responsible for the deaths of countless others all while she was blinded by what the Darkhold had done to her. I tried to tell her that the children, well they never truly existed, but--" Stephen's words cut off with a croak when you lashed out again with your magic, preventing him from continuing.  

"Children? Wanda had children? She had a family? With Vis?"  

"They weren't real," Stephen gasped, his hands attempting to push away your magic and give himself enough space to protect himself, but you realized with a thrill that you were stronger. "She created them with her magic." 

"That's what every mother does," you muttered, not sure where the words had come from, but knowing that it was true. It had been a whisper at the back of your mind. A forgotten memory rushing up to greet you.  

Stephen looked haunted for a moment, his skin paling at the words. "What did you say?" 

"It doesn't matter how she made them, because they're real. She made them real," you refuted with a quick shake of your head, ignoring Stephen's question. "My sister deserved a family. She didn't deserve whatever happened to her. And I refuse to believe she's really gone." She couldn't be. Not after the second chance you had been given.  

"Wanda died at Wundagore when she destroyed all copies of the Darkhold," Stephen continued, watching you warily as you got closer to him.  

You were listening to Stephen, but keeping your focus on the darkness around him. It was still trying to twine itself to your magic and you likened it to a pest that would never go away unless you did something about it.  

"It was her penance for what she did while under its influence," Stephen managed to get out before you tightened your hold on him again, cutting off his words.  

"Should we be stopping her? I feel like we should do something," Sam whispered to the others.  

"Not yet," Shuri responded. "I'd like to see where this is going." 

"And what of your penance, Stephen?" You wondered, tilting your head to the side as you considered him.  

"What?" He asked, gasping in a deep breath when you finally let him go.  

You had seen enough and heard enough from Strange to know what you had to do.  

"You used the Darkhold, didn't you?" You accused, watching him for his reaction.  

His eyes widened just the slightest, finally showing just the briefest glimpse of true uneasiness. "How did you know that?" 

"Because it corrupted you," you hissed at him, leaning forward again and caging him in by placing a hand on either side of his head. You swept your arms down, letting them slide along his sides, feeling the way the darkness inside him tried to latch on to you. "It stained your soul," you realized, knowing that the auras you were seeing around the others was a glimmer of their souls. You wondered if it was a side effect of sacrificing yourself for the soul stone. 

The darkness was unnatural and didn't belong attached to Stephen. You were suddenly sure that it would be so easy to burn it out of him and what better way to show your good will than helping the man who had let your sister fall apart from grief?  

You offered Stephen a smirk, letting your magic flare up in your hands. You knew, somehow, that your plan would work. You were changed, reborn, and stronger for it.  

"Well, you're in luck, Stephen, because I've decided that I'm going to help you. Brace yourself, though, this is gonna hurt like a bitch." 

Stephen barely had a moment to react before you were letting your magic cover him. You let it seep into his skin, curling around the darkness inside him and burning it away. Stephen was screaming and Bucky was calling your name and Shuri was yelling something to Sam but all you could do was smile at Stephen and wonder if he felt even a fraction of the pain your sister must have experienced.  

The power of your magic felt intoxicating. You had never been so completely embraced by it and you didn’t know what to do with the feeling. It was still incredibly impulsive and hard to control, but you knew that with time, you would adapt to it. You would control it more than it controlled you.  

You let your magic sweep all the darkness inside Stephen away. You felt it trying to retreat, curl itself up and hide itself away, but you wouldn't let it. You burned the corruption of the Darkhold right out of Stephen and when you were done, he collapsed, no longer held up by your magic.  

You suddenly felt arms around you and before you could lash out, you felt a brief sting at the side of your neck. You caught sight of Shuri's apologetic expression as she injected you with something. An icy chill crept through your veins and your vision blurred. The person holding you tightened their grip around you before lifting you up.  

"Sorry about this, doll," Bucky muttered before you felt unconsciousness claim you.  

The next thing you were aware of was someone's hand in yours and the sound of someone's soft breaths filling up the silence. You forced yourself to open your eyes, the dragging pull of sleep still clawing at you, but you were stubborn enough to fight it off. You managed to glance down to see that it was Bucky holding onto your hand. His head was tipped back and eyes closed as he slept sprawled out in an armchair that had been pulled up to your bedside. 

You were in a room you didn't recognize and lying on a bed that definitely wasn't yours. The room was plain, bare, all except for the necessary furniture. You didn't know whether to panic about being in a strange place or be grateful that Bucky hadn't abandoned you for acting like a vengeful psycho with Stephen.  

"It's mine," Bucky told you, startling you enough that you tightened your grip on his hand. "This is my room while I'm here in Wakanda." 

You nodded your head, trying to think of something to say. You felt like Bucky had just witnessed you at your worst and you only hoped there was nowhere else to go but up from here.  

"It's nice?" You tried, a smile tugging at your lips at the sound of Bucky's amused laughter.  

"Yeah, well, haven't had time to hire the interior decorator yet," he joked before glancing down and realizing he was still holding onto your hand. He untangled his fingers from yours, the barest hint of a blush staining his cheeks. "How are you feeling?" 

"You mean after I decided to burn the Darkhold's corruption out of Stephen and then got knocked out for my troubles?"  

Bucky winced, but nodded his head.  

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling your lips pull down into a frown. "Not much I can feel after everything I've lost," you mused, fighting the urge to reach out and grab Bucky's hand again. You were on your way to accepting Steve's loss, because he had never really felt like yours at all. You had fallen for him hard and fast while helping him fight Tony Stark and the government all for the sake of Steve's best friend and your feelings had only intensified while you were on the run with him. You knew that Steve had loved you, but you always got the feeling there was something missing with every kiss he gave you. His 'I love you's were meant for someone else, you supposed, and you were only lucky they had graced your ears at all.  

But Wanda? That was a loss you would not accept. She wasn't dead. You wouldn't allow it. Which meant that you would have to find a way to uncover the full story of her demise and find a way to fix it.  

"I'm sorry," Bucky interrupted your thoughts, a remorseful look on his face.  

"For helping Shuri knock me out? It was the smart thing to do," you assured him, knowing that your magic was no longer fully under your control. You were still learning the way it burned, bright and potent, and entirely too destructive. You knew that if left unchecked, you could do an incredible amount of damage, and you would have to find a way to tame the wild impulse of it before it did something you truly didn't want. "I'm not saying I would have killed Stephen, but he's definitely on my shit list." 

"I'm not sorry about that," Bucky told you with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry because I know what it's like to wake up and find out that everything has changed. I know what it's like to feel like you're not really in control." 

"Yeah," you sighed, reaching out and placing your hand over his wrist. "I'm sorry you had to experience that at all. It's a shitty, terrifying feeling." 

Bucky snorted, gifting you with another smile. "You're telling me." 

You had always liked Bucky. You hadn't spent a lot of time around him, but you could see why Steve was willing to risk everything to save him. He had a sneaky brand of sarcasm that never failed to make you smile and he had always been there to watch your back when you needed him. He was kind, if self-deprecating, and carried a weight on his shoulders that life and tragedy had unfairly heaped on him. Despite the guilt he carried, he still found the time to comfort you when you needed someone most. You supposed maybe that was part of his guilt, but he had no blame to feel for what happened with Steve or Wanda. You were grateful for his presence, though, and you knew you weren’t done clinging to him like a lifeline.  

You really didn't want him leaving you too.  

"Let's get out of here," you suggested.  

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at you. "And go where?" 

"I don't care," you told him, already moving to get out of the bed. "Just out of the building, out of Wakanda. Somewhere where I don't feel like I'm constantly being watched." 

Bucky studied you for a moment before he narrowed his eyes in thought. "I think I have just the place in mind," he told you before he stood up. "Just let me tell Sam we're heading out." 

Three minutes later, you were waiting for Bucky while he had a tense conversation with Sam just down the hall. There was a lot of disappointed sighs on Sam's part and a lot of eye-rolling from Bucky, but it wasn't until Sam's voice rose that you caught any of their argument.  

"Are you sure you want to go with her? She seems a bit unstable," Sam pointed out, gesturing towards you.  

"I heard that," you called, shooting Sam an unimpressed look.  

He arched a brow at you, challenging and somehow accusatory. "I hope you did. I said it loud enough so you would." 

Bucky groaned, before reaching out to sling an arm around Sam's shoulders and began to tow him in your direction. "Look," Bucky started, lowering his voice, but you could still hear him despite the effort. "She just woke up after being dead for years and she's found out that her whole world is gone. And maybe she's not exactly the same person she was before she fell. If there's anyone who might be able to help get her through this...," he trailed off, letting Sam fill in the rest for himself.  

Sam froze in his tracks and turned to look at Bucky. "Ah, hell, Bucky," he breathed before his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're sure about this?" 

"Yeah," Bucky answered, letting his gaze settle on you. "I'm sure." 

Shuri got you a flight out of Wakanda. You didn't see Stephen on your way out, but you didn't care all that much to see him again. You still didn't forgive him for his part in Wanda's suffering and while there would be hell to pay, you had other answers you needed to seek first.  

By the time the jet was landing somewhere in America, you were starting to feel exhausted. Bucky took care of finding a rental car and instructed you to get some rest once you were settled in the passenger seat. You didn't think you'd be able to sleep, but the second you let your head fall back against the headrest, your eyes closed and you drifted off.  

You woke to Bucky's hand on your shoulder. "We're here," he told you, keeping his tone gentle in an effort not to startle you.  

You opened your eyes to the sight of a graveyard.  

You felt yourself tense at the vision of the cemetery gates guarding the rows of graves beyond it. You were suddenly sure that Bucky had taken you to Steve's grave in an attempt to get you to make your peace with his death, but Bucky kept his grip firm on your shoulder and seemed to realize that you were beginning to freak out.  

"Just trust me, alright?"  

You glanced over at Bucky and met his eyes. You knew Bucky wasn't cruel, so your first assumption that you were here to pay your respects to Steve was way off. You nodded your eyes and got out of the car once Bucky did.  

Bucky led you past one row of graves and another, seeking a specific one. He seemed to know exactly where he was going and you began to suspect it was a grave he visited often. He finally stopped in front of a headstone, standing just at the foot of the grave before shooting you an expectant look.  

You offered him a nervous one in return before finally reading the name on the tombstone.  

You couldn't stop the surprised laugh that escaped you once you realized whose grave you were visiting.  

"It's mine," you marveled, moving forward to brush your hand over the headstone. There were fresh flowers left all around it, ringing it like a boundary of protection. There was a wreath displayed beside the headstone that looked like it had been left recently enough that it hadn't been destroyed by the elements just yet. The sash across the wreath proclaimed ‘gone but not forgotten,’ and once you read the words you had to look away, choked up at the sentiment. Your gaze fell on the stuffed animals resting against the base of the tombstone, lined up like they were keeping vigil over your grave. 

"I thought you might find it funny," Bucky offered with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. "I've got one too. An empty grave," he clarified, shifting on his feet when you glanced at him over your shoulder. "But no one ever leaves me teddy bears," he added with an amused grin.  

"Who left them?" You couldn't help but wonder, reaching out to pick up the teddy bear that Bucky had mentioned. It was blue and had white button eyes with a red heart stitched onto the stomach.  

"People who are thankful," Bucky answered, his voice growing solemn. "People who know you saved them. Their loved ones. The world." 

"Huh," you breathed, placing the teddy bear back down before thinking better of it and grabbing it again. "How often do people leave stuff?" 

"Daily," Bucky responded, clearing his throat when he started to say something else. "I, uh, I try to maintain it. Me and Nat and even Sam. Sometimes Clint, but he's been trying to spend as much time as he can with his family and doesn't come out this way that often. But it's mostly me. We'll throw out the flowers once they've wilted or donate the stuffed animals. Sometimes, they even leave balloons and cards," he said, studying you as you brushed your fingers gently over the roses left in one of the vases.  

You had been right all along. Bucky had easily navigated the way to your grave because he visited it often enough to have memorized where to go. The thought set off a funny little flip in your stomach and you decided to change the subject before you could embarrass yourself.  

You stared down at your own grave for a few moments before finally speaking.  

"What was the funeral like?" 

"Weird," Bucky huffed, sounding oddly relieved at the change in subject. You glanced at him, noticing he was blushing yet again. You never thought the Winter Soldier would be so easily flustered, but here you were with the evidence staring you in the face. "Silent," he added after another thoughtful moment. "No one really wanted to believe you were gone. Steve gave a beautiful eulogy and your sister didn't really say much of anything. We never saw her again after that. I think she had just lost too much to want to stick around." 

"Strange mentioned that Wanda took over a whole town," you started, finally turning to give Bucky your full attention. “Which town?” 

"Westview," Bucky supplied with a grimace. “It’s in Jersey.” 

"What happened?" You couldn't help but wonder. "What happened in Westview?" 

"I don't know much more about it than Strange did," Bucky confessed, offering you an apologetic wince. "The people who live there didn't seem like they really wanted to talk about it all that much. Like they just wanted to move on. Far as I can tell, though, what you heard was correct. Wanda took over a town and kind of used the people who lived there as her puppets. She created the life she was never actually going to get with Vision." 

"And she had kids," you mused, feeling your heart ache for your sister. Growing up, Wanda had only ever wanted a family and a life free of war. Losing your parents at such a young age and then being used as Hydra's lab rats had only made Wanda crave the kind of life she witnessed in the sitcoms she adored as a kid. The kind of life where nothing bad ever happened and the most harrowing choice the characters had to make was what to have for dinner. She wanted the white picket fence and dreamed of having a loving relationship with a partner who loved her unconditionally and kids of her own to mother. The fact that she had been so stricken with grief that she had been forced to create all of that with her magic left you feeling guilty.  

Maybe if you had been there for her, you could have helped her channel her grief in a healthier way. Instead, Wanda had to gain it all just to lose it all again.  

"Stephen talked about my sister like she was some sort of delusional villain," you finally continued, breaking free of your thoughts. "Wanda's not a bad person, Bucky. Just, sometimes, loss can make us do funny things."  

You thought of Steve using the time stone to get his own version of the white picket fence life with Peggy. Steve had broken the rules to find his own happiness. What happened to the timeline he disrupted? Maybe you would never know, but if everyone was okay with Steve breaking one of the cardinal rules of time travel, then why couldn't they understand that Wanda had only been chasing her own dream?  

She wasn’t a villain. She was just in pain.  

You were biased, sure, but you couldn't stomach the idea of people turning your sister into someone to be hated. Someone to be feared.  

You knew you would have to learn more about the deaths she caused, but you weren’t ready to unfold that part of Wanda’s story yet. The Darkhold had twisted your sister and you knew, deep down, even if you were loathe to admit it, that Stephen had likely been right. The Wanda that let herself fall to the temptation of the Darkhold wasn’t the same sister you had sacrificed yourself for, but you sure as hell weren’t going to stop until you found her again.  

"When she realized what she was doing to the town, she did release them," Bucky assured you, swaying forward like he wanted to reach out and console you. "I heard there was another witch there stirring up trouble and the only way to save everyone was for Wanda to destroy the illusion. I don't know what happened after that or to that other witch, but your sister went off the grid for a while. And then, well, maybe it's best we not get into that part of the story now. You've been through a lot lately." 

You wanted to argue, but you had a feeling that Bucky's next part of the story entailed whatever had happened to Wanda to make Stephen believe she was dead. You wanted more answers and you had a feeling that you were going to have to follow in your sister's footsteps to get them. You refused to accept that you had lost her like you lost Steve, which meant that you needed to try to get a feel for what happened to her.  

Maybe you needed to start at the place where it all began.  

"Do you know the way to Westview?" You asked Bucky, noticing the way his eyes widened just the slightest at your words. "I could try to go there by myself, but it's not like I've got my phone or a car, since I just recently stopped being dead." 

"I don't know if that's the best idea," Bucky started, his tone careful and unsure.  

"Buck," you started, finally crossing the distance between you. "I have to know. Please," you practically begged, suddenly sure that you couldn't do it without him.  

Bucky considered you for a moment before he heaved a defeated sigh. "Yeah, alright," he conceded, stepping to the side and gesturing for you to lead the way. “Let’s go to Westview.” He didn’t sound thrilled at the idea, but you knew he also didn’t want to let you wander off by yourself.  

"Great," you told him, pushing the teddy bear into his chest as you passed him. "There's more where that came from," you promised before you took off towards the cemetery gates, delighting in Bucky's pleased laugh. 

Author's Note: If you would like to be tagged in this series or be added to my all Bucky taglist, just let me know!

Taglist: @sunshinepeachx @bethexo07 @kisnini @greatmistakes @jvanilly

@circe143

[saddleups]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒. ↳ 𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈 ( womanly charm )

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 3.8k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . ongoing , part two. ARTHUR MORGAN X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . wet dream sequence . dirty talk . flirtatious y/n and a very jealous arthur morgan.

★ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . . dutch informs arthur and y/n of an upcoming mission , prompting a trip to the tailor where arthur struggles with his growing attraction to y/n. later arthur confesses what he'd witnessed the night prior.

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . gwarsh darn didn't expect my first fic to get that much attention in such a short time !! thank you everyone who liked/reblogged , i hope you enjoy this part as well ... promise arthur and reader will eventually have their fun but we're still building up to it !!!

Beads of sweat roll down entwined bodies, fighting for dominance over each other. Arthur's grip on your wrist is like iron, pinning you to the mattress with a primal strength that leaves you breathless. With a subtle shift, you spread your legs without even realizing it, offering yourself up to him completely. A chuckle rumbles from his lips, "Atta girl" he growls, "you want it this bad?"

Your half-closed eyes lock onto his intense gaze as you nod, barely able to form words. "Yes, Mister Morgan," you whisper, feeling his power and control wash over you.

"Tell me what you want, exactly," he demands, freeing his hands to roam over every curve and dip of your body. His thick fingers glide over your aching core, teasing and taunting your desire.

"I want your hard cock inside me," you whimper, your cheeks burning with arousal. "I want it deep inside my wet pussy." Without hesitation, he enters you, filling you completely with each thrust. The intense pleasure washes over you like a tidal wave, consuming every inch of your being until…

Arthur jolts awake, the dream still vivid in his mind and his body tense with arousal. The night prior had been a blur of desire and frustration. Now in the morning air, it manifested in his dreams. Haunted by your illuminated silhouette, the scene replayed in his mind over and over. Pushing himself off the bed with a groan, the fantasy lingering in his body as he stood. Defeated, Arthur seeks something to jolt him back to reality.

He exists his tent with a stretch of his limbs. Heading towards the nearest barrel of clean water. The camp was just beginning to come back to life. The early morning sun casting long shadows across Clemens Point. Arthur dips his hand into the cold water, splashing his face in an attempt to clear his thoughts. He lingered there for a moment allowing the cool water to wake him fully.

Meanwhile, you'd already been awake for some time, standing by the extinguished campfire as you spoke with Hosea. The old man's calm demeanor had drawn you into a casual conversation, a welcome reprieve from the intensity of the previous night. But your relaxed mood quick shifted when Hosea casually asked, "Has Arthur returned your journal yet?"

Your eyes widen in size, heart nearly skips a beat. "Journal?" you repeated with alarm.

Hosea nodded. "You left it last night. The boy said he'd give it back to ya."

Like a punch to the gut, the realization dawned on you—Arthur had your journal. All the personal thoughts, the details you kept about your travels, about the people you encountered—he had it in his possession. The thought of him reading through it made your stomach twist with embarrassment. Without another word, your eyes scanned the camp until you spotted him, standing by the water barrel.

With a quick motion, you find yourself marching across the camp. Footsteps are quick and purposeful. Arthur looked up just as you approached, a lazy grin spreading across his face as pulled the journal from his coat pocket. He held it up in the air, just out of your reach.

“Lookin’ for this?” Arthur drawled, clearly enjoying the power shift. He swung the journal in the air, smirking. “If 'yer such a good thief, shouldn’t be too hard to steal it back.”

You scowled, the mortification and frustration flaring up inside you. “Give it to me,” you snapped, your tone sharp.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Come and get it, then,” he teased, holding the journal higher. “Or maybe you ain’t as quick as they say?”

Your teeth clenched, your mind racing as you weighed your options. You could feel eyes on the two of you from across the camp, watching this unexpected exchange. Arthur’s teasing was infuriating, but you weren’t about to let him win this little game he was playing.

“Well?” Arthur taunted, still holding the journal out of reach. “What’s it gonna be, princess?”

The journal dangled just out of reach. A mix of humiliation bubbled up inside you. With clenched fists, ready to make a move by force or some clever distraction, in order to get back what belonged to you. Just as your about to act, a sudden hand swiped the journal out of Arthur's grasp.

"Enough," Dutch's voice cut through the tension like a knife. He stood between you and Arthur, holding the journal with a stern expression. His usual charm muted by a fatherly disapointment. "Arthur, we're better than this, aren't we?"

Arthur's smirk faded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Was just havin' a bit of fun."

“Fun’s fine,” Dutch said, his tone lighter but still firm. “But let’s not push our new friend too far on her first day, huh?”

Dutch turned to you, offering the journal with a warm smile. “Here you go,” he said, his voice softer now. “I believe this belongs to you.”

You took the journal, your heart still racing, and quickly stashed it in your satchel, your eyes narrowing at Arthur who only shrugged in response. Relief mixed with the lingering embarrassment, but you didn’t dwell on it too long.

With the journal now returned, Dutch’s mood shifted. His usual air of confidence returned as he addressed both of you. “Now that we’ve had our fun, I’ve got something a little more important on our plate. Saint Denis. We’ve got a job, and I need both of you for it.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, intrigued but cautious. “What kind of job?”

Dutch folded his arms, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “There’s someone in Saint Denis who’s been making moves. Politician by the name of Alistair Dupont. Heard of him?”

You hadn’t, but Arthur grunted in vague recognition.

“Dupont’s been hosting some fancy gatherings, throwing money around like it’s nothing, buying influence left and right. He’s got half the city’s upper class under his thumb, or so they say. But here’s the thing,” Dutch leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as if revealing a secret. “We don’t know who he’s really working for. Could be a front for Cornwall, the Pinkertons, or worse—someone even bigger.”

You crossed your arms, already sensing where this was heading. “You want us to figure out who’s pulling his strings.”

Dutch nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “Exactly. We need to vet him, see if he’s trouble, and more importantly, if we can get something out of him.”

Arthur sighed, leaning against the barrel. “And how do you suppose we do that? Can’t just waltz into his house and ask for tea.”

Dutch chuckled. “No, Arthur. We’re going to a party. A fancy one. Dupont’s hosting a ball in a few days, and I’ve got a way to get you both in.”

You raised an eyebrow. A ball? This was not what you were expecting. “And we’re supposed to what, make small talk and dig up dirt?”

“Precisely,” Dutch said, nodding with enthusiasm. “It’s not just about what he says—people like Dupont have enemies. Rivals. Allies who can turn into enemies. I want you two to get a feel for the man, see what you can find out about his connections. If we play our cards right, we might be able to leverage his position to our advantage. And if not…” Dutch trailed off, his meaning clear.

Arthur grunted again, though his tone had softened. “And I suppose you think she’ll fit right in with all them fancy folks?”

Dutch’s smile widened, and he turned to you. “She’s quick on her feet. I’ve no doubt she’ll manage. Besides, who better to send to a place full of secrets than someone who knows how to keep ‘em?”

Dutch shifted his weight onto his other foot, "and if that don't work she can just use her… womanly charm."

Both you and Arthur bolt upright without comment. The silence is interrupted with Dutch's laughter, "go to Saint Denis. Get somethin' that'll make you fit in with the fancy folk. The ball is in three days."

You glanced at Arthur, then back at Dutch. The job sounded risky, and you weren’t exactly one for mingling with high society, but this was the West—everything was a gamble. And the promise of a payday, not to mention the opportunity to prove your worth, made you nod in agreement.

“All right,” you said. Arthur shot you a look, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t protest. You could tell he wasn’t thrilled about partnering with you again so soon, especially after the morning’s exchange, but he trusted Dutch’s judgment. And despite his teasing, you could sense that he’d have your back when it mattered.

With the job set and the plan in motion, Dutch left you both standing by the water barrel. You watched him walk off, already mentally preparing for the role you’d need to play. Arthur, meanwhile, shifted his weight and gave you a sideways glance, his teasing from earlier now replaced by something more thoughtful.

“Well,” Arthur said, crossing his arms, “I hope you clean up well. We’re gonna be rubbin’ elbows with a whole different kind of scum.”

You shot him a look, half annoyed, half amused. “I’ll manage. You just try not to get us kicked out before we even get through the door.”

Turning on your heel you make a path toward the exit of the camp,

"Got a horse?" Arthur asks trailing behind you.

"No shit, I have a horse."

"Jus' makin' sure."

The journey to Saint Denis arrived sooner than you expected. As you dismounted your horse, the bustling energy of the city washed over you. You wiped your palms on your trousers, your nerves subtly betraying the calm exterior you tried to maintain. The streets were alive with activity, vendors shouting, carriages rattling by, and people moving in every direction. You kept your face hidden beneath the low brim of your hat, eyes scanning the crowd. A part of you couldn't shake the lingering feeling that today might be the day when the law finally catches up with you. Unlike Arthur who greeted the town with such fearlessness, ready to tackle whatever dared crossed his path.

The two of you made your way through the busy streets toward the tailor shop, weaving through the chaos of the city. When you finally reached the store, it was a stark contrast to the wildness of the world outside. The place was tidy and refined, with elegant fabrics hanging from the walls and mannequins dressed in the latest fashions.

Arthur hung back as the tailor approached you, guiding you to stand on a small platform surrounded by mirrors. You were used to practical clothing, the kind that could withstand the wear and tear of the work you did. Standing still while the tailor fussed over you felt unnatural. He began taking measurements, expertly wrapping the tape around your waist, shoulders, and hips. You stood rigid, feeling out of place, but the tailor moved quickly, pinning fabric here and there, adjusting the fit to highlight your figure.

As the tailor wrapped his measuring tape around your waist, his fingers brushing the fabric as he cinched it tight, he paused, stepping back to get a better look at you. “Ah, yes,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “You’ve got quite the… gifts, miss. This dress will truly highlight them—should be no trouble turning heads at the ball.”

Arthur, who had been leaning casually against the wall, suddenly stiffened. He cleared his throat loudly, a bit too loudly, causing the tailor to glance over with a raised eyebrow. Arthur quickly masked his discomfort, looking away and scratching the back of his neck.

"Ain't no need to get all poetic about it," he muttered under his breath.

Catching a sight of you underneath the rim of his hat, Arthur earned a fleeting glance of your clevage, the lace of your chemise peaking through the low collar of your blouse. His eyes tracked the movement of the tailor’s hands, pulling and adjusting the material until it hugged your curves in ways that your usual rough-and-ready attire never did. For a moment, his mind drifted back to the night before—when he'd caught that glimpse of you through the tent—and now, seeing you like this, the memory flickered in his thoughts, unbidden. He quickly glanced away, focusing instead on the fine stitching of his own jacket as if to shake off the wandering thoughts.

You shot a quick glance at Arthur, catching the way his gaze darted to the floor, a faint blush creeping up his neck. The tailor, seemingly oblivious, continued adjusting the fabric, tucking and pinning around your hips. “Indeed, you’ll be quite the vision,” he said with pride. "The fit is perfect for someone with your… figure. Whoever has you my dear, must be a very lucky man."

Arthur let out another awkward cough, turning slightly so his back was more to the room. “Yeah, well, let’s just get on with it, huh?” he grumbled, still pointedly avoiding looking directly at you.

You stifled a laugh, amused by Arthur's uncharacteristic bashfulness. When you stepped down from the platform, you gave the fabric one last tug, still adjusting to the new feeling of it clinging to your form. Arthur glanced at you, his usual snark nowhere to be found, replaced by an almost sheepish silence.

"Thank you kindly for your time sir" you smiled curtly at the tailor. In response the tailor nods, informing you that the dress should be ready tomorrow afternoon.

Returning to your usual attire, you reunited with Arthur outside the dress shop. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the cobblestone streets. The air was crisp, and you could hear the distant murmur of townsfolk going about their evening routines. Arthur shoved his hands into his pockets, kicking a stray pebble along the street.

"We should head back," you suggested.

"Nah, I need a drink first," Arthur replied, his tone more decisive than before.

You sighed, though the thought of a drink at the nearby tavern did sound tempting. The warmth of alcohol might help ease the unease that had settled in your chest, and perhaps it would give you a chance to tease Arthur about his earlier awkwardness.

"Alright," you relented, falling into step beside him as you made your way towards the tavern.

The interior of the tavern was warm and dimly lit, the flickering light of oil lamps casting shadows on the walls. The smell of ale and roasted meat filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation. Arthur led you to a quiet corner, where you both settled into worn, wooden chairs. The bartender, a burly man with a thick beard, approached with a knowing grin.

"What can I get ya?" he asked, wiping a glass with a rag.

"Two ales," Arthur replied, leaning back in his chair.

As you waited for your drinks, you couldn't help but notice how Arthur seemed to relax once inside the tavern. The tension that had lingered since the dress shop began to dissipate, replaced by his usual easygoing demeanor. You decided to seize the opportunity to tease him.

"So," you began, leaning forward slightly, "having trouble keeping your eyes off me today?"

Arthur's brows furrowed, and he shot you a look that was half-offended, half-amused. "I ain't got no trouble keepin' my eyes off ya," he retorted, though his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.

You chuckled, taking a sip of your ale when it arrived. "Sure you don't," you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "But maybe next time, you could try not being so obvious about it."

"Eh, don't flatter yourself." He mutters into his drink.

A scoff escapes from you, dripping with disdain. While Arthur drowns his sorrows on your right, another man takes refuge on the wooden chair to your left. You turn slightly to examine him, assessing every detail of his appearance. He fits the mold of your typical prey - a wealthy older man seeking attention from pretty women.

Unbuttoning the first few buttons of your blouse, you purposefully catch Arthur's attention. "What the hell are you doing, girl?" he snaps, his drunken haze interrupted by your subtle seduction.

"Showing you what I'm good at, Mr. Morgan," you purr, using his last name as both a taunt and a reminder of your position in this dangerous game.

The honorific sends a jolt through him, bringing back memories of his dream from earlier this morning. His cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger, but he can't tear his eyes away. Is this what Dutch meant by "womanly charm"?

Turning your back on Arthur with deliberate intention, you surrender all of your attention to the rich gentleman beside you. "My my, if it isn't the most handsome man in the entire west," you flirt effortlessly, earning the man's full attention without any effort at all. He leans closer to you, drawn in by your seductive aura. And all Arthur can do is watch in disgust as a hint of jealousy begins to stir in the pit of his stomach.

The man introduces himself as Alistair Dupont, and to Dutch's luck, he is completely enthralled by you. The drinks continue to flow and you use every weapon in your arsenal to keep Alistair's attention solely on you. Picking up your ale and purposely allowing a small stream to trail down your lips and chin before finally disappearing between your cleavage with a suggestive moan. Both men salivate at the sight, but Alistar has no idea of the intimate knowledge Arthur possesses. He doesn't know about the finger that traced up your pronounced cleavage, or the one that explored the wetness between your legs the night before. The same fingers that Arthur fantasized about gripping his hard cock. Arthur squeezes his thigh with such force, it's a miracle he didn't tear through the fabric. He nearly lunges forward, ready to grab your wrist and tear you away from your seat.

"Excuse us now," he growls.

"Hey!" you protest, but Arthur's grip on your wrist is like a vice, making it difficult to break free. Before he can drag you away from the bar, Alistair grabs onto your other wrist in a desperate attempt to keep your attention. In one swift motion, he slips a folded paper into your palm before releasing his grip. "I said come on, woman," Arthur grunts, tugging you forcefully off the stool while you give Alistair a coy goodbye wave.

You walk alongside Arthur, your heart still pounding from the reckless game you’d just played, you unfold the crumpled piece of paper in your hand. Inside, you find an invitation to the ball and… a hotel key. Before you can react, Arthur snatches the key from your grasp.

His sudden, erratic behavior gives you whiplash. You're not sure if he's drunk or just being difficult, but either way, it's hard to tell if arguing with him is worth the trouble.

“I ain’t playin’ games with you, boy,” you say, your voice low and steady, masking your frustration. “Give it back. Now.”

Arthur's eyes glint with something—defiance, maybe even jealousy. “Or what?” he says, his tone laced with challenge.

It sounds like a dare.

You stare up at him, your patience fraying. “Or… nothing, Arthur,” you finally sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you. “Dupont is our target. He’s the person I need to get close to if we’re going to make Dutch happy and get what we need.”

Arthur's expression darkens, and he takes a swig from the bottle of liquor in his other hand. “So, what’s the plan, huh? You wooin’ him? Flirtin’ your way to answers?” His voice is sharper now, his words dripping with a bitterness you hadn’t expected. “Dutch didn’t say this was your job alone.”

You bristle at his accusation, realizing where this is coming from. “It’s not my job alone,” you snap back, crossing your arms defensively. “But you know how people like Dupont work. He’ll talk more freely to someone he thinks he can charm. I’m just using what I’ve got to get him to open up. It’s a part of the job.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he might argue more, but instead, he grunts and stumbles forward, the hotel key still in his grip. “Yeah, well, I ain’t just sittin’ around while you play nice with some rich bastard,” he mutters, starting to walk off, his steps uneven.

Before Arthur can stumble too far, he pauses, his back still half-turned to you. He seems to hesitate for a moment, as if wrestling with something in his mind. Then, with a grunt, he spins back toward you, his expression hard but his eyes revealing something else—something deeper.

“There’s somethin’ else,” he says, voice low and rough. His gaze flicks to the ground, then back up to you. “Last night… I saw somethin’ I wasn’t supposed to.”

You frown, your stomach twisting as a knot of confusion and dread forms in your chest. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, Arthur?”

He exhales heavily, the weight of the words he's about to say clearly gnawing at him. “When I went to return your journal. I saw you… in your tent. You weren’t exactly… dressed.” He shifts uncomfortably, and despite his rough demeanor, there's a vulnerability in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “You were… you know… busy. And I—hell, I didn’t mean to—"

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, leaving you speechless, your mouth slightly open but no words coming out. Heat floods your face, and for a split second, you wish you could vanish into thin air. Arthur’s gaze holds steady on you, almost daring you to respond, but all you can feel is the sudden rush of mortification and shock.

“I wasn’t spying, I swear it,” he adds quickly, his voice gruff but tinged with something almost like guilt. “I turned away. But I ain’t been able to stop thinkin’ about it.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The confession hangs heavy between you, the weight of it suffocating the air.

“Arthur…” you manage to say, but the words falter, your voice barely a whisper. You're at a complete loss for how to respond, a thousand emotions swirling through you—embarrassment, anger, confusion, and something else you’re not ready to name.

But before you can say anything more, Arthur lets out a harsh breath, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the moment. “Forget I said anything,” he mutters, turning abruptly on his heel, the hotel key still in his hand.

“Where are you goin’?” you call after him, your voice rising in irritation.

Arthur stumbles over his feet, but manages to catch himself, waving the key in the air. “Gonna go piss in that rich man’s hotel,” he slurs, his words barely coherent.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

[euphoricfilter]

regret:

pairing: jungkook x gn! reader

genre: non-idol au || angst ||

summary: regret is the worst emotion

tags/ warnings: kinda just angst… the ending is ambiguous so you can try make it happy if you want

notes: a little ramble based on how i feel at the moment as a little treat before bed <3 i feel very rusty because i haven’t written in so long

☆ where you can find the rest of my stuff!!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

the knowledge that the thing you want to say is going to hurt someone you care about is the worst feeling. a strange sinking in your chest, malleable guilt that chews away at your mind and your heart.

words tacky on your tongue as you rehearse them in your head over and over, a well practiced script. because ending something with someone you like a lot hurts. really, truly, hurts.

it hurts knowing you’ll hurt them and it hurts not knowing how your relationship will be after you utter the miserable set of words stuck in your mind.

jungkook was your first.

jungkook was your everything.

he was perfect, within whatever limitation human perfection has. he treated you like you were the best thing on the face of the earth. you were the light of his eyes, perfect in all your imperfect ways. a piece of you tucked away in his mind all hours of the day.

quick to message back when you text about your day. always on the other end of the phone. always there. the one person in the universe who loved you for who you were, the one person who loved to spend time with you all hours of the day. just the silent comfort of knowing you were there enough for him.

gentle as his fingers would run through your hair, legs tangled together and breathing soft as you linger between the waking world and gentle sleep.

his love for you was all consuming.

which is why you didn’t understand why it felt like your world was crumbling. a phantom hand wrapped around your delicate neck, constricting every breath you took.

a constant spiraling anxiety, tugging you further and further into this abyss of worry and self loathing.

the strange self loathing you have when you don’t know yourself anymore. unsure why. what reason there is to your existence. why people even liked you when it felt like you had nothing else to offer.

and at the time you thought you needed a break.

palms sweaty as you hold the phone to your ear, boyfriend understandably concerned by your recent lack of communication.

“hello..?” jungkook answers.

you swallow, “hi” it comes out quiet, throat already lodged, eyes glossy.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he hums, you hear him shuffle on the other end of the phone.

your lungs inflate as you take a deep breathe

“i..” you start, all that practice getting you nowhere as your mind stops, guilt clawing it’s way up your throat.

“baby?” he presses on, worry evident in his voice.

“i don’t know if i can do this anymore” the bitter words slip off your tongue, “you don’t deserve this”

and of course jungkook had been baffled. though maybe a small part of him knew that this was coming, how you’d slowly started to creep away from him. the unintentional distance scratching the surface of what was rattling around your mind.

“if this isn’t what you want… then that’s okay” he breathes, “i just want you to be happy”

you feel the tears trickle down the mounds of your cheeks, “no” you huff, “god, jungkook please don’t be nice right now”

“what do you want me to do?” he laughs, though you can feel the lack of humor, laugh dry as it’s pushed past his lips.

you wipe your wet cheeks, “call me a bitch or something”

“i’m not gonna call you a bitch” he sighs.

“but you don’t deserve this… i should have at least come in person or… i don’t know” you cry, “i feel like such a horrible person”

“you’re not a horrible person” he hums, “i don’t want you to feel bad”

“too late” you murmur, “i feel like shit… you’re just so nice and i really like you…. but i don’t think i can do this anymore”

the fact he has been so nice had made it harder. the sadness in his voice as he reassured you as you cried. the moment sinking in when you finally put your phone down. you’d shattered something so lovely. you’d ripped away the only person who made you feel seen.

and the week after was no different. he didn’t message you. so you never tried reaching out, how could you when you’d broken his heart.

it felt selfish missing him. wanting any sort of contact you could get.

and when he messaged about bringing some of your stuff over back to your place, that wasn’t enough. you knew that the small exchange wouldn’t be enough because you missed him, and asking for friendship after you ended the relationship chewed away at your mind.

sometimes missing someone is a strange feeling. knowing that the dynamic you once had is totally different, that it might never be the same as it was.

and sometimes missing someone hurts a little less than the guilt that eats away at you for what you have done. or missing someone can hide that slither of regret you have, wishing you knew you’d hate life without them as much as you did with them.

the world is lonely when you don’t feel seen.

dread wrapping around your mind. slowly sinking further and further into the darkness. nights spent thinking about the moments you’d shared together. that maybe you want what was once there.

you missed jungkook more than you’d like admit and it was eating away at your heart.

all it took was a week. a week of silence. a week of being alone and figuring out life by yourself.

you tip your head up, full moon shining down on the street as you stand outside jungkook’s apartment building, feet shuffling against the ground as you hold your phone to your chest. you’d written a message, rewritten the message, thought about what you’d say.

and that selfish part of you wants to send it. that selfish part of you wanting him to be there, for you to touch him, know that he’s really there and you can change what had happened.