#like blood from a stone fanfic

[feverinfeveroutfic]

like blood from a stone | chapter forty-eight

(ao3 title: nearly forgot my broken heart)

The desert heat parched my tongue, my throat, and my lips. I woke up somewhere in the sand dunes with the wind at my back, and I knew that I had to get to shelter somehow. I had been stripped of my clothes, and because of this, every single step was one riddled with hot sand right up my ass and the backs of my thighs. Though I was alone, I still folded my arms over my chest, and I kept my body stooped forward to protect myself from the harsh winds around me. It felt as though I was being sandblasted every single step of the way. 

I was naked and even that wasn’t enough to stop me from sweating like a complete pig.

My hair spread over my shoulders, and a huge chunk spread over my face once I reached the next crest of the dune before me. I swallowed, and I thought my throat was going to close up. I needed something to drink yesterday, or whenever I had come on out there to the dunes. Miles and miles and miles of dunes and nothing else to see. 

I had no idea what country I had even landed in.

I reached the crest and peered out to the trough down below, and I swore that it was nothing more than a mirage down in the hot sands, but then the sand hit the outside windows of the second floor of the building. A diamond in the sand, surrounded by palm trees and warm-looking peacock blue waters of a pool, and I noticed the big glass front doors stood wide open to let everyone inside, a safe haven away from the immense heat and the scorched sands that were beginning to dig away at my body.

I cupped my hands over my crotch, and I hurried down the side of the dune towards the front doors. I caught the sound of slot machines inside there, as well as the clanking of billiards balls. I never thought I would find a place like that in the sprawling miles and miles of sun baked sands: even Vegas had its mountains to insulate it in from the rest of the Mojave Desert.

I nearly tripped and lost my balance, but I caught myself before anyone inside could see my dick or the back of my ass. I stood at the entrance, and I let the wind billow my hair over my shoulders. I looked on at my shadow as it spread over the lush red carpet. I hoped that no one would question or even so much as notice the half-Native American boy who had been absolutely torn to pieces walking through the intense heat of the desert.

If nothing else, I needed to be inside and have a good long drink of water.

I took one step forward, and the red carpet kissed the burned soles of my feet. It was as if I was walking over water, as red as the blood that flowed through me. If I didn’t know better, I swore that my blood had dried out and washed out before me onto the expansive floor.

Much to my surprise, the casino didn’t smell of cigarettes or of liquor. It did, however, smell of chemicals, as if they had just cleaned every inch of the place. It wasn’t making my eyes water, but it was enough to make me feel as though I was treading dirt through the entire front corridor of the place. Beyond the slot machines, tucked up inside of the walls, I could see the stacks of gold coins behind the windows of thick glass. I was lost in a world of gold out in the middle of the desert.

No one at the machines or even in the next rooms over, the rooms with the roulette wheels and the blackjack tables, seemed to be looking in my direction. I reached the end of the corridor, and I spotted the brightly lit bar off to my right. Still with my hands cupped over my crotch, I padded over the carpet and onto the smooth, freshly polished stones which made up the floor.

Neon illuminated the crown of the bar as well as the backsplash of the bar itself, but when I laid my eyes on the glass bottles up there, it made complete sense to have that bright pink and blue lighting all around me. Out of breath and still dry as a bone, I took my spot at the bar right before the bartender with a white towel slung over his shoulder.

“Dry country,” he informed me, and I nodded.

“It’s okay, I don’t really drink,” I replied to him with a straight face. I ran my fingers through my hair: even with the immense desert heat around me, I hadn’t broken out a sweat. In fact, I was amazed that no one said anything to me about walking about the place in the buff. I pinned my knees together as I remained there on the barstool. “Can I get some coconut water please?”

“Small or large?”

“Small. I have traveled far without a drop to drink. I need to ease myself into it.”

“Very wise choice,” he assured me with a wink, and he turned to the speedwell next to him to begin serving that up for me. I propped my chin up in the palm of my hand, and all the while, I thought about Chuck. I needed to think of a plan to break them up, but at the same time, I had no idea if I was even awake or even anywhere close to the Bay Area again. In fact, I had no idea if they even knew I was there or how I even found my way over there.

The thought of him being married to his best friend, and when they had been arranged into the whole thing no less, left me with a sinking feeling in my chest, perhaps more so than the feeling that my own broken heart and nauseated stomach had given unto me. The bartender returned to me with a little coconut in hand and one of those little paper umbrellas on the side. Inside of there, I caught the aroma of coconut itself even though I was looking at nothing more than a small pool of water.

I sipped on the coconut water, and it caressed the back of my throat to the point it tickled.

I turned my head to view the window on the right side of the room: there was that pool with the soft-looking blue waters.

If nothing else, I wanted to be out in those pool waters, but at the same time, I worried about it being a shock to my body, though. I had been walking through the desert with the blast of sand and hot winds all around me: it was bad enough that I sat in that casino with the air conditioning vent on my head and shoulders, and I was already beginning to feel cold.

“You are going to get it so good,” a voice said right into my ear. I turned my head to find Eric right there next to me: he had been suspended up onto crutches. When I lowered my gaze to the rest of his body, I noticed the castes and the bandages about his legs from the knee downward. His long smooth black hair swept about his shoulders and his upper back like a curtain.

���I’m going to get it good?” I echoed him as he took his spot next to me on the neighboring stool, albeit with a bit of a struggle given his castes were as stiff as boards. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re going to get it,” he repeated with a straight face. “You fell on your sword and landed on the cold linoleum.”

“I have a faulty heart, remember?” I recalled to him, slightly frustrated.

“Of course. But that’s not what it looks like to us, though. We swore that you fell on your sword and now you’re dead.”

“Wait.” I stopped in my tracks. “I’m dead?”

“Clinically speaking, yeah,” he continued in nonchalant fashion. The bartender moseyed on up to him with a coconut in hand; Eric thanked him and took the virgin piña colada for himself. Slowly, he sipped on the drink and locked eyes with me.

“So, I’ve died,” I followed along, “and that’s why I’m here?”

“No, no, no, you’re here because you need someone to talk to,” he corrected me. “You have more feelings for Chuck than anyone seems to realize.”

“Do you realize that?” I questioned him.

“Of course. Lou and I both are fully aware of it. We wouldn’t do the things for you the way that we have if we didn’t know anything about it.”

I dropped my gaze to the castes and the bandages wrapped about his legs, and he looked to be struggling to even so much as sit upright there on the smooth metal stool there next to me.

“What happened to your legs?” I asked him.

“It’s a long story,” he sheepishly answered with a shake of his head.

“Where’s Lou?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s an even longer story.”

I squinted my eyes at him. “Will I ever wake up?”

“Depends,” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “How determined are you?”

“Determined enough,” I assured him as I held the coconut up to my lips for a good long swig of the fresh cool water within there. I gave my hair a toss back over my shoulder and locked eyes with him. “Determined enough to confess to you that I’m not ready to die as of yet. I need to wedge myself in between Chuck and Alex, because I know they don’t want to be together, even as much as they might love one another as brothers. I need a new heart and I need to gather my strength again. And I’m going to give Metallica a run for their money, too.”

“As you should,” Eric encouraged me. “Lars and Cliff are getting antsy from what I can tell. James is breathing down their necks.”

I turned my attention to the window again, and the waters out there were still as smooth as glass.

“Wanna go for a swim?” I offered him.

“Can’t,” he replied, and he gestured down to his legs. “You can, though.”

I downed the rest of the coconut water, and I set the coconut itself down on the bar. I ran my fingers through my hair, and then I stood up and kept my hands over my crotch. I ducked past the bar with Eric right behind me like a shadow that followed me around everywhere.

I stood out there on the cool but hard concrete, with my feet still in agony from walking about those hot sands, and I looked on at the waters before me. I stood at the edge of the pool and moved my hands away from my body as if to prepare myself for the plunge. Instead, I looked down to the water’s surface and at my own reflection.

I was a vain bastard with the broken heart, and all I could do was look on at my own reflection.

I opened my eyes, and my vision blurred. Eric had disappeared back into my mind: nothing more than my own hallucinations and my own shattered mind that gave him unto me.

“Joey?” His voice, as smooth as freshly brewed coffee, echoed through my ears as if he was speaking into a tunnel. I rolled my head over the top of the pillow as I struggled to regain my bearings. I had fallen asleep at some point and I swore that I was under the veil of something, the veil of the realm beyond the physical.

I was back home, back with my soulmate.

“Joey?” I opened my eyes some more, and my vision returned to form. Chuck lingered next to me: his long molasses-colored hair swept over me as if he had been caught in an updraft of a cool oceanic breeze. I swore that I was still dreaming and I had found my oasis out in the desert.

But then I caught the sound of machines beeping right behind me. The sound of a ventilator next to my head and shoulders. Something that was keeping me alive and breathing, and something else that had steadied my heart to where I could sit still and without any sort of discomfort running through me.

“There he is,” Chuck remarked, and he sat back down on the chair next to my hospital bed. As far as I could tell, he was alone in there with me.

“Yeah, I’m…” Even with the machines keeping me awake, I still had a bit of difficulty catching my breath or even so much as putting words together. “…I’m here. I’m here.”

He reached over and rested a hand on the back of mine, whereby I rested my hand on the bed right next to the crest of my hip. His skin was soft and creamy, and I knew that this was my chance to bridge the gap between me and him. I let my eyes wander down to his hand, and I noticed the wedding band still in place on his ring finger. 

But I needed to punch the sky.

“What… What day…”

“It’s Wednesday,” Chuck replied. “You’ve been unconscious for three days. They were worried about you because your heart actually stopped for ten minutes and they declared you clinically dead, but then your heart picked up again. I was worried that you wouldn’t wake up again.”

I locked eyes with him and nibbled on my bottom lip. Those eyes, so bright and luminous as if I was looking into the heavens itself. Those lips, as smooth as porcelain. I knew what he was thinking: we had the binding of the soulmates between us, come hell or high water in the face of the arrangements between him and Alex. I had nothing against Alex but I wanted to get in between them at that point.

“They pumped you full of nitroglycerin to preserve your heart once it picked up again,” he told me in a soft voice. “You were in seriously bad shape, my friend.”

I rolled my head back over the top of the pillow again, and I looked on at the bags filled with medicine right next to my bed. I had no idea what was in there, but I could feel it doing its thing on my poor body.

“Will I ever get out of here?” I asked him with a break in my voice.

“I’m sure you will,” he promised me, and he lightly patted the back of my hand. “They want you to have your strength back, the strength to at the very least stand up and walk around the place.”

“I… I do, too,” I breathed out, and I could feel a strange pain in the back of my neck right then. I hunched my shoulder closer to my ear as if I had water in there.

“Oh, yeah, the nurses told me that when you ran into the lobby, you took a tumble,” Chuck continued. “You kinda… fucked up your neck a little bit because of that.”

I sighed through my nose at that.

“They had to be careful because morphine and nitroglycerin don’t really go together,” he explained. “It was either have a sore neck or have your heart continue to pound out of time until you have another heart attack. Guess which one they chose.”

“Sore neck…” My voice trailed off. I lowered my gaze to his hand once again. The wedding band shimmered and shone under the fluorescent lights, as if it was a demon eye glaring back at me.

To run away with him. To run away with him and hold him in my arms against the lake effect winds forever. My train of thought was returning, and my body was well in the thick of recovery, and thus, I had to act on all of this. The dream was still fresh in my mind.

“I want to kiss you so badly,” I confessed to him with a shake of my head. His face then fell at the sound of that.

“I don’t really know what to tell you.” His voice was faraway but soft.

“I thought… we were soulmates,” I gasped out. “I thought… I thought…” He swallowed, and I could see something in his eyes. This look that I never really knew, but it gave me a weird feeling the more I looked on at him.

“Please…” I gasped out, and I could feel my back arching. I needed to sit up: damn the torpedoes.

Those luminous eyes were kissed with tears.

“Let me kiss you,” I begged to him, and I had to resist sitting up all the way as I knew that my neck could ache a great deal if I did it too fast. Chuck lingered back away from me: he had this look in his eye as if he wanted to tell me something.

To hell with the royalty, but I wondered what had changed since I had fallen on the floor of the lobby. Something had changed. Something had dug its way into his mind and stopped him from showing him from what he really wanted in life.

Indeed, Chuck swallowed and stood up from the chair. I reached for his hand, but he backed away from me. I lifted my head from the pillow, but I could scarcely sit upright all the way. I couldn’t do it, not without running the risk of making my heart pound even more. In fact, I could feel my lungs flaring from the feeling. 

I couldn’t cough, but I could feel it in my chest.

I took a beating.

“Joey, don’t,” he said with a wave of his hand at me.

“But Chuck… I thought… I thought!”

“Joey, you need to rest.” He backed away from me as if he was facing a monster. But I swore that he was my soulmate and the feelings were mutual.

Something had changed, and I needed to know.

“Chuck…” Because of that, I could feel my heart pounding again. My heart pounded and my lungs struggled to breathe from the feeling. I was going to bleed out from the heart once again, but I didn’t care at that point: I wanted him to know the truth of it all. “Chuck…!”

The monitors blared out right then, and I was reaching some sort of peak at that moment. Chuck backed away from the foot of the bed towards the door; the nurses ducked in to assist me as I could feel my chest aching. They laid me back down onto the bed to help me.

Something about me being too agitated for the time being. I had to rest. I couldn’t stop the feeling of my own heart, however, but I agreed with them, though. There was no way I could chase after him as he bowed out of there and into the corridor away from me.

My own broken heart needed to rest, even as the tears leaked out right then.

[riddlemearose]

Phoning a Friend

Warriors watches the two Champions blearily, forcing his eyes to stay focused on them. He knows one is the Shadow but he can’t let himself entertain the possibilities of who the other one is. For now, he has to think of it nothing more than another potential enemy.

The one with the odd spear that gleams gold, its green gem ornaments clinking softly against the shaft as he twirls it, keeps himself between Warriors and the twisted Champion. The golden spear spins and spins, batting away a sickening dark blade every time the bloodstained, withered Champion tries to break through his guard.

Watching the spinning spear is actually making Warriors feel nauseous. Well, he mentally amends that to ‘more nauseous’, glancing down at the blood spreading across his tunic.

And this weird noise, whatever it is, isn’t helping! There’s something heavy weighing the clearing down, pressing into Warriors’ skin.

All he can hear is this pulsing loud tick tick tick in his ears, accompanied by an odd warping sensation in his limbs.

It’s magic, he knows that much, but he’s never felt it before and has no idea which Champion it may be coming from, if it even is either of them casting the spell.

He turns his head to spit out a mouthful of blood and it feels like the movement takes an eternity to complete.

So either his blood loss is more severe than he thought, or there’s something else going on.

The spear-wielding Champion darts backwards, his grip along the spear finally shifting into a proper stance, grinning wildly.

Ha, Warriors is hilarious.

A large shining gem sitting at the dip of the first Champion's throat lights his face up from below, all deep shadows and softened edges. He’s breathing heavily, a slight tremble visible in his fingers as he readjusts his grip.

The other Champion across from them makes a sweeping gesture with its withered arm and something red and alive spurs into life, lunging forward. The shape twists, absorbing what remains of the rotted flesh, and large, monstrous fingers stretch into existence. They reach through the darkness for the first Champion, wicked under the moonlight.

The first Champion raises the spear slightly in response, his grin vanishing as it's smothered under a blank, smooth expression that Warriors refuses to recognise. The fingers, the vile magic, get closer to his face, closing the distance rapidly—

And Time shoots out of the bushes, the Biggoron sword catching the moonlight as it arcs through the air and severs the arm from withered Champion's body. The arm hits the ground and melts into a writhing pool of furious magic, thrashing around that Champion’s feet.

The ticking in Warriors’ ears stops so abruptly he's thrown off-kilter, reeling at the sudden silence left in its wake.

Time glances at him, a quick look filled with concern and worry, then shifts his gaze to the spear-wielding Champion — Wild, Warriors lets himself finally acknowledge.

Dozens of micro-expressions fly rapidly across Time's face before he finally decides on grim determination.

“That,” he says in an almost wobbly tone of voice, taking up stance next to Wild, “is loud.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told. Sorry about that.” Wild agrees, still focused on the withered copy of himself standing in front of them. He shoots Time a small grin, barely there but blindingly obvious if you know what to look for. “Worked though.”

Time lets out a quiet huff of laughter, his own small smile twitching across his face. He shifts, sword held tightly in both hands. "You're definitely not wrong about that, Wild. When we get back to camp, you'll have to tell me how you managed to make your magic even louder than it already was."

[plantwriting]

“average jrwi fan writes 5.869 words of kian stone fanfic” factoid actualy just statistical error. average jrwi fan writes 0 words of kian stone fanfic. Words Georg, who goes by plant & writes over 1000 words of kian fanfic each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

[nuagederose]

part two of my something of an advent calendar ❄️

Nelly, Christine, and Alex in front of Chris’ grave

John and Tina on the bus to West Virginia

l’chaim!

“dying of a broken heart”

the return of “Billy Crystal”

[twstyuna]

Chapter 22

Crowley says no.

I have updated my fic wherein Yuu is a cursed golem and essentially an OC, but I call them Yuu because I'm uncreative like that.

TW for mild gore and self-harm(?)(Does it count when you're puncturing your throat so you can breathe?)

Other things that have happened within 5 chapters, in order, with no context:

Yuu almost commits a kidnapping

Crowley gets punched in the throat

Yuu has a meltdown

Ortho appears and is a precious child

Grim gets punted

[1800-fight-me]

Future

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader Rating: E (Explicit-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, explicit PiV sex as well as oral sex (M&F receiving), breeding kink, and daddy kink (oof) Word count: A little over 8.3k Synopsis: Logan goes back to the past in an attempt to save the world, but more importantly- you. (Set in X-Men Days of Future Past and switches between Logan and Reader's POV) Author’s note: Something about Logan makes me absolutely insane to the point that I wrote the longest most explicit sex scene I've ever written.... please enjoy P.S. I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Comments and reblogs make my day! Main Masterlist

LOGAN’S POV

The future was dark and bleak. A war of uncontrollable violence, more than Logan had ever seen in his long life. 

The only bright spot in such a horrific future was you. You were the peace and rest his aching soul had long been searching for. 

It started as two people seeking solace and relief in one another, but the foundation of friendship created something so much more significant than either of you could have predicted. 

You became the planet around which he orbited. The home he never thought he’d find. The balm to his raging fire. 

Despite the hell that was life in the future, he had you. It was fitting that it caused the world falling to shit for him to finally find you. 

His self deprecating thoughts also told him that it was fitting that he lost you too. He didn’t deserve a love so pure and bright. He didn’t deserve such happiness when everyone else he cared about was either suffering or dead. 

All the blood on his hands left him marked, scarred, filthy down to his soul. But you looked past all of that, claimed you loved him anyway, claimed him. 

He was yours completely, worshiped at the altar of your affection, would go any lengths for you- do anything you ask. 

He would do anything to protect you, and it was the biggest black mark on his soul, after an extended lifetime full of mistakes, that he wasn’t able to protect you when it mattered the most. 

He shredded the sentinels, the unkillable soldiers in his rage, but one had slipped past his defenses, used your own healing powers against you and sucked the life right from you. Snuffed out your bright light all too soon. 

He killed, and killed, and killed- and it still didn’t bring you back. 

No one and nothing but him made it out of that abandoned warehouse that night. It was the tipping point for him, it made him bloodthirsty and reckless. It made him willing to go along with Charles and Eric’s ridiculous plan. 

As he laid down on the stone slab and allowed the young mutant to send him to the past, his thoughts were only on you. 

Everyone knew what his hopes were, but it went unspoken for fear it wouldn’t come true. Logan went back to the past with the desperate desire that he would wake up in a future in which you were still alive. A future he hadn’t already destroyed with the worst mistake he’d ever made. A better future. One you deserved, he would give you anything and everything you asked if he could bring you back. 

He woke in 1973 in the arms of a woman who wasn’t you, a woman he didn’t really remember. He hadn’t met you yet in 1973, unfortunately it would be a long while before he met you. And besides, he didn’t have time to search for you, he only had enough time for his mission. 

He could only hold onto the hope that he would see you again in the future, if he could change things for the better- if he could finally do something right. 

You were his motivation through dealing with younger versions of Charles and Eric, through all the missteps and mistakes, he tried his best to not lose hope. 

One last chance, after the mess that was Paris, this intervention was the only possibility of setting things right. 

They had to prevent Raven from killing Trask at this ridiculous anti-mutant presentation. Logan was inclined to agree with Raven at this point, but he knew the outcome of that decision and it was one he couldn’t live with. 

He and Hank made their way through the large crowds as Hank pushed Charles’ wheelchair, all focused only on their task at hand. Logan scanned the crowd, looking for Mystique despite the fact that Charles would be the only one able to find her. 

A voice met his ears, one that made his spine go rod straight. A voice he had unconsciously trained himself to seek out over years. 

“I really don’t want to be here,” the voice grumbled. 

Logan whipped his head to the left so quickly that if it was possible he probably would have given himself whiplash. 

It was you. 

His heart pounded harder than it had in the entirety of his two hundred something years. 

He stopped dead in his tracks and it was a force of will to not stare at you with his mouth hanging open. 

You looked different, but the same. You were younger obviously, your hairstyle and clothes were completely different, but that was you. 

His hand ached with the need to hold you, just one more time. 

“Please, I get extra credit for attending this thing and I can’t fail my government class,” the woman who he assumed was your friend whined as she clutched at your wrist. 

He did a mental tally in his head. Of course, he should’ve remembered that in the early seventies you were in a college not too far from Washington DC. It really wasn’t a huge coincidence that you would be here, but still it felt monumental. 

You looked over at her and huffed in resignation. 

God, you were cute, he thought. 

“Besides, maybe you can meet a handsome guy here. That would lift your spirits, wouldn’t it?” your friend said as she wiggled her eyebrows at you. 

You rolled your eyes and said, “This isn’t a bar, Jenna. This is anti-mutant government propaganda bullshit.” 

As did so often, he agreed with you. 

She pouted at you. “Well what if I promise to take you to a bar right after this ends?” 

You looked over at her in exasperated fondness and let her pull you forward, closer to where Logan and Hank stood in the crowd. 

Hank was saying something to him, something he didn’t hear - his attention entirely on you, and he snapped his head back to Hank as he shook his shoulder. 

“What?” Logan snapped. 

“Who are you looking at? Do you see Raven?” Hank asked. 

Logan took a deep breath and said, “No. I’m looking at my wife.” 

“Oh no,” Hank muttered. 

“Logan you can’t-“

”It’s not safe for her here,” Logan growled. 

————————————————-

YOUR POV

“Look, that guy is looking at you,” Jenna whispered in your ear. 

You followed her line of sight and saw the most handsome man you’d ever seen. 

He was exactly your type and in tight jeans to boot. He was huge- tall and extremely muscular. His dark hair was the kind of neat disheveled that begged you to run your fingers through it. His eyes were hidden by sunglasses but you could feel his intense gaze through them. 

“Holy shit he’s good looking,” you murmured and your friend giggled. 

He looked over at who you assumed was his friend and you continued to take him in. You weren’t sure you’d ever checked out a stranger in such a blatant manner before. There was something about him so inviting, despite his tense posture and intense demeanor, that your mouth was practically watering. 

“The guy next to him is cute too. Maybe we should go talk to them,” Jenna said. 

You tore your eyes from the object of your lust, and looked at the man next to him. He was cute in a nerdy way- exactly Jenna’s type. There was a third man with them, he was in a wheelchair and had his fingers to his temple as he scanned the crowd clearly in search of something or someone important. 

“I think they’re coming to us,” you said as the nerdy guy walked towards you. 

But unfortunately, the one you wanted to come closer didn’t, he stayed with his companion in the wheelchair and bent down to whisper something in his ear. 

“Hey ladies,” the man in glasses said as he approached you and Jenna. 

She immediately began to smile and twirl her hair around her finger as she spoke with him eagerly. 

He introduced himself as Hank and you shook his hand and introduced yourself as well, but your eyes continued to drift behind him to the other man, the one who you felt an inexplicable tug toward. 

“What about your friend?” you asked, your words an interruption to whatever Hank had been saying to Jenna. 

Hank looked stressed, but you looked back at the large man only a stone's throw away. 

He looked up and made eye contact with you, he must have taken his sunglasses off while you weren’t paying attention. Never before had you felt so stripped bare by just meeting a man’s eyes, there was a whirlwind of emotions within them- something akin to familiarity, possibly even love, and hunger. 

It took several moments of drowning in his gaze before you regained your wits about you. You smirked at him. 

He crossed his arms over his chest, which made him appear even larger as his muscles flexed. He raised a brow at you, but his lips were upturned in a small smile as if he was smiling despite himself. 

You crooked a finger at him, an invitation to come closer. 

He smiled and shook his head slightly, almost as if he were reprimanding himself but also couldn’t help himself. He turned his head and said something to his friend in the wheelchair before he strutted over to you. 

Every long stride he took towards you led to a tightening in your chest. It wasn’t fear, no, it was yearning. There was something inside you that wanted- no, needed, to know him. 

Your instincts were all wrong, he looked like a predator closing in on his prey, something about him sharp and animalistic as he approached you, and yet you felt at ease, intrigued, safe. 

“Hi,” you breathed out as he reached you. He smirked and stood a bit closer than would be normal for a stranger, but you didn’t mind at all as you looked up at his towering figure. 

He introduced himself in a low gravelly voice that sent a shiver down your spine and hearing his name was like an answer to a question you didn’t even know you’d been asking. 

Logan. 

You told him your name and he had this secret smile as if he already knew what you were going to say. 

He repeated your name, and something in you changed forever at the sound of it on his lips. 

“How come you didn’t wanna come say hi?” You asked teasingly. 

He looked at you and you felt more at home than ever before, which you knew sounded insane, but you couldn’t deny the way he made you feel. 

“Oh I wanted to,” he said and warmth filled you as you smiled at him. 

“Logan,” Hank hissed as he elbowed him. 

You’d honestly forgotten that you and Logan weren’t the only two people in the world at that moment. You’d forgotten about Jenna, and Hank, and the teeming crowd of people around you. 

“I know,” Logan replied to Hank in a grumpy tone that made you huff a small laugh. 

“Listen, I know this is going to sound crazy, but you need to leave. This isn’t safe,” Logan said fervently as he placed a large hand gently on your upper arm. 

You scrunched your brows at him in confusion. 

“Is this some kind of ploy to get me to leave with you?” You joked. 

He chuckled, the sound from deep in his chest, and you grinned. 

“If only,” he said. “No, pretty girl, I have to stay here.”

“I’m sorry, I’m confused,” you said. 

His thumb rubbed up and down your arm in a way that was both comforting and familiar. 

He glanced over at your friend, and as he saw that she was deep in conversation with Hank, he leaned closer to you in order to whisper in your ear. 

“This isn’t a safe place for mutants,” he murmured, urgency in his voice. 

You pulled back enough to look into his eyes, shock evident in your expression. 

“How do you know-“ you gasped quietly. 

He shook his head, “I’m one too, I can explain everything later, but please- for your own safety sweetheart, please leave.” 

You met his gaze and something about the urgency and care you found in his eyes made you believe him. 

“I suppose I’ll take your word for it. There’s a bar across town called McClarin’s, will you meet me there tonight? You can buy me a drink and explain all this weirdness.” You said. 

There was a flash of something akin to sadness in his eyes, but he gave you a tight smile and said, “Of course, I’ll be there. I’d do anything you ask.” 

You believed him. 

So you turned your head to your friend and said, “Jenna, we’re leaving.” 

You ignored her protests and stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Logan’s cheek. 

His hazel eyes fluttered closed, as if he were savoring the feeling of your lips against his skin. 

“Until tonight,” you said as you slipped your hand in Jenna’s. He nodded in agreement and you turned and walked away from him. 

“Why are we leaving?” Jenna complained. 

“They’re going to meet us at the bar later, we can watch the broadcast on the TV,” you said. 

She huffed but agreed as you led her out of the crowd and towards safety. 

A little while later you sat at the bar with Jenna- you ate pretzels and nursed a beer, and watched the news. 

Logan had been right, it was a dangerous situation for mutants. 

Tears filled your eyes and your heart dropped into your stomach as you watched as Logan was massacred by Magneto. His body was violently filled with pieces of metal and then thrown so far the cameras didn’t catch where he landed. 

He had to be dead, no one survived something like that. He saved your life and then didn’t survive the fight he protected you from. 

None of the news outlets had any information on your mysterious savior. 

You spent the evening calling both hospitals and morgues and no one had any knowledge of Logan or even a John Doe that matched his description. 

Weeks went by with no news. There was a hole in your heart, which seemed ridiculous considering you’d only met him once, but there was something about a promise unfulfilled. 

There was a feeling as if your future had been altered completely, as if Logan was supposed to be a part of it but now he never would be. 

————————————————-

Your mutant ability to heal others and yourself led you to work in a hospital as a nurse after you completed all of your schooling. 

Years passed and you met Storm when she literally landed in your hospital, as in she was thrown by an enemy and crashed through the ceiling. 

You stared at her in shock, then jumped towards her and used your powers to heal the gash in her stomach where blood had already begun pooling. She thanked you before flying off into battle once more. 

Once the fight was won, Storm came back and asked you to come with her to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. 

You were intrigued and soon found yourself as a professor of health sciences, part time school nurse, and an X-Man on the side. You weren’t much of a fighter, during missions you really mostly hung back and healed the injured X-Men as well as any civilians fought in the crossfire. 

It was a fulfilling life, one you enjoyed immensely, but something always felt like it was missing. You dated a bit but being so busy prevented anything deep. 

There was no spark, no instant connection with anyone like there had been with Logan. You supposed it really was a once in a lifetime experience. 

It didn’t help that you weren’t interested in anyone romantically that you worked with. Storm, who had quickly become a great friend, encouraged you to give Hank a chance when he pursued you. You tried, he was nice, but it just wasn’t love, and after a few months you ended it. Luckily you were able to remain as friends. 

Time passed and Professor X pointed out to you that you didn’t appear to age. At first you brushed him off as ridiculous, but eventually consented to let Jean run tests on you. 

As it turned out, your ability to heal yourself extended to things such as diseases and life’s natural course of aging. 

Eternity yawned its horrid mouth open before you and the loneliness of it threatened to swallow you whole. 

You took a leave of absence to avoid others seeing you in the midst of an existential crisis. You traveled for a couple of months, took time to see the world in a way you never had before, met beautiful strangers, and came to terms with the fact that it was likely you would never die, that any connections you did make would die long before you were ever ready. 

You decided to make the most of life, embrace the joy and the hurt, and returned home. 

As soon as you walked through the door of the mansion, everything felt different, but perhaps it was you that was changed so irrevocably. 

You made your way towards Professor X’s office and literally ran into a man as he walked out. 

“Ugh,” you groaned as your face squished into a broad chest. The body you slammed into was so sturdy the man didn’t even stumble, he merely placed large hands on your shoulders to steady you. 

“Woah there, speedy. You alright?” A deep voice said. Something about that voice tickled something in the back of your brain, a memory from years ago. 

“Sorry!,” you exclaimed as you stepped back and looked up to see his face. 

“Logan,” you breathed out in surprise as you finally saw him. He looked nearly the same as all those years ago. His hair and clothes were slightly different, but it was definitely him. He was as handsome as the day you lost him.

He raised a brow in confusion as he looked at you. 

“Have we met?” He asked. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. The man of your dreams, the man you thought had died and yet you had continued to pine over for years, was standing before you and didn’t remember you. He didn’t remember meeting you, an experience that had been so cataclysmic in your life but apparently unimpressionable in his. 

“Yes, many years ago,” you breathed out. 

He looked you up and down and said, “Well, I really wish I remembered that.” 

You huffed a laugh to cover up the ache in your heart as you looked down at your feet. You told him your name as his hands finally slipped from your shoulders, you mourned the loss of his touch. 

As he repeated your name in that gravelly tone your heart thumped harder in your chest, despite yourself. 

“I don’t remember anything before a few years ago,” he said. 

“Oh?” You asked. Maybe it wasn’t that you were forgettable, it was just that he didn’t remember anything. 

“What happened?” You breathed out. 

Confusion and echoes of pain clouded his gorgeous hazel eyes. “I don’t remember, but I know it was painful,” he said. 

You placed a hand on his arm in comfort and said, “Maybe the professor can help you figure it out.” 

He nodded, “Not sure if I’ll be sticking around long enough. Being on a team isn’t really my thing.” 

“Sure it’s not,” you teased with a wink, thinking back to the team he was clearly a part of back when you met him. 

He grumbled something you didn’t quite catch at the same time Charles came out of his office to greet you. 

You bid Logan goodbye as you followed Charles into his office to catch up after your extended absence. 

Your heart still pounded from meeting Logan and you wore a grin you couldn’t prevent for several minutes. 

And to your delight, you found out later in the day that Logan decided to stay. You weren’t sure what the deciding factor was, but you were happy all the same. 

Maybe things would fall into place, perhaps your future could end up brighter than previously anticipated. 

————————————————-

LOGAN’S POV

Logan awoke, the same song playing on the radio, your song. He lurched out of the bed and stumbled out of the room. As he opened the door wonder filled him as he realized he was in the mansion. 

Children bustled past him as they went to their classes. Friends and family that were long since passed in his future smiled and waved at him as he walked through his home eyes full of wonder. 

It had worked, all the effort and pain had been worth it, everything was as it should be. The only question that remained was you. Where were you? 

He made his way to Charles’ office and sighed in relief when he saw him safe and alive. 

His old friend welcomed him back to the future, a better future. 

“Where is she?” He breathed out as Charles read his mind, getting a glimpse of his past. 

“She’s here, she’s safe, but Logan you should know-“ 

At that moment you walked into Charles’ office and if Logan wasn’t already sitting he would’ve fallen to his knees. He’d never seen such a beautiful sight. 

He breathed out your name like a prayer and you looked over at him. He didn’t even register the look on your face, he’d already made his way across the room and wrapped you in his arms. 

“Logan,” you squeaked out. “What the hell?” 

He lifted you up and buried his face in your neck. 

“Can’t breathe,” you huffed as you pushed on his shoulders in an attempt to get him to release you from the vice hold he had you in. 

He put you down and looked down at you, placed a hand on the side of your gorgeous face- it wasn’t until now that he took in your expression. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. 

You pulled back from him again, even went so far as to push his hand from you and took a step back. 

“What’s gotten into you? Why the hell do you think you can just-” You asked in confusion, irritation coloring your tone. 

He cut you off as he blurted out, “What? I don’t understand-“ 

“Logan, in this timeline you and her broke up,” Charles said. 

“Broke up?” Logan asked with raised eyebrows, the words lacked any meaning to him. There was no future in which he and you were not together. It was inconceivable. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Logan said. At the same time you asked, “this timeline?” 

You both looked at one another in confusion. 

“Sit, both of you, let me explain,” Charles said. 

Logan sat and watched your expression change from suspiciousness to utter shock as Charles explained that Logan was from a different future, a different timeline, and had replaced the Logan you knew. 

He didn’t remember anything after 1973, other than the horrible future he had come from. But he did remember the first time you met that day in Washington DC. Although for him that was far from the first time you’d met.

“That’s a lot of information. I think you broke my brain- that’s so confusing,” you breathed out. 

Logan’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest as he tried to gauge your reaction. 

You turned to him. “So in this future I’m guessing you and I are together?” 

Logan nodded. 

“Well not in this one,” you muttered and stood to leave. 

“Wait, princess - talk to me,” Logan pleaded as he grabbed your hand. 

You turned back and glared at him. “Logan, I don’t care which version of you it was, you broke my heart and I have no interest in sitting here listening to any more of this.” 

You yanked your hand from his and stormed out of the office. You left him feeling helpless and empty. 

He looked over at the Professor. “What happened?” He asked. 

“It’s still fresh. The others have found her crying multiple times over the last few days. I tried not to pry but-“ 

“You went into her head,” Logan guessed and Charles nodded. 

He prepared himself for the worst and the flicker of hope in his chest began to gutter. He would be devastated if after all of this he couldn’t be with you. 

“The two of you have been together for about five years, were close friends for years before that, but she ended it about a week ago during an argument. She wanted to have a child and you didn’t,” Charles explained. 

“That’s it? She wants a baby? I’ll give her a baby. I’ll give her whatever she wants, the version of me from this timeline must be a goddamn idiot,” Logan said sharply. 

Charles chuckled. “I spoke to the other you yesterday, he had come to the same conclusion. It wasn’t that he didn’t want a child, he was just letting his fears get in the way.” 

“I have to go talk to her,” Logan practically growled as he stood and stalked out of the office in search of you. 

It wasn’t difficult to find you. He had memorized the sound of your heartbeat, your scent, and was all too familiar with the salty tang of your tears. 

He found you in a bedroom he assumed was yours, he knocked and let himself in despite your garbled yell of, “Go away!” 

It was clear this was the makeshift room you’d moved into after the break up, your decorations were all in boxes, your clothes piled everywhere and spilled out of drawers, and everything all together more messy and haphazard than he knew you liked to keep things. 

You sat curled in the bed as tears streamed down your sweet face. 

“Go away Lo,“ you sniffled as you quickly wiped your tears away. 

“Oh, my sweet girl-“ Logan said in a gentle voice only you knew. 

“No, Logan I’m not yours anymore,” the words were weak and he could tell you didn’t even really mean them. 

He came closer to the bed and you glared at him but didn’t say a word as he sat down and pulled you into his lap. 

You sunk into his embrace and buried your face in his neck. He ran his hand up and down your back soothingly. 

Your fingers tangled into his shirt, your breaths were shaky, and a few more tears managed to escape. His heart ached at the pain you were in. 

“I changed the timeline of our universe to be with you. I’m not gonna let anything stand in our way. So, you want a baby, I’ll give you a baby. I’ll give you as many babies as you want. I’ll give you anything you want, I’d do anything for you. I love you,” he said and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“But-“ 

“And before you ask, Charles told me that the Logan in this future had come to the same conclusion and was planning on making things right with you today. In every timeline, I want to make you happy.” 

He wiped the tears from your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“Did we ever talk about kids in your future?” You asked in a soft vulnerable voice. 

He held you tighter. 

“Only once, but it wasn’t a possibility for us, that future was too dangerous. So dangerous that I lost you. I wouldn’t survive losing you again.” 

At the pain in his voice you pulled back enough to meet his gaze. 

“Tell me about that future,” you asked gently. 

And so he did, every awful part of it as he held you in his arms and reminded himself that this was real, that you were safe and alive, that this was his new future. 

You wiped the tear that slipped down his face as you looked up at him in awe. 

“You did all that for me? For us?” You asked in wonder. 

“I’d do anything for you,” he said fervently. You placed your hand on the side of his face and his eyes fluttered closed as he finally, finally received affection from you after so long. 

He nuzzled his face into your hand, pressed his lips against the pulse point at your wrist, finally let himself sink into your intoxicating presence. 

You slipped your hand into his hair and pressed a featherlight kiss to his lips. The weight of time without you pressed in on him and his self control snapped, with one hand on the back of your head and the other on your waist, he crushed you against his body and kissed you with desperation. 

He wanted to consume you, to sink inside you, to never be apart from you again. 

You made a high pitched sweet sound of surprise before you kissed him just as fervently. He groaned into your mouth at the taste of you as his tongue slipped into your mouth. 

It was absolute heaven. 

This kiss could have gone on for hours or perhaps only seconds, he didn't know, no time was enough with you. 

You pulled back and looked at him. “I love you,” you said. 

“I love you,” he groaned and pressed his lips to yours repeatedly. 

You breathed out a soft giggle at his expression of adoration. 

He tilted his head back to look you deep in the eyes once more and said, “Let’s make a baby.” 

You looked flustered and he thought it was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen. 

“Right now? I-“ 

“I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart. I want to. Wanna give you want you want,” he moaned as he kissed you again. 

“Missed you too,” you whimpered as his lips drifted across your jaw and down your throat. 

————————————————-

YOUR POV

It was all consuming. He was everywhere all at once as he laid you on your back and pressed himself on top of you. 

The weight and heat of him was both comforting and intoxicating. The last few hours had given you emotional whiplash, but it was Logan. 

Apparently he was your soulmate no matter the timeline. He kissed you as if he were drowning and you were his breath of fresh air. He said everything you’d been dreaming of, and more as he declared his love and promised to fulfill your every desire. 

There was nothing the two of you couldn’t overcome as a team. You loved him and he loved you, and maybe that was all that mattered. 

As he bit down on your neck, all other thoughts flew from your head, it was just him. You and him- forever. There would be no long lonely life, he would be by your side always. 

“Logan,” you gasped and he groaned against your neck as he continued to nip and suck at the skin there. He loved to mark you as his and the thought made your toes curl. 

As if he could read your mind, he said, “Tell me you’re mine.”

His tongue licked up the column of your throat and you panted, “I’m yours, Lo. Only yours.” 

“Marry me,” he murmured against your skin. 

‘What?” You breathed out as you placed your hands on either side of your face and pulled him back enough to meet his hazel gaze. His pupils were blown with a combination of love and lust which caused heat to fill your entire body. 

“Marry me,” he repeated, then pressed his lips to yours again. 

“Yes,” you gasped into his mouth. His fingers gripped your waist tighter as they slipped under your shirt and met your heated skin. 

“Let me make you mine forever,” he growled and you whimpered and nodded as you tugged at his t-shirt. 

He helped you pull it off him and you let out a soft groan as your hand explored his broad chest, then down his muscled torso as you followed the trail of hair that led to the vee partially hidden beneath his jeans. Your mouth watered as your hand reached his belt, and you saw the evidence of his desire for you straining against his pants. 

He snatched your hand right as you were about to reach his hardened length and you whined in frustration. 

“Please, Lo,” you breathed out and he smirked in that cocky way that made you want to either smack him or suck him off. 

“No, I’m gonna take my time with you, pretty girl,” he said as he pulled your shirt off, then immediately followed with removing your bra. You whimpered again at the feeling of his skin against yours as he leaned back down and kissed you. 

His lips trailed to your breasts and you moaned as he licked and suckled at your sensitive nipples. Your core heated and throbbed as you became slick with desire for him.

You gripped the muscles of his tensed shoulders as you wrapped your legs around his trim waist. 

You attempted to grind yourself against his hard cock but he bit down on your neck in reprimand. 

“Stop that,” he growled. 

You moaned in response and he chuckled darkly. Suddenly he sat up- and you squeaked in surprise at the sudden shift as he stood from the bed. Before you could respond, he yanked you to the edge of the bed and kneeled before you. 

“C’mon, be a good girl and I’ll reward you with my cock, I’ll fill you to the brim, give you a baby just like you want. You just have to be a good girl and let me make you come on my tongue, can you do that princess- hm?” 

You moaned at his words, nodding vigorously as he slid off your jeans and spread your legs before him. 

“Use your words,” he taunted as he rested your legs on his broad shoulders. 

His nose ran up, up, up the inside of your thigh until it reached your panties. He groaned deeply as he took in a deep breath- turned near feral at the scent of your arousal. 

“Yes, yes, I’ll be good, please- just please, Lo,” you babbled. 

Another deep noise from the back of his throat came from the sounds of your sweet begging as he used his teeth to pull your panties off. 

You gasped as his warm wet tongue licked up your gushing pussy, all the way from your hole to your throbbing clit. 

“You this wet just for me, princess?” He said, the words muffled against your cunt. He began flicking his tongue over the most sensitive part of you and you keened. 

Your back arched and you plunged your fingers into his hair, your fingers tangled in and gripped the brown and silver strands. 

“Yes, for you, only for you, always for you,” rambled. 

The squelching sounds of your cunt as he pressed two fingers inside mixed with your heavy pants and his groans to create the most erotic symphony you’d ever heard. 

Your whines reached a fever pitch as his fingers curdled and pressed against the spongy spot inside you that made you forget anything but his name as his tongue continued to flick and swirl around your clit. 

“Logan!” you moaned. 

“Missed this pretty pussy,” he growled. 

Heat filled you as electricity prickled up your spine. You writhed on the bed and pressed your cunt closer to his mouth.  

One of his large hands smacked your hip lightly in reprimand. He then laid his arm down across your waist to hold you still. 

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl, or do I need to stop,” he teased as he looked up at you and you moaned. 

You slick coated his lips and beard, his hair was disheveled from your hands, and his gorgeous eyes were blown with desire. 

“No, I’ll be good, promise,” you panted. 

He smiled at you, the kind of smile a predator gives their prey before they pounce, and licked you once again. 

You were completely at his mercy, pinned to the bed, his fingers inside you and his mouth on your cunt. 

You dug your heels into the muscles of his back in an attempt to urge him on.  

The tension inside you built and built as his tongue continued its ministrations. 

“M’gonna come, Lo,” you whined. 

“Good girl, come for me,” he replied then sucked on your clit. 

The pleasure was so intense as his thick fingers continued to hit that spot inside you that lightning ran up your spine and you came with a moan of his name. 

He continued to lick until you yanked on his hair in an attempt to pull his head away as his arm across your hips kept you pinned to the bed and wiggling away wasn’t an option. 

He chuckled darkly as he pressed a final kiss to your bundle of pleasure then looked up at you. 

“Did I do good? You gonna reward me with your cock, daddy?” you asked. 

There was a heartbeat before he replied, where you worried you went too far as he looked at you in surprise.

But then came his response, “Fuck. Yes, sweetheart, you’re perfect. Daddy’s gonna give you his cock, gonna fill you up real good.” 

You whimpered in desire as he stood. You sat up and immediately began to yank at his belt. 

He smirked as he looked down on you- watched you in your desperation to reach his thick cock. 

Your mouth watered as you won your fight with his belt and zipper and yanked the jeans down enough to get a glimpse of his gloriously hard dick. 

Logan finally took pity on you and helped you to remove his pants altogether, which left him wonderfully bare before you. 

Good god, he was sexy- his rippling muscles glistened with sweat and you wanted to lick every inch of his skin. 

He lifted your face with a hand on your chin so you would meet his eyes once more. 

At the heat in his gaze you felt yourself gush even more. 

His thumb brushed across your bottom lip and you obediently opened your mouth. He pressed his thumb into your mouth and you moaned softly as you sucked on it. 

“Shit, you’re killing me, pretty girl. Lay back, I need to be inside you,” he growled. 

You let him pull his thumb out of your mouth and looked up at him through your lashes. 

“Can I taste you first?” you asked sweetly. 

His eyes rolled back into his head and he gripped your chin tighter. 

“Course you can, my good girl gets whatever she wants,” he said then led your face closer to his cock. 

You wanted to live in this moment forever, your head fuzzy with ecstasy only he could provide and empty of anything but him as you were eager to please him. You wanted to be his - in every possible way. 

You wrapped one hand around the base of his cock and pressed a kiss to the tip as you looked up at him. His breaths stuttered and power rushed to your head. You had this big strong man literally in the palm of your hand as you gave him pleasure that nearly brought him to his knees as your tongue peeked out and you licked the sensitive underside of his tip. 

He groaned your name and that prompted you on as you opened your mouth and began to take in some of his length and suckled gently. 

You moaned at the salty taste of him in your mouth, and took him in deeper as your hand worked in tandem. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he murmured. 

You rubbed your thighs together in an desperate but fruitless attempt to generate friction as your clit throbbed again with need. There was nothing as delicious as the grunts and groans Logan made as you took him deeper into your mouth. 

His hand slipped from the side of your face to cradle the back of your head and you moaned around his length as he led you to take him deeper into your throat. You took deep breaths through your nose as you swallowed him, taking him in far enough that you no longer needed to use your hand and instead used your hand to gently cup his balls. 

“That’s it, doing so good f’me,” Logan groaned. 

The musky scent of him filled your nostrils as your nose brushed against the wiry hairs at the base of his cock. His other hand began to flick and pinch at your nipple and you moaned around his length. 

His size was substantial, but you were used to it at this point and your head emptied, only Logan present in your mind, as you let him guide your mouth up and down on his cock as you sucked him deeper. 

It was everything you wanted and more, until he pulled you off him. A string of saliva connected from your bottom lip to his tip as you gasped for air and looked up at him. 

He wiped away the spit as he murmured out, “fuckin’ perfect.” 

You whimpered as he surged forward and kissed you, near feral with desire. 

“Logan,” you gasped as he manhandled you further back onto the bed and laid himself on top of you. 

He continued to kiss you, his lips moved against yours and you surged closer- your chin bumped his as you kissed him urgently. His tongue explored your mouth and electricity filled you. Your body was filled with desperation as you wrapped your legs around his trim waist. 

“Need you inside me, please daddy, need your huge cock inside me, need you to fill me up,” you pleaded as he began to kiss and suck on your neck. You knew there would be bruises there tomorrow, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care - it was only more evidence that you belonged to him. 

He chuckled darkly and said, “You sound so pretty when you beg, princess. Don’t worry, daddy’s got you.” He reached down and lined his cock up to your desperate hole and you whined in relief. 

Slowly, so slowly, Logan pressed himself inside you. Inch by inch he sunk his cock deep inside your cunt and the feeling was unlike any other. 

He caged you in with his large arms on either side of your head and you pulled his face down for another desperate kiss. 

Once he was seated fully inside you, it was as if all the franticness of the moment dissipated and you both felt the need to savor the moment, to extend it for as long as possible, to live in this experience of perfection for eternity. 

There were times that sex with Logan was rough and animalistic, but you both knew that this wouldn’t be one of those times. This was making love - this was a reunion, a reconciliation, a healing of hurts, a fusion of souls. 

You looked deep into his eyes and found home. 

You locked your ankles around his waist to keep him close, the desire to be as close to him as possible all consuming. His deep breaths pressed his chest against yours and there was nothing in the world but you and him. 

One of his hands stroked your arm as you reached up and placed your hand on the side of his face. The other rested against his shoulder as you gripped the muscles you found there. 

You caressed his cheek and ran your fingers in his beard. 

“I love you,” you whispered. 

His eyes became bright with emotion, he had the prettiest eyes you’d ever seen- dark green with rings of brown that held unconditional love for you. 

He murmured your name and it sounded like a prayer of devotion as it fell from his plush lips. He pressed a tender kiss to your lips. 

He pulled back enough to press his forehead against yours. 

“I love you more than anything,” he replied. 

You felt perfectly incandescently happy, so wonderfully full of him, and despite both of your desires for this moment to never end, you also needed him to move inside you. 

“Please, Lo,” you breathed out. 

He knew exactly what you meant and he braced his forearms on either side of your head and pulled his hips back. Logan pulled back enough that only the tip of his cock remained inside you, before he sunk back in slowly. 

Your breaths mingled with his and it felt as if the two of you were on an island of your own- as if you were the only two people in the world. 

There was a feeling of connectedness, as if the puzzle pieces had all finally fallen into place, as your heartbeat sped and began to beat in time with his. 

“You feel so good, so big,” you breathed out as he continued his slow steady pace. Again, and again, and again he pushed himself inside you. 

He moaned and kissed you again, this time messy and more urgent. 

The string of fate that connected the two of you pulled taunt, became stronger as a result of your union, as you declared to one another your infinite commitment and love. 

You clenched down as he increased his pace. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl, so fuckin’ tight,” he said, his lips moved against yours as he imprinted the praise into your mouth. 

There was a delicious feeling of fullness as you felt stretched and stuffed to the brim with his cock, as your heart threatened to burst at the care he showed you. Your hands ran across his arms and shoulders, around and down to his back where your nails dug into the sweat slicked muscles you found there. 

He grunted and again increased his pace. Your thighs tightened around his waist and you held onto him more securely as he pistoned his cock inside you. 

There was no better feeling than when he was inside you. His cock repeatedly hit that spot deep within that made you see stars and you felt that familiar burning inside you begin to grow. 

There was no possible way to be closer to him. His face was buried in your throat, his chest pressed against yours and every thrust brushed your sensitive nipples against the hair there, your puffy clit felt shockwaves of every thrust as his groin grinded against it, the slick of your arousal coated you both- there was no possible way to be closer to him, and yet somehow you needed more. 

“Daddy, please,” you gasped. 

“Mhm, is this what my pretty girl needs?” 

He shoved a hand between your bodies and began to press tight circles against your throbbing clit. 

“Yes!” You let out a high pitched whine as you threw your head back let out a low groan as you clenched down on his thick cock. 

The squelching sounds of your joining bodies should’ve made you embarrassed, but white hot pleasure eroded all your senses. 

“C’mon pretty baby, come for daddy and then I’ll fill you up, I’ll make you full of me, make sure everyone knows you’re mine with my ring on your finger and my baby in your stomach. S’that what you want? Huh? You want everyone to know you’re mine?” he growled in your ear. 

“God, y-yes, Logan- fuck,” you stuttered out. 

He continued to fuck into you with those long harsh thrusts, the pace quick and intense as his finger drew tight circles on your overstimulated clit. It balanced you on the line of pleasure and pain, but his words pushed you over the edge. 

You gasped loudly, “M’gonna come!”

He grabbed your face and said, “Look at me.” 

White hot pleasure exploded through you. Your eyes fluttered open and you stared deep into his intense gaze as you came on his cock. 

He groaned along with you as you clenched down on him. 

“Shit, that’s my good girl,” he said and kissed you sloppily. 

You keened at the praise, your head fuzzy with ecstacy. Your nails again dug into his back as he continued to pump himself inside you as he chased his own release. 

His breaths came harder as his sweat slicked skin slid against yours. His hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise as his pace somehow increased. 

There was nothing you could do but take it. This-this was bliss, this was perfection. 

“Want you to fill me up, want you to come in me, please Lo,” you whined. 

He groaned and with one more deep thrust he pushed himself as far inside you as possible and came. He filled you up, with stuttered breaths and hips, he came until he had nothing else to give. 

You pulled your head back from his neck, where you had bit down- hard, and pressed a kiss to his lips. 

You could’ve sworn that the thread of fate, the connection between the two of you glowed in the aftermath. 

With a grunt, he flipped over onto his back as he held you tight, and kept you against him and pulled you on top of him as he kept his cock inside you. 

You rested your head against his chest. 

“Can we just stay like this for a while?” you asked. 

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as his large hand ran up and down your back.  

“Of course, princess. Anything you want.” 

And so you did. After all, time was a minuscule thing when the entirety of a new future together stretched before you. 

[novaursa]

The Broken Crown (1/2)

- Summary: Aegon the Conqueror's youngest sister, Y/N Targaryen, once bethrohed to Torrhen Stark, is forced into a marriage with her brother after he calls off her engagement out of jealousy. Struggling with her lost future and the life she never wanted, she repeatedly refuses Aegon's attempts to consummate the marriage. When she tries to escape to Essos on her dragon, Visenya intercepts her, and Aegon, in an act of control, chains her dragon to prevent any further rebellion, leaving her feeling trapped and broken.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 200+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

- A/N: Unexpected post. Let's see how it goes.

The wind howls outside your chambers, filling the air with the distant sounds of restless dragons, their cries melding with the deep, rolling growl of the sea beyond Dragonstone. The fire crackles in the hearth, sending flickers of light dancing across the walls. You sit alone, staring at the flickering flames, lost in thought. The glow reflects off the dark red and gold silk of your gown, the rich colors echoing the deep hues of Tesaerix's scales.

It has been weeks since your marriage to Aegon—your brother, your king—and yet your chambers remain cold. You know why he comes to you. You know what he desires. Yet every time, you turn him away, the bitterness of your broken future thick on your tongue.

You were supposed to be wed to Torrhen Stark, the former King in the North. A marriage of fire and ice, binding the Targaryens to the cold and ancient lineage of the Starks. You had imagined a life in the North, the fierce honor of the Starks, the warmth of a hearth shared between husband and wife, and the promise of a family. Torrhen would have been yours and yours alone. His loyalty and affection were clear in every letter, in every word whispered between couriers.

But Aegon... Aegon grew jealous. He called off the betrothal without a word to you, with a simple, royal command. And now, you sit here, a queen in name, yet more of a pawn than ever before.

The door to your chambers opens softly, the sound of boots upon stone barely audible over the crackling of the fire. You do not turn. You know who it is.

"Y/N," Aegon's voice rumbles low, rich with the quiet authority of a conqueror. He does not have to ask permission to enter; this is his castle, and you are his wife.

"You shouldn’t be here," you say quietly, your eyes still on the flames. "Not tonight."

"And yet, here I am." His voice is closer now, and you feel the heat of his presence behind you. "You’ve denied me time and time again."

You stand, your hands tightening into fists at your sides, still refusing to face him. "Because this was not meant to be. You took my future from me, Aegon. Torrhen was—" Your voice cracks, though you try to hold your composure. "I was meant to marry him. I was meant to be his only wife, to have his children. You stole that from me."

Aegon steps around to face you, his violet eyes, so like your own, burning with a mixture of frustration and something deeper. His silver hair, shining in the firelight, falls loosely about his shoulders, making him seem more a dragon than a man.

"You speak of duty as if you do not know it, sister," he says, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Do you truly believe you could have lived in the North? Away from your blood? Away from me?"

His words send a chill through you, a reminder of the bond that ties you both. You were born into the same fire, raised together, shared in the same dreams of conquest. But his love, twisted as it has become, feels like chains wrapping around your heart.

"I would have learned," you whisper, your throat tight. "For Torrhen, I would have made a home there."

"And you would have grown cold," Aegon replies, stepping closer, his hands reaching out to grasp your arms. "The North would have frozen the fire in your blood. You belong with me, Y/N. We were meant to rule together."

You yank your arms away from his grip, taking a step back, your eyes blazing. "No, Aegon. You and Visenya, you and Rhaenys, were meant to rule. I was an afterthought. You married me out of jealousy, not love. You couldn’t bear the thought of me in the arms of another man."

Aegon’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you see the flicker of anger in his eyes. He steps forward again, but you hold your ground.

"You speak as though I do not care for you," he says, his voice dangerously low. "I made a banner in your honor. You fly your own colors, the colors of Tesaerix, because you are more than just my wife. You are my queen, my equal."

"I never asked for that," you snap, your voice rising, the pain and anger finally spilling over. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon. I wanted a life. You took that from me when you sent Torrhen away."

He is silent for a long moment, his eyes searching your face as if looking for some hint of the sister who once stood by his side, unwavering in her support. But that girl is gone now, replaced by a woman hardened by the reality of her fate.

"Perhaps," he says finally, his voice softer now, almost resigned. "But we cannot change the past. You are mine, Y/N. Whether you accept it or not."

You turn your back to him again, the weight of his words pressing down on you. You hear him move toward the door, his boots heavy on the stone floor. For a moment, you think he will leave. But then, his voice breaks the silence once more.

"One day, you will come to understand why I did what I did. And when that day comes, I will be here. Waiting."

The door closes behind him, the sound echoing in the stillness of your chambers. You are left alone once more, the fire burning low, its warmth doing little to chase away the cold that has settled deep in your bones.

You sink to the floor before the hearth, staring into the dying flames, and wonder if there will ever come a day when you can forgive him—if you even want to.

The grand hall of Dragonstone feels heavy with silence as you sit at the long, stone-carved table. The walls are adorned with tapestries depicting the glory of Old Valyria, the ancestors watching with cold, lifeless eyes. You sit between Rhaenys and Visenya, with Aegon at the head, his silver hair gleaming in the candlelight. The air is thick with the unspoken weight of your marriage, lingering over the table like a shadow.

The food before you remains untouched. Plates of roasted meats, rich gravies, and spiced wine fill the room with tempting aromas, but you have no appetite. Your mind is elsewhere, churning with thoughts of the future that was stolen from you. Torrhen’s face, sharp and distant like the North itself, lingers in your memory.

Visenya breaks the silence, her voice sharp and direct, as is her way. "Y/N," she says, her violet eyes piercing as they settle on you, "when will you finally do your duty to our brother?"

Her words hang in the air, and you feel the weight of everyone's gaze upon you. Rhaenys shifts beside you, her warm, gentle nature a silent contrast to Visenya's cold command. You take a slow breath, gripping the edge of your goblet, the cool metal pressing into your palm.

"If this is about duty, sister," you reply, your voice calm but edged with steel, "then Aegon should come to you. Isn’t that what you care for most, Visenya? Duty?"

Visenya’s eyes narrow, her lips a thin line. "It is our duty to secure the future of our house. You were born for this. You were married for this."

"I was married," you cut in, the words sharper than you intend, "because our brother couldn’t stomach the thought of another man having me." Your gaze flickers to Aegon, who has remained silent, watching the exchange with his usual unreadable expression. "Or is that something none of us are supposed to speak of?"

Rhaenys’ soft, musical voice tries to ease the tension. "We are family, Y/N. Aegon is trying to—"

"To what?" you interrupt, turning your gaze on her. "To make me love him as you do? If our brother seeks love and soft caresses, he should come to you, Rhaenys. You always give him what he desires, don’t you?"

Rhaenys flinches at the harshness of your tone, her eyes lowering to her untouched plate. You almost feel a pang of guilt for your words, but the storm of emotion inside you doesn’t let you stop.

Aegon’s gaze finally lifts from his plate, meeting yours. His violet eyes, usually so hard to read, flicker with something—anger? Hurt? Perhaps both. But he says nothing, allowing the silence to deepen, allowing you to stew in the consequences of your words.

Visenya’s voice cuts through again, colder than before. "You may think you are different from us, Y/N, but you are not. We all carry the same blood. We all have the same purpose. Do not forget that."

You push your chair back abruptly, the scraping of wood against stone breaking the silence. The sound echoes through the hall, reverberating off the high ceilings. You rise, standing tall, your hands clenched at your sides.

"I haven’t forgotten," you say, your voice bitter. "But perhaps I was never meant to be part of this."

Without another word, you turn and leave the table, your untouched meal forgotten behind you. You walk swiftly through the hall, your footsteps muffled by the heavy carpets, and once you pass the threshold, the cold air of Dragonstone greets you like a slap. It chills your skin, but you welcome it. It’s a reminder that despite everything, you are still free to make some choices. Even if only in small rebellions.

As you make your way down the corridor, the sounds of your siblings fade behind you. You are alone once more, with nothing but the distant cries of dragons and the pounding of your heart to accompany you.

The hall feels emptier once you’re gone, the echo of your departing footsteps swallowed by the vastness of the space. For a long moment, no one speaks. The air is filled with your absence, and the untouched food on your plate remains a quiet accusation of all that was left unsaid.

Aegon sits motionless, his hands resting on the table, fingers curled around the goblet he hasn’t touched. His shoulders slump slightly, the weight of something far heavier than a crown pressing down on him. His face, usually impassive and stern, is now unguarded, a mixture of frustration, pain, and an unfamiliar vulnerability etched into his features. The Conqueror, the dragon lord, looks fragile—broken, even.

Rhaenys watches him, her eyes full of concern, though she remains silent for once. Her gentle attempts to soothe the tension earlier had been met with resistance, and now she seems at a loss, her gaze flicking between Aegon and Visenya. Her hands rest lightly on her lap, fingers trembling just slightly as she resists the urge to reach for Aegon.

Visenya, on the other hand, is still as stone. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes remain cold, unreadable. The eldest of you, always the embodiment of purpose, of resolve, watches Aegon closely but makes no move to comfort him. Her hands, wrapped around her knife and fork, remain steady, continuing her meal as though nothing had happened, though she chews slowly, her eyes calculating.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Aegon’s voice breaks the silence, though it is barely more than a whisper. "She hates me."

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. Aegon’s grip tightens around the goblet, and one can see the whiteness of his knuckles as though the tension might shatter the cup. His head is bowed, and for the first time, he looks… lost.

"She does not hate you," Rhaenys says softly, her voice thick with sympathy. "She’s angry. Hurt. But hate?" She shakes her head, her dark curls catching the firelight. "That is not what this is."

Aegon’s lips twitch, a bitter smile flickering at the corners. "She does not love me, Rhaenys. And she never will."

Visenya’s voice is sharp, cutting through the fragile moment like the edge of a blade. "Love is not why she was wed to you, brother. Love was never the purpose." She sets her knife and fork down deliberately, the clink of metal against the plate unnervingly calm in the face of Aegon’s turmoil. "You knew that."

Aegon’s head lifts, his eyes wet and shining with unspoken emotions. He looks at Visenya, his usually hard gaze pleading now, searching her face for some kind of answer. "But I wanted it," he says, the words rough, torn from somewhere deep inside him. "I wanted her to love me, as she would have loved Stark. Is that so wrong?"

Visenya’s expression doesn’t change. Her voice remains cold, unwavering. "You are her brother, her king. You were never meant to be her lover in the way you want."

Rhaenys, sensing the deepening wound, reaches across the table, her hand hovering just above Aegon’s arm. "She’s young still, Aegon," she says softly, her voice filled with her usual warmth. "She has not yet come to terms with her place. In time, perhaps…"

Aegon pulls away from her touch, his hand falling from the goblet to rest heavily on the table. "No," he mutters, shaking his head. "She will never come to terms with this. She will always look at me as if I am the one who destroyed her life." His voice breaks slightly, and he presses his palms into his eyes, as though trying to hold himself together, to keep the pain from spilling out.

"Then stop chasing her love," Visenya says, her voice devoid of sympathy. "Do your duty. Take her to your bed, sire her children, and end this farce of a romance you have created in your mind."

Aegon’s hands drop from his face, and he looks at her, stunned. "Is that all you see in this? Duty?"

Visenya’s eyes meet his, cold and unwavering. "That is all there ever was for us."

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the crackle of the hearth. Aegon turns his gaze to the fire, his shoulders sagging even further under the weight of Visenya’s words. The great conqueror, the king who united the Seven Kingdoms, is reduced to this—a man who sought love from someone who could not give it.

Rhaenys, her heart breaking at the sight of her brother in such despair, shifts in her seat, but she knows that no words of hers will soothe him now. Aegon has always carried the burden of their dynasty alone, but tonight, it has grown too heavy, even for him.

"You have us," Rhaenys says quietly, though her voice trembles with emotion. "You will always have us, Aegon."

But Aegon does not respond. His eyes remain fixed on the flames, and for the first time in your life, you see him not as the Conqueror, not as the dragon lord who tamed the world, but as a man—lost and alone in a castle full of people who love him, yet none who can give him what he truly desires.

And so the meal continues in silence, the clatter of cutlery and the crackling fire the only sounds in the hall. The untouched plates before you all bear witness to the shattered remnants of your family’s fragile bonds, while outside, the wind and the sea howl against the ancient walls of Dragonstone.

The sea winds howl outside your chambers, the sound haunting and relentless, like the cry of some distant, wounded beast. You sit by the open window, gazing out into the dark night, the vast ocean stretching far beyond the horizon, endless and full of promise. Your mind wanders to Tesaerix, resting in her lair below. You imagine her golden and cream scales shimmering in the moonlight, the crimson undertones beneath them gleaming like freshly spilled blood. She is your escape, your one chance at freedom.

You toy with the thought, turning it over and over in your mind—leaving this place. Far from Dragonstone, from Westeros, from the suffocating weight of duty and broken promises. Essos calls to you like a whisper on the wind, a distant land where dragons are still revered and feared, where you could carve out a life for yourself far from Aegon’s reach. You could mount Tesaerix tonight, ride her across the Narrow Sea and never look back.

The idea pulls at you, tempting you more with every passing moment. To be free of this cursed marriage, free of the bitter silence and the constant reminders of what you’ve lost. But it’s not just the present that haunts you—it’s the past, the memories of a love that was torn from you before it had the chance to bloom.

Your mind drifts back to Torrhen Stark, the man you were meant to marry. The King in the North, a man of honor and quiet strength, so different from the fire and chaos of your family. You think of the first time you met him, after he had bent the knee to Aegon. He had refused to take you as a war prize, refused to make you his by conquest, despite the whispers of your brothers. He had chosen to see you as something more, as someone worth knowing, worth loving.

You remember the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you, the way his gruff voice had gentled whenever he spoke your name. It had been a brief time, but intense—your feelings for him had grown quickly, like a wildfire racing through a dry forest. You’d fallen in love with him, hard and fast, and he with you. It was supposed to be an alliance not only of fire and ice, but of hearts.

You can still hear his deep, steady voice, promising you a future in the North. A future where you would be his only wife, where you would bear his children, where you could have the kind of life you dreamed of—one filled with love, respect, and loyalty. It had seemed perfect, a rare gift for someone of your blood, born into a family where duty always outweighed desire.

But then Aegon had taken that from you. He had changed his mind as suddenly as a storm sweeping over the sea, without explanation, without reason. One moment, your future with Torrhen had been certain, and the next, it was gone. Aegon had called off the betrothal, declaring that you were to remain in Dragonstone and marry him instead.

Your world had shattered in that instant. The life you had planned with Torrhen, the love you had begun to build, all of it ripped away before it had the chance to take root. You had cried out, fought against it, pleaded with Aegon to reconsider, but his decision was final. The bond between fire and ice, the life you had dreamed of in the North, vanished like smoke in the wind.

The memory of Torrhen’s face, when you told him of Aegon’s decision, still haunts you. His features had hardened, the quiet grief in his eyes breaking your heart all over again. He had not blamed you; how could he, when you had been as much a victim of your brother’s jealousy as he had? But the pain in his silence had cut deeper than any words could have.

You wonder, sometimes, what might have been. What your life would be like now, had Aegon not interfered. You can imagine yourself standing beside Torrhen in Winterfell’s great hall, the warmth of a fire crackling in the hearth, the cold winds of the North howling outside but unable to touch you. You would have had a home there. A real home, with Torrhen by your side, with the love you had begun to build blossoming into something strong and unbreakable.

But here, in this cold, dark castle, you are alone. You are Aegon’s wife, yes, but in name only. There is no love here, only duty, only the weight of expectations and a future you never wanted.

Your gaze shifts to the sea, the waves crashing against the cliffs below. The pull to leave is stronger now. You imagine the wind whipping through your hair as Tesaerix soars above the clouds, the world falling away beneath you as you fly far, far from here. Essos, the Free Cities, perhaps even beyond the Shadow Lands. Anywhere that is not here, anywhere that is far from the suffocating grip of your brother and the life he has forced upon you.

You stand, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you move toward the window. Tesaerix waits, her powerful wings and fiery breath ready to carry you to freedom. All it would take is a single command, a whispered word, and you could be gone. You could leave this place behind, leave Aegon and Visenya and Rhaenys and the weight of their expectations, and start a new life far from the shadow of the Iron Throne.

But then Torrhen’s face flashes in your mind again, and you falter. The North is lost to you, but would running away truly be any better? Would it bring you the peace you crave, or would it only leave you even more adrift, without even the faint hope of reclaiming what was taken from you?

Your hand rests on the stone window ledge, cold and hard beneath your palm. The choice stands before you, vast and open like the sea. Stay and endure, or fly away and risk everything for the chance at a new beginning.

For now, you remain. The wind howls, but the decision is not yet made.

For two weeks, Aegon comes to your chambers each night, his steps soft but purposeful as he approaches the door. You always hear him before he arrives, the distant echo of boots on stone corridors signaling yet another attempt. Every time, he brings something—a token of affection, as if material offerings could mend the chasm between you.

At first, it is fine silk from distant lands, robes embroidered with dragons and flames, the kind of luxury that would make others swoon. Then, he brings rare books, scrolls of knowledge written in the ancient Valyrian tongue, words meant to remind you of your shared heritage. One night, he brings a necklace of rubies, its deep red glistening like dragonfire in the low light. The next, a golden ring with the Targaryen sigil engraved on it, a symbol of the dynasty you are bound to by blood and duty.

Each gift you receive with a polite, distant nod, setting them aside, your heart unmoved. The weight of his gaze is always upon you, a mixture of hope and frustration lingering in his violet eyes. His words are softer now than they were in the beginning, his anger quelled, replaced by a quiet desperation. He is trying to win you, but the harder he tries, the more distant you feel.

The final gift he brings is a crown—delicate, finely crafted, with jewels of crimson and gold embedded in the pale metal. It is beautiful, a queen's crown, meant to match his. When he places it on your lap, he watches you with an intensity that makes the air thick between you, waiting for something—for approval, for gratitude, for love.

But you only stare at it, unmoving.

"This is yours," he says, his voice almost pleading now. "You are a queen in your own right, Y/N. Not just my sister, but my equal. You deserve this."

Your fingers brush the cold metal of the crown, but it feels like chains, not a symbol of power. You lift your gaze to meet his, your voice steady but firm. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon."

The hurt flickers in his eyes, but you have nothing left to give him. He leaves, the crown sitting abandoned on the edge of your bed, gleaming in the dim light as if mocking you.

One day, his words change.

Aegon enters your chambers, but there is a new tension in the way he moves, a sense of finality in the air. He doesn't bring a gift this time, only the weight of a decision made. You watch him, already knowing something is different.

“We leave for King’s Landing soon," he says, his voice more formal than it has been in weeks. "Aegonfort is ready for us. It will be our new home, where we will build the future of our house."

You feel the words like a cold wind sweeping over you. Aegonfort, the seat of his conquest, the beginning of the new kingdom he is carving out. The idea of leaving Dragonstone—leaving the sea, the cliffs, the only place you’ve ever truly known—sends a chill down your spine. Aegon might see King’s Landing as his victory, but for you, it feels like another cage.

"I don’t want to go," you say, your voice flat, devoid of emotion.

Aegon pauses, as if he didn’t hear you properly, as if he can’t comprehend that you would refuse. “You have to go,” he says slowly, as though speaking to a child. "You are my wife, my queen. You belong at my side."

You rise from where you’ve been sitting, facing him fully, your heart racing with the surge of rebellion that has been growing inside you for weeks. "I belong here," you say, gesturing to the stone walls, to the island that has been your sanctuary, even in the darkest times. "I do not want to go to King’s Landing, to sit in that castle you built, watching you and Visenya and Rhaenys pretend that everything is perfect."

He steps toward you, his face tightening, a flash of anger returning to his features. "You think you can remain here, alone, while the rest of us build our kingdom? This is not a choice, Y/N. You are my wife."

"I never wanted to be," you snap, the words finally breaking free from your lips, bitter and sharp. "You made me your wife, but you never asked me what I wanted. You took me from the future I could have had, from Torrhen—"

"Stark, again? Torrhen is not your future," Aegon interrupts, his voice hardening now. "I am."

"You stole my future, Aegon," you retort, your voice trembling with the weight of your grief. "You took away the one thing I had, and now you expect me to be grateful for this life you’ve forced upon me? You expect me to follow you to your new castle and wear this crown and play the role of your queen?"

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches between you, tense and suffocating. Then, slowly, he steps back, his eyes dark with something you can’t name—anger, yes, but there’s more. Regret? Hurt?

“You will come,” he says finally, his voice low and rough, almost a whisper. “Whether you wish it or not, Y/N. You will come with us.”

You turn away from him, your back to the man who has taken everything from you. You hear him leave the room, his footsteps heavy and final, but the emptiness he leaves behind feels like the deepest cut of all.

You are alone once more, staring out the window at the distant sea. Tesaerix calls to you from the depths of your soul, her distant roars echoing in your mind. The thought of running away comes back to you, stronger now than ever. But for now, you remain, standing at the precipice of a decision that could change everything.

The sun is high in the sky as you and your siblings take flight, the winds rushing past as your dragons soar over the shimmering sea. Below, the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone grow smaller with every wingbeat. Tesaerix flies gracefully beneath you, her golden and cream scales glinting in the sunlight, the deep crimson undertones flickering like blood in the wind. For a moment, you feel weightless—free. The burden of your marriage, of your crown, seems far away in the skies.

Ahead of you, Aegon leads the way on Balerion, the massive black dragon casting a long shadow over the sea. Rhaenys is beside him, her Meraxes keeping pace, and to your left flies Visenya, Vhagar’s powerful wings slicing through the air. The three of them are focused on King's Landing, their eyes set on the growing kingdom they are about to build. But your heart is elsewhere.

You glance down at the sea, endless and blue, stretching toward Essos. The temptation has been gnawing at you for weeks, the thought of breaking away, of flying far from here. Away from Aegon, from the fate that has been thrust upon you. The wind rushes through your hair as you tighten your grip on Tesaerix’s reins, your mind made up.

With a subtle shift in pressure, you command her to turn, pulling away from the formation. Tesaerix tilts her wings, veering off course, away from King’s Landing, away from your brother. Your heart races, a mix of fear and exhilaration filling your veins as you set your sights on the horizon, where the lands of Essos lie in the distance, beyond the reach of Aegon’s grasp.

Behind you, Aegon’s voice rises above the wind, calling your name, desperate and commanding. “Y/N! Turn back!”

But you don’t. You don’t even glance behind you. The sound of his voice fades as you fly farther, the space between you growing wider with every passing second. Tesaerix roars beneath you, as if sensing your resolve, her powerful wings beating faster as she surges toward freedom.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel alive. The weight of duty, of marriage, of everything that has kept you chained to this life begins to slip away, carried off by the wind. The open skies of Essos call to you like a promise, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you believe you might make it.

Then you hear the deep, thunderous roar of Vhagar.

Visenya.

You glance over your shoulder, and there she is—Visenya, fierce and relentless, closing the distance between you with terrifying speed. Vhagar, far larger than Tesaerix, cuts through the air with powerful, determined strokes. Visenya’s face is set in cold determination, her eyes locked on you with the same intensity she wears in battle.

“Y/N, stop!” she commands, her voice cold as steel, cutting through the wind like a blade. Vhagar roars again, a sound so deep and menacing it sends a shiver down your spine. But you do not stop. You push Tesaerix harder, willing her to fly faster, to escape the inevitable.

But Visenya is not one to be outrun.

Vhagar catches up, pulling alongside you with terrifying ease, her massive bulk dwarfing Tesaerix. Visenya leans forward in her saddle, her voice filled with authority. “Turn back, Y/N! Now!”

Your jaw clenches, your heart pounding in your chest. You meet her gaze for a moment, the defiance in your eyes clear. But Visenya does not waver. Her eyes are cold, unforgiving, and in that moment, you know she will force you back if she has to. She will not let you leave.

The wind whips around you as you pull Tesaerix to slow her flight, the moment of freedom slipping away from you as Vhagar looms beside you, a reminder of the chains that bind you. Visenya’s gaze does not leave yours, and she waits—waits for you to surrender, to accept the inevitable.

With a heavy heart, you tug on the reins, guiding Tesaerix back toward King’s Landing. The dream of escape fades into the distance as you turn, the pull of duty dragging you back toward the life you never wanted. Visenya does not speak again, but her presence is a silent command that you dare not disobey.

As you fly back toward Aegon and Rhaenys, the open skies of Essos behind you, the taste of freedom lingers on your tongue like ashes.

The moment Tesaerix touches the ground, the reality of your failed escape crashes down upon you like a wave. Her powerful wings fold at her sides, but there is no pride in her stance now—only the stillness of submission, forced upon you both by Visenya and Vhagar’s dominance.

You barely have time to catch your breath when Balerion descends, the great shadow of the Black Dread falling over you. His monstrous bulk blocks Tesaerix’s path back to the skies, his massive wings spread wide like an impenetrable wall. Aegon sits atop him, his expression dark, stormy, and unreadable. Rhaenys and Meraxes circle high above, silent witnesses to your humiliation.

The ground trembles as Balerion lands, his roar a deep, earth-shaking sound that makes the ground beneath your feet vibrate. You can feel Tesaerix shifting beneath you, uneasy but still under your control—for now. But even she can sense the finality of what is about to happen.

Aegon swings down from Balerion’s saddle, his steps heavy as he approaches you. His face, usually so composed, is a mix of anger and something close to disbelief. When he speaks, his voice is low, cold. "You would abandon us. Abandon me."

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat like a hammer against stone. "Aegon, I—"

"You fled from your duty, Y/N," he interrupts, his voice growing harsher. His violet eyes bore into you, as if he’s searching for some understanding of why you would run. "What were you thinking? Were you going to Essos? Were you going to leave us all behind?"

His words cut deep, the sharpness of his accusation stinging more than you expected. But you lift your chin, defiance still burning in your chest. "You took everything from me, Aegon. You took my future, my choice, my life. I wanted to escape—to find something that was mine."

For a moment, his expression softens, as though he might understand. But then, his gaze hardens again. He turns to the soldiers who have gathered nearby, his voice carrying a command that makes your blood run cold. "Chain her dragon."

You feel the words like a physical blow. "No." Your voice is a whisper at first, and then louder, desperation filling it. "No! Aegon, you can’t—please, don’t do this!"

But he does not waver. The soldiers begin to move toward Tesaerix, and she growls low in her throat, sensing the threat. You scramble down from the saddle, running to stand between the men and your dragon, your heart pounding in your chest. "She’s done nothing wrong! You can’t punish her for what I did!"

Aegon’s face is hard, his jaw set. "She’s your dragon, Y/N. You tried to flee on her back. This is to ensure it doesn’t happen again."

"I’ll stay, I’ll do whatever you ask, just don’t chain her," you beg, your voice cracking with desperation. You look into his eyes, hoping—praying—that somewhere inside him, the brother you once knew still exists. "Please, Aegon. Don’t take her freedom. She’s not like Balerion or Vhagar—she’s mine. Please."

But your pleas fall on deaf ears. His gaze flickers, but his resolve does not falter. "This is for your own good. You will not leave us again."

You watch in horror as the chains are brought forth, heavy iron links meant to bind Tesaerix’s limbs and wings. She lets out a deep, angry roar, thrashing against the soldiers who dare approach her, but they move swiftly, well-practiced in subduing dragons. The weight of the chains soon drags her wings down, grounding her in a way that feels like a betrayal to everything she is—a creature of the skies, bound to the earth like a prisoner.

You fall to your knees, tears streaming down your face as you reach out to touch her, your hand trembling as it presses against her warm scales. "I’m sorry," you whisper, your voice shaking. "I’m so sorry."

Tesaerix rumbles softly, her eyes meeting yours, but there is a sadness in her gaze, a reflection of the helplessness you both feel.

Aegon watches from a distance, his expression unreadable now, but you can see the faint trace of guilt in his eyes. He turns his back to you, as if unable to bear the sight of your anguish.

Visenya remains mounted on Vhagar, her gaze sharp and unyielding. She offers no comfort, no sympathy. This is what must be done in her eyes, a necessary lesson in control. Rhaenys, still observing from above, does not intervene either. Her silence speaks volumes, but her presence feels distant, like she is struggling with the sight of your suffering.

The chains rattle as they secure the last link, the sound like a death knell in the still air. Tesaerix lowers her head, defeated, and your heart shatters along with her spirit.

You rise slowly to your feet, wiping the tears from your face with trembling hands, your eyes hollow as you look at Aegon one last time. "You’ve broken her," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Just as you’ve broken me."

Aegon does not respond. He does not even turn. And in that moment, you know that the brother you once loved, the brother who might have understood your heart, is gone—replaced by the conqueror who cannot allow defiance, not even from his own blood.

[crescenthistory]

Hi Carina! It’s the anon who referred to your fanfics as poetry if you remember lol.

Number 1 I still stand by that and it’s even more enforced after reading your most recent poly!postwar!marauders I was hooked!! And number 2 I finally have a proper request for regulus and whiskers - perhaps some scenario where reader comes to regulus all scratched up and he p a n i c s but treats her (the scratches are from some random student’s pet cat that decided they suddenly wanted that specific patch of sun reader was napping on or something silly like that) and it’s just a mix of fluff and humor?

You totally do not have to do this specific prompt especially if you think of something similar but better, I 100% trust your vision. Also I’d like to be 🧸 anon for future posts if that’s ok with you. Once again thank you for blessing us with your stories and sorry for the long message haha❤️

of course i remember, that is my favourite compliment to date 😭 all i want is for my writing to be considered poetry, thank you so much. i'll add you to the list as 🧸 anon my love, feel free to share your age and pronouns too<333

Words: 1.5k

Warnings/tags: gn!reader, no use of y/n, light injuries, some blood, physical and emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship, mentioned bsf!sirius, idiots in love, like literal soulmates, some cat telepathy bc i can lmao

A/N: more of whiskers and shadow can be found starting with this fic ! the cat pictured below is @nrthernsong's sweet Echo who is my whiskers faceclaim, exactly how I picture her<33

Regulus heard that something was wrong before he saw it.

The past hour had been spent on the sofa closest to the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, alternating between lazily reading his current paperback and dozing off. You had grown restless and given him a sweet forehead kiss before whisking out the door, assumedly to run out your leftover energy chasing mice and climbing walls. The mere thought made him smile, but he was far too comfortable to join you, and you were sleeping over in his dorm tonight anyway.

He figured it was no harm; he enjoyed knowing that you were doing your own thing and would be coming back to him. That you were such a fully realised person with your own desires, impulses, life and friends – even if one of those friends had to be his very own brother. That you were such a remarkable individual and kept choosing him every day, with every ounce of that self. It was as good a way as any to spend the evening.

That was, until he heard the desperate clawing of familiar paws against the stone common room door.

Apart from his usual doomsday gut feeling, he found it strange that you weren’t transforming back into yourself to open the door and walk in. Though, he told himself, you clearly could not transform in the still half-filled room, and perhaps you just wanted to remain in cat form without giving your animagus status away. Yet, your scratching seemed almost fervent, even over the sounds of chatter and laughter, which told another story.

Regardless of why, Regulus shot up out of his seat from the second he registered the noise as coming from you, hurrying across the floor. A wave of dizziness hit him from how fast he went from a reclining to borderline-sprinting position, but he pushed it down without a second thought.

When he opened the common room door and a white and grey figure sped in past him at an unbelievable speed, he realised what the problem was. 

Because your usually beautiful, fluffy fur was ruffled all about and there were distinct streaks of redness across it. The blood was striking against the already blinding white, and Regulus could not fight the way his breath hitched. 

“Amour,” he all but hissed, speed walking after you to where you had hid away in the first available corner.

Despite remaining mostly aware of your human self, once you were in your animagus form, certain animalistic tendencies took over. It was how you were able to communicate so efficiently through hisses and pets, but also why in states of panic, you would seek out physical shelter to hide beneath rather than coming to him for protection and comfort like you otherwise would.

Uncaring of how he looked running after a cat and murmuring to it as if it was a person, Regulus followed you, crouching down on his knees before you when you hid beneath an armchair against the wall. He couldn’t see you well in the darkness, but he did see a pair of yellow eyes shine out at him, so stunning that the fear in them should be illegal.

“Mon amour.” Regulus decided to forgo any reservations, and laid down on his stomach with his cheek against the floor so that he could be face to face with you. “Darling, what happened to you? Are you alright?”

The whimpering sound you made shot straight through his heart, drawing a rather pathetic coo from him.

You curled further up into yourself. Regulus inched his hand forward so that it was close to your face, but you made no move to butt your head against it like you usually would. Your eyes seemed to be pleading with him, but in this form, Regulus couldn’t read you as well.

In this form.

Regulus suddenly knew what he had to do.

Before that though, he retracted his hand in favour of letting his fingers curl around his wand. He brought it up to rest before you, slowing his movements down so as to not alert you in this frightened state. Even in a moment like this, you still trusted him entirely, and only blinked slowly at him while you shivered. He brought the tip of his wand up to rest just above your red spots.

“I’ll make it better, amour, I swear,” he mumbled, almost as if to himself. With a light graze and two whispered incantations, Regulus spelled away whatever shallow scratches you had across your beautiful fur and cleaned up the blood that had stained you so unjustly. 

Though he could not be certain, he thought he heard a sigh escape you. This time, when he put his wand down, you leaned your patterned forehead down against his fingertips. Worry was still clouding most of his mind, but his lips did twitch at the sentiment.

“I’m not leaving you.” He declared before saying anything else, not wanting fear to take over you once more. “Just stay right there, lovely, and I’ll be right back for you.”

Regulus almost stumbled when he pushed himself up onto his feet and near-sprinted up towards his dorm, taking the stairs three steps at a time. If you were startled, he could neither see nor hear it, and fully intended to soothe you in a mere moment.

The second he was out of sight of any other students, Regulus twirled into his own animagus form, Shadow.

At this new level of elevation and with the animalistic instincts taking over him, Regulus felt the wave of concern spark in him anew. While he could sense when he spelled away your injuries that they were not serious, the thought of you scared ached throughout him. On speedy onyx legs, he leaped back down the stairs with just one thought swimming through his mind.

Amour, amour, amour.

You must have smelled Shadow on his way to you, because even before he saw you, he picked up on the keening noise you made at the approach of your mate. 

Still sheltered carefully beneath the armchair, you were perched up on your front paws, staring eagerly towards where Shadow was pouncing towards you. This time, you let him slip beneath the seat and into your hiding place without any hesitation. On the contrary, you made space for him, and as soon as he was within reach, you curled up against him, hiding away.

With your face burrowed into Shadow’s furry neck, he could finally feel you sigh out in relief, any tension and fear seeping out of you. It was exactly what he had been hoping for, exactly what he wanted, no needed to accomplish.

Your love was true in any form, but the connection the two of you shared in animagus form was different from anything Regulus could even think to communicate through words. He had yet to find any relevant literature on animagi explaining the bonding experience you had in animagus form, but perhaps this was one of the things in his life that Regulus didn’t need to intellectualise.

Instead, Shadow curled back up against you, keeping his head over yours in a protective manner as he held you close with his paws. Absentmindedly, he began grooming your fur, placing every strand back down in the correct direction, ridding you of any evidence of whatever tussle you had suffered when roaming the castle. Certain places of your fur seemed to demand more of his attention, and though Regulus could not prove it as he healed and cleaned you up magically earlier, he had a creeping suspicion that was where you had been scratched up. So he didn’t resist it, instead doting on you exactly how he wanted.

Beneath his touch, you were becoming soft and pliant once more, purring loudly and occasionally looking up at him with the yellow eyes he had come to love so. His Whiskers. His amour.

Using the very bond he had no words to explain, Shadow asked you through some odd form of cat communication and animagi telepathy: What happened?

Your grunt and huff communicated what he had feared. Mrs. Norris.

Shadow made a hissing sound directed at your shared menacing nemesis before doubling down on his efforts to soothe you, nudging you over onto your back so that he could groom and kiss along your neck and chest – your most vulnerable areas in cat form, showing you just how safe you were now. 

This was part of what occasionally living as a cat entailed, but Regulus would be damned if he did not care for you as if it was a tragedy each and every time. Spelling out I love you with every lick and pet and nudge and purr.

Based on the lovely sounds you were making and how you seemed to melt into him until you were one and the same, you loudly claimed I love you too.

Regulus could rest easy with you safe and sound in his hold, content just to have you near him, any anger subdued for as long as he was comforting you. In the meantime, he was dreaming up how a certain big black dog might have a little chat with Mrs. Norris.

[ponderingmoonlight]

I'd love Obanai + Sanemi saving reader from a demon (like in the first episode??) You are awesome, thanks!

This escalated so quick damn, but hey, there you have a full on fic hehe - hope you enjoy <3

Sanemi saving your ass even if you don't want to

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,9k

Synopsis: You knew what you got yourself into when you let a demon capture you instead of your beloved friend. Little did you know that help already arrived, viewing you as nothing but a damsel in distress until suddenly, you turn into much more...

Warnings: (y/n) fell but I fell harder, just saw the movie and it's so AHHH, honestly Sameni's voice is so mezmerizing omg, however this includes violence and language, might incluce spoilers for the movie but if you haven't seen it already you don't know what's going on anyway lol, like all my demon slayer fanfics this includes ai pics of reader so if this doesn't sit right with you, I'd suggest to not read it

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED MORE SANEMI CONTENT

Your dirty cold feet pound against the muddy floor, haunted eyes darted towards nothing but sheer darkness. You still don’t know how you managed to keep the demon from kidnapping your best friend, how you’re still alive when at this very moment, this frightful creature his hunting you down like its prey.

So many innocent young women, one after another disappeared from your village nearby. Why did you never even think about the possibility that you or even worse, a person you love could be next?

Not until now. Not until you stared into the demon’s stone-cold red orbs when it began to run after you. Not until you were the one threatened to get eaten alive.

“Run! Run and don’t look back!”

“But (y/n), you’ll get killed-“

“I won’t. Leave it to me, tell everyone to lock their doors, just don’t come back!”, you screamed on top of your lungs.

“I’m getting impatient, stupid girl. You know you will get killed, right?”

Blood rushed through your ears, body threatened to fail you.

“If you want to kill me you have to get me first, stupid demon.”

How long have you been running for? Minutes, hours? You lost track of time completely with your body screaming, begging you to stop and take a break. The bitter taste of iron covers your whole mouth, blood sticks to your new Yukata like a second skin. Your mother will completely lose it when she sees the crimson discolouring on the white fabric.

“I’m having enough.”

If you ever see her again.

With a swift motion, the demon swings you over his shoulder, his claws digging into your flesh so roughly that you cry out. No, this can’t be the end. You can’t allow yourself to die like this: in the arms of a demon, without even fighting back. No one ever told you what to do, you were always able to stand up for yourself. Today will be no exception. Even if you get killed, you will fight back with everything you have.

“Shinazugawa…Something’s not right.”

Sanemi can’t help but look around, eyes meeting the countless demons around him. What the hell is this place?

“Yeah, I don’t like this, either. I’ve never seen demons swarming around like this.”

“Let me go!”, you yell, fist banging roughly against the creatures’ back while it drags you into what looks like a haunted mansion.

Your eyes widen when you feel multiple pairs of red orbs laying on your body.

“Demon slayers…”, you hear your kidnapper hiss through gritted teeth, turning his head over his shoulder.

Demon slayers? You’ve heard of them before, how they behead every demon coming their way, how desperately they fight for humanity. But…where were these demon slayers when all the girls from your village got kidnapped? Where are they when you need them the most? How absoluteley useless.

You don’t know what has gotten into you. Is it the anger, the grief? With a rapid motion, you dig your nails into the eyes of the demon until he lets you fall to the ground abruptly, groaning out in visible pain.

Everything hurts, a trail of blood follows you as you drag your body against a rotten wall. You feel your body giving in, all the stress, agony and exhaustion rushing over you like a wave. But no, you can’t give up right now. Not when there’s still a slight chance for you to survive.

“You little bitch. Eat her, I will leave and get her little friend.”

Suddenly, the urge to puke becomes almost unbearable. Countless demons come near you, their teeth exposed to the harsh moonlight. No, this is not how you want to end. You can’t die getting eaten alive by these creatures. But what else are you supposed to do? There is no way out of this living hell.

Except for the destroyed window a few steps away. This is your only chance. You drag yourself up, sprint over the rotten wood underneath your naked feet and jump.

Floors into the depths.

Away from the demons, into another certain death.

“Where is the girl?”, Sanemi questions harshly, sword oh so ready to behead that bastard of a demon in front of him while heading down.

Screw this strange place and the countless demons around him, he needs to find you, needs to carry you into safety.

“The girl? She jumped out of a window in order to safe herself. She’s probably dead by now.”

He lets out the breath he didn’t knew he was holding, blank eyes staring at the stone ground his blade has crashed instead of the demon. What was this place?

No, he can’t think about this right now. As fast as his body carries him, he gets out of that cursed mansion, eyes instantly finding your falling body.

Only metres away from crushing into the ground.

Oh, how much you wished it wouldn’t end like this. But maybe this was everything you could do, dying like this is still better than getting eaten up by a demon. Where are those demon slayers? You close your tired lids, enjoy the weightlessness for a brief second. It doesn’t matter now. Hopefully, the demon is long dead before you. At least you're dragging his ass with you…

“Hey, you aren’t dead, are ya?”

That voice…A male voice, without any doubt. So harsh and tempting at the same time that you can’t help but open your eyes in confusion.

Only to be met by purple ones. Male ones, to be exact. Are those...his arms wrapped around your trembling body?

“Let me go!”, you shriek.

It seems like all power that left your body appeared again while you miserably try to fight yourself out of his arms. Who is this man? Another demon, maybe?

“I won’t let you eat me!”

“Eating you? Are you dumb, woman? I’m a demon slayer”, the man in front of you barks, his hands roughly holding onto your arms in order to stop you from hitting him again.

“A demon slayer?” you repeat.

“Yeah, the wind hashira to be exact.”

Your gaze falls from his face to his exposed chest, his toned abs. He breathes heave while still holding onto your arms. Suddenly you feel so…hot.

“You are a demon slayer.”

With a swift motion, you free one of your hands and slap him so hard that he sees stars.

“It sure took you some time to get here! What about all the other women who died here, the countless young girls that were killed by demons you did nothing about? Why did you save me!?”

“I’m wondering that too”, Sanemi mutters under his breath.

Did you actually go inane? The way you look at him with your eyes completely furious, face and yukata smeared in your own blood. You can’t be serious about that, right?

“You should be thankful”, he finally hisses.

“Thankful!? YOU should be sorry!”

“Yeah, I’m sorry for saving you…you…you ungrateful thing!”

“I could have saved myself”, you argue.

“Oh, is that so?”

No, absolutely not. You would have died if it wasn’t for the wind hashira.

“Everything was under control”, you snap at him.

Nothing was under control. This was your last way out of your misery.

“Is it so hard to just be thankful?”, he argues.

“Who’s your new friend, Shinazugawa?”

“We aren’t friends”, both of you reply at once.

Your heavy breath hangs in the air, hands still clenched into fists. Deep down you know how wrong it is to snap at him, that the demon slayer corps aren’t responsible for the countless lives the demons took in this area. But still…Why does it have to be you they saved? Why not the girl next door who would have married the next day or the girl that was supposed to leave only days after she got killed? It’s not fair, it’s not enough, it’s-

You take a heavy step back when your vision starts to get foggy.

“I won’t catch that brat if she faints now”, the wind hashira grumbles.

“We both know you will.”

The last thing you see are his purple eyes before you fall straight into deep darkness.

-a few days later-

“She’s awake now, Shinazugawa. And she asked for you.”

He hates the way his heart skips a beat by hearing those innocent words from Shinobu. You didn’t leave his head. Despite the state of Oyakata-sama, despite the hashira training, despite the stinging fact that the king of demons himself will come for them, you were always on his mind. You, with your strong but feminine eyes. You, who jumped out of a window into certain death only to keep your body away from the mouths of these demons. You, who straight up slapped him. Was it your attitude that caught him off guard? He never experienced a woman saved by him being this ungrateful. Aren’t you aware of the fact that you would have died that night if it wasn’t for him?

“What do you want, brat?”

His words come out harsher than anticipated while your sight simply takes his breath away. Since he can remember, Sanemi was never interested in any women romantically. No, love is nothing but weakness, women mean nothing but trouble. But even though you glare at him with venomous eyes the second he enters the room, he can’t help but feel drawn towards you.  

“You’re a hashira, right?”

Your words sound just as harsh as his, your gaze meeting his with so much strength that it is him who starts to feel uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I already told you that-“

“Train me”, you interrupt him.

“I want to become a demon slayer and kick your ass.”

“You, kicking my ass?”

You grab the fabric of his uniform so roughly that he isn’t able to react, suddenly so close to you that he can feel the heat radiating from your body.

“Train me.”

“Fine brat. I’ll train you. But don’t think I’ll go easy on your ass.”

-bonus-

“Try to keep up, (y/n).”

His katana clashes into yours over and over, makes it hard to stand your ground. But still you fight back, your hands holding onto your sword so tightly that your knuckles stand out white. You just have to win. There is absolutely no way you’ll lose against your master again.

Especially since he’s your lover.

“Are you tired yet?”, he teases you with a smirk.

“Absolutely not”, you press out while dodging another hit just in time.

This won’t help. If you continue to fight like this, he’ll sweep you off your feet like all these countless times before. But what are you supposed to do? It almost seems as if Sanemi has no weakness.

Except you.

“But you’ll be when I’m done”, you purr.

That sudden change of mood catches him completely off guard, forces him to hesitate for the split of a second.

Enough for you to sweep him off his feet, your body resting on top of his while your blade hangs into his face.

“I won”, you announce triumphally.

“You cheated”, he protests underneath you.

“Demons play dirty as well. You need to be prepared for everything-“

All it takes his one swift motion for him to position himself on top of you, body forcing you onto the ground before you’re able to catch a breath.

“Imma show you how dirty playing really works, then.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @kayleegomez @ryva @baku2345 @komelrebi-san

[feverinfeveroutfic]

like blood from a stone | chapter forty-seven

(ao3 title: fortune favors the brave)

I stood outside with the letter tucked on the inside of my jacket. The breeze caressed my face and my shoulders, but I needed to be outside of that hospital. I kept the pencil tucked behind my ear as I thought about all the interactions I had ever had with Chuck from Florida.

I thought about everything that I wrote in that letter, and yet when I let the proverbial dust settle, I had no idea as to how to even transport it to him. He never even told me where in Florida he lived, either. But I had written out my feelings on paper, and I bled out to him. All I needed at that point was an envelope that color of red, and I needed something with the aroma of spices: something for passion, for power, and for what I held in my heart, even in all its ridiculousness and its stupidity.

I walked on over to the low wall before me, and I folded my arms over the stony top. I propped up my chin in my hand. The breeze swept through the roots of my hair; I could feel the wedding band on the side of my face, and the cold metal made me shiver. It made me shiver more than the sweeping feeling from the traffic and from the ocean right down below me. I closed my jacket over my chest, and I shivered again.

I folded my arms back down over the top of the wall, and I sighed through my nose once more. There was a big part of me that wanted to cry, but I couldn’t do it. I lacked the strength of doing so for myself and for my future. I needed a way out of the marriage without hurting Chuck, or myself for that matter.

There had to be a way to get myself to Florida without tipping anyone off, for that matter. I had to go, and yet I was the boy with the plume of silver in his hair: they could see me from miles away. I could dye my hair and put on a hat, but my face was still recognizable from a distance. I had to find my old sunglasses.

I had to tell my parents where I was going, but then again, I wondered if they could use a break from me.

The door behind me swung open, and I bowed my head and closed my eyes. I could feel the letter pressed up against my body, and I hoped that I wouldn’t drop it at any given point whatsoever, and especially with the slight morning breeze blowing all around me.

“Alex! There you are.” The fact that someone recognized me with my head bowed left a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I closed my eyes and pursed my lips. I didn’t want to see him or hear him, but I had to face him lest I be seen as a complete fool.

I then turned around, and I found Larry back around the corner of the building with his long hair spread back over his shoulders, and I shook my head at him.

I shuddered and sighed through my nose. He nudged a lock of hair behind his ear, and I could see it on his face that he had disturbed me, and when I said that I had wanted to be alone, away from that room. In fact, he hesitated a bit there at the corner. He backed up, but when he and I locked eyes, he moved in closer to me.

“Lar, I told you I wanted to be alone,” I curtly insisted.

“But… I want you to know that I needed some time alone, too,” Larry said in a small voice, and he moved in closer to me. “It’s just hard to see him in there like that.” I pursed my lips together again, and then I turned my attention back out to the view before me. Larry joined me there at the wall, and I could smell the industrial cleaner on his leather jacket.

“Jeff’s my older brother,” he confessed to me.

“Yeah, me, too,” I said, and hearing his voice and feeling his presence next to me somewhat calmed me down a bit. “We’re classmates, after all. And we knew each other since that first night at Ruthie’s Inn.”

“I’m gonna tell you this right now,” he assured me, “this is probably… more than likely going to be the end of Possessed. There is no way Jeff and I can continue this whole thing, and especially not when he’s been all bloodied like this, too.”

“Bloodied and probably beyond repair, too,” I followed along. “You don’t get shot in the chest and not walk away from that. At least not in one piece.” I then turned my attention to him, and a stray lock of my dark hair waved in front of my face with the wave of the wind all around us. “Which reminds me, how do you think you’re going to break it to him when he wakes up again? That is, if he wakes up again?”

“I really don’t know, Alex,” he admitted with a shake of his head, and his face fell. We both fell into momentary silence and peered out to the landscape before us. It was a dumb idea, and one that made me wonder how I was going to tell the Chuck whom I was married to, as well as Chuck from Florida about my intentions to leave the Bay Area and go on a long road trip. If nothing else, I had to say it all out loud.

“I have to get out of here,” I confessed to him in a low voice. I turned to him, and the same lock of hair spread before my face again. I locked eyes with him, and he pursed his lips at that. It felt good to say that, but at the same time, I wondered as to how he was going to react to that. “Really, I have to get away from here. This is too much.”

“I’ll get you out,” Larry suggested. “I have the keys, after all.”

“No, I mean…” I swallowed, and I bowed my head. A part of me couldn’t believe that I was saying this to someone else, and especially Larry. “I want to take a trip. Out of here. Away from the Bay Area. For a long, long time.”

Larry raised his eyebrows at me.

“Like… a road trip of sorts?”

“Yeah. More than a road trip. Find a fifth wheel and take Eric and Lou and just go up the coast. Go up to Oregon and Washington and then into Canada and Alaska. Not sure if we’ll double back down into California and eventually Mexico, but it’d be something if we did, though. We could follow the road where it takes us and then post up for a while in a certain place. Don’t think about anything or anyone for a while.”

“Could I come along?” Larry offered me.

“If you want,” I said with a shrug. I was slight taken aback by that, especially since I had no clue as to how he would react to such a suggestion, and because of his reaction, I ran my fingers through my hair, and I swept it off my head and shoulders: the breeze felt so good on the side of my neck. “It could just be the four of us guys going up towards Juneau and then Anchorage.”

“We could take the Pan-America Highway,” he suggested. “That goes from the very northern part of Alaska all the way down to Tierra Del Fuego in South America.”

“That’d be hell of a ride,” I muttered under my breath. “Thousands of miles… nothing but open road, seeing life in all manner of different places and more than what we would get on a tour, too.” I gazed off into the distance, to the rich blue tapestry over the hills and the ocean off before us.

“Why do you want to come along, anyway?” I asked him with a glance over at him. Larry shifted his weight next to me, and he sighed through his nose.

“I’m… really looking for a way out of here, too, when I say this out loud,” he confessed with a clearing of his throat. “Jeff and I, we’re best friends and we’re engaged, but… I don’t know if I can do this, though. He got shot and he’s comatose now. That’s why I feel the band is no more.”

I didn’t want to do it, but something told me that that was the only way out. If nothing, I could probably fake things and build up something so all eyes would be off me for a while. Eric and Lou could declare their escape from the Bay Area, and I could be tucked back somewhere in the fifth wheel, out of sight. The more I thought about it, the more it felt like the perfect crime.

But then I wondered if the Chuck whom I was married to would ask questions or even want to come along. He was about as adventurous as the three of us, if not more. He had that large house, and he had a great deal of money to throw around: the only reason why I felt he could come along with us was to spoil the three of us.

“I heard that Metallica’s label is about ready to go under,” he informed me, and I turned to him again, shocked by that.

“Really? Where’d you hear that?”

“Through Zetro and Gary,” he replied. “From Exodus. Well, not technically. I was sitting in the other room and they were talking about it and how they had no idea what to do about it, either. They said that their label isn’t doing too well and they could readily go under… tomorrow if things are really that bad and we just don’t really know about it.”

“I thought Metallica were doing great,” I recalled, and I could hardly believe what I was hearing right then. “Wow. What the hell happened?”

“No idea, but I’m guessing they’re hemorrhaging money right now, like worse than most other labels,” he continued. I remembered that we were on an imprint of the label, and I heard absolutely nothing about that: then again, I had been up to my eyeballs in wedding planning and trying to find my way out of there. It all had happened right behind my back, and no one said anything to us or to me about it. It was right then I began to relish in being crowned a royal.

“Do you think the royalty’s got something to do with it?” I asked him. “I do know that Lars and Kirk have a thing going. James and Cliff… no clue what’s going on there with the two of them.”

“I can’t really say,” Larry replied with a gloomy shrug of his shoulders. “My guess is yes, but I’m just spitballing, though.” He shook his head, and I let out a low whistle. I was facing the mother of all losses, more than any losses that my parents ever took if the schools were short or their books took hits upon publication.

“They’re gonna lose a fortune, if they haven’t done so already,” he told me in a small voice, and I wondered if there was going to be any money left over for the five of us in that instance.

“We’re gonna lose a fortune, too,” I corrected him, “that is, if we change labels between now and—” I then turned to him, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest out of fear and worry. “Wait. Does Eric know? Does Chuck know?”

“I can’t say,” he confessed. “Again, I was only eavesdropping on Zetro and Gary. I can assume that they do, but that’s just my assumption.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip, and I ducked past him back to the door of the hospital. I needed answers. Before I did anything with a fifth wheel, I had to sift through the sand. No sooner had I reached the door when Larry called out to me again.

“Alex! Alex, you dropped this!” But at that point, I was already back inside the hospital in search of Chuck.

[vroomvroomwee]

There's plenty of radiostatic tropes of these two batshit insane sadomasochistic psychopaths torturing each other for fun, but I would die for a fanfic where Vox is down bad for Alastor and is purposefully trying to appeal to Alastor's bloodlust because he thinks that's what he would be interested in - and besides Vox is definitely going to enjoy it either way, except Alastor never once shows any willingness to torture him and it drives Vox absolutely bonkers.

Imagine Vox, head over heels for a cannibal serial killer, very deeply besotted with him as he tries to play into his sadism because he thinks that's what Alastor would like, because he thinks that's the shit that he would be into during sex, but Alastor is torturing everyone BUT Vox. So, Vox starts to annoy him, to needle him, to poke and prod to intentionally rile Alastor's ire in the hope that he gets Alastor's attention. Except Alastor never becomes violent with him, no matter how aggravating Vox becomes. He gets irritated, yes, even fuming at times, but he never gets violent.

Like we've seen how Alastor acts with people he cares about, how careful he is with them, and dare I say, even gentle. We know how his attitude towards people he loves differentiates to his attitude towards people he detests. And we know his opinion on inflicting violence on a loved one and how despicable it is. And I'm just imagining Vox being completely clueless as to why Alastor doesn't want to hurt him because he has no idea that the approach he's taking to seduce Alastor is as far from accurate as it could get. Because he grossly underestimates how much Alastor cares about him. He has no idea that Alastor's disinclination to match his "romantic" proposals isn't due to disinterest, but due to too much fondness.

So, I'm just picturing Vox confronting Alastor about this, about how Alastor thinks so lowly of him that even broadcasting Vox's screams isn't worth his time. And Alastor is dumbfounded. He simply stares at Vox, wordless. Then, he feels something boiling in him, something caustic, something wounded at the fact that Vox not only thinks him so shallow and brutish, but that he wants Alastor’s violence. He agrees to give Vox what he wants because the opposite is to admit he doesn't care about Vox at all, which would be the last option in Alastor’s mind. He doesn't necessarily participate himself, but his attitude, force, scornful words, and powers give Vox the satisfaction he craves from him. He hurts him, he humiliates him, he fucks him, and he hates every second of it and he doesn't know how to feel about the fact that Vox enjoys all of it. His distaste is plain, from his stiff, crumpled expression, from his tense lour, from his reclined body language.

And Vox notices.

He notices and his entire perception of this fearsome, terrifying Overlord warps before his very eyes. It's Vox who ultimately stops it, despite having longed for Alastor’s cruelty and attention for so long because he doesn't want it this way. He doesn't want it if Alastor doesn't. He would never forget the scalding stone that drops in his stomach at the image of Alastor’s expression slumping in relief when Vox asks him to stop. He can feel his own face falling in dismay as the quiet around them infuses the taut air. He can viscerally feel Alastor’s plight and the reality of what he had accused him of and later weaponized his quilt to fulfil his own fantasies congeals the very blood in his veins. No words come to his mind, no questions that he doesn't know the answer to grace his tongue. He finally understands. He finally realizes how Alastor sees him. So what does he do next?

He shuffles closer to Alastor and slowly, carefully wraps him in an embrace. Blood is dripping down his form. His body is flushed and heated, but Alastor doesn't seem to mind. On the contrary, after a few painfully tense seconds, Alastor returns the embrace with equal guilt weighing him down. Vox doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. The feeling of Alastor’s rigid muscles, the slight trembling in his fingers, and the quick, shallow breaths tell him everything he needs to know about the demon's current state.

"I'm sorry..." tumbles out of his lips, shy and shaky, his voice hoarse from screaming. He's apologetic, he's regretful, he's almost livid at his own inconsideration and blindness.

Alastor clutches him tighter as he reassures "I believe I'm the one who should be apologising."

Vox shakes his head, his thumbs kneading gentle circles in Alastor’s back. "No. I asked you to do this. I asked you because I thought it was something we both wanted."

"I know," Alastor whispers, and his tone is almost rueful. "But, it's not. It's not something I ever want to do... to you."

This is the moment when Vox's entire world flips. That last, deafening word spoken from Alastor with such care and devotion sends a wave of realisation so tumultuous it crashes into every withered inch of his fraying conscience. A wave of realisation that Alastor didn't indulge himself by hurting Vox because he thought him inferior, but because he thought so highly of him no sinner or Overlord that had succumbed to his violence could ever reach.

Something settles in Vox. A thorny, unforgiving forest giving way to gentle sunbeams filtering through newly revitalised treetops. He tightens his hold, his shattered screen burying in the crook of Alastor’s neck. The feel of Alastor’s smooth coat underneath his bare, bloodied body causes him to buzz like a swarm of bees under his skin. The vulnerability of the moment, shrouded behind a veil of sorrow, hurt, grief, affection, care, and love is more delightful than he could have ever imagined.

Alastor’s soft, warm breath tickles Vox's neck as he exhales. The silence wasn't the pervasive, uncomfortable one from before, but rather a soothing, soporific cadence unable to be heard by human ears.

Vox's eyes droop lower when he feels Alastor suddenly, softly brush his lips against his neck. A pleased moan escapes him as the demon begins to lay gentle kisses in a small, irresistible trail on his skin.

He wordlessly tilts his head, allowing Alastor better access. Alastor obliges, shifting their positions to better accommodate them. He gently nips at the flesh, his teeth occasionally grazing and biting, his lips kissing and sucking with reverential eagerness. After a while, Vox's neck tingles like warm needles, and he feels his arousal growing again.

Alastor’s arms stroke Vox's sides, the motion absentminded, as though he was drinking in every inch of contact. Vox lifts his hand and tenderly cups the back of Alastor’s head with it, encouraging him.

Alastor’s breath skittles over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The demon briefly tightens his hold as he finally raises his head. He doesn't look at Vox, his eyes are closed and his chest is rising and falling deeply. Vox's hand slides to cradle Alastor’s face, his own gaze equally as plaintive, and he feels the bed nearly swallow him whole when Alastor slumps into his hold.

Their foreheads touch, their bodies naturally intertwine. An exhilarated gasp shudders out of Vox, his own mind having difficulty comprehending the delightful reality he is currently living. His body moves on its own accord and he places a gentle yet riveting kiss on Alastor's temple.

"Oh, baby..." he presses their foreheads together again and closes his eyes. "Is this what you want?" he asks softly.

Alastor nods imperceptibly.

...

Then they proceed to have gentle loving sex and I'm gonna stop right here because I have no idea what happened shsgsh. I initially started off writing my one-paragraph idea of crazy Alastor who loves torturing others but would rather bash his head in than hurt the people that actually matter to him and manipulative self-obsessed horny in love Vox has to learn that the hard way before it spiralled into old man fluffy foreplay lmfaooooo

I love toxic, manipulative, evil radiostatic as much as the next person, but soft and tender radiostatic has a special place in my heart.

[elikajinnie]

Hiii I love your fanfics!!😭🩷

Can u write something on sunoo like horror au or thriller au?

Fallen Angel - K.S

THANK YOUUUU!!<333 Omg i have so many horror au drafts right now. It`s really giving me motivation.

P: Devil!Sunoo X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood/Injury, Rituals & Cult-like Activity, Obsessive Love, Body Worship, Murder, Corruption, Falling In Love, Stalking?

Synopsis: A seemingly innocent walk through the forest turns into a chilling nightmare, and your soul becomes the ultimate prize for the devil himself. With a captivating presence and an insatiable desire for you, he reveals that your fate is now intertwined with his. And he will keep you by his side.

a/n: I am a sucker for paranormal movies :p the start is inspired by Jennifer`s body :) HAPPY HELL WEEK!! (iykyk)

"The Devil is real and he's not some little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful because he's a fallen angel and he used to be God's favourite."

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You come downstairs after slipping into more comfortable clothes, ready for a walk. The house is quiet, your steps light on the wooden floor as you head toward the door. Living on the outskirts of town has its perks, and your favorite one is the forest. It's a place of solace, a space where you can let your thoughts wander freely as you walk beneath the trees.

You pull on your shoes, grab your jacket from the hook by the door, and fish your phone out of your pocket. A playlist hums to life in your ears, setting the mood. With your keys in hand, you lock the door behind you, the soft click signaling the start of your escape into the wild.

The gravel crunches beneath your feet, the small stones and twigs snapping with every step. There’s something rhythmic in the way the sound mixes with the music, creating its own sort of tune. You follow the familiar path, the forest looming ahead, inviting you in. As the trees grow taller around you, the ground changes, becoming softer, more forgiving underfoot. The scent of pine and earth fills the air, fresh and damp. Sunlight filters through in thin beams, casting long, golden shadows on the forest floor.

Your breathing syncs with the rhythm of your steps, steady and calm. The music playing in your ears becomes a backdrop to the symphony of nature—birds chirping somewhere above, the distant rustle of small animals moving through the underbrush. You can feel the world quieting around you, like the forest itself is protecting you from the noise and chaos of everyday life.

The deeper you go, the more peaceful it becomes. The path you walk is familiar, worn by countless footsteps over the years, but every time it feels new, like the forest shifts and breathes with the seasons. You pause for a moment, standing still, letting the quiet wash over you. There’s a comfort in this silence, a stillness that fills you.

But as you take a breath, something in the air changes. It’s subtle at first—like the shift in a breeze before a storm. The trees, once inviting, now seem to lean in closer. The shadows deepen, stretching out in unfamiliar shapes. The music in your ears feels distant now, as if it’s being drowned out by the weight of the silence.

Your steps slow, and the crackle of a twig behind you makes you stop altogether. You turn, scanning the trees, expecting to see nothing but the familiar outline of trunks and branches. But for a moment, just a brief flicker, you think you see movement—something or someone slipping between the trees, too fast to catch.

The forest, once a place of peace, now feels different.

Your heart quickens, instinctively telling you something is wrong. The peaceful stillness of the forest now feels like a trap. Slowly, you turn around, careful not to make any sudden movements, your instincts screaming at you to leave. The music in your ears lowers into the background, drowned out by the rushing pulse of your own heartbeat. You try to stay calm, taking slow steps back in the direction of home, eyes scanning the forest around you.

But the feeling doesn’t go away. Every shadow seems to shift, every tree leaning just a little too close. The forest, once familiar, now feels foreign, hostile even. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and your steps quicken. You need to get out of here.

Just as you pick up the pace, something moves at the corner of your vision. You freeze. Slowly, you glance around, and that’s when you see them—figures, barely visible at first, blending into the dark shadows of the trees. Cloaked in black, their faces hidden, they move with eerie silence. One, then two, then more of them, appearing from the forest as if they’ve always been there, watching.

Panic surges through you. You turn fully now, ready to run, but it’s too late. The forest around you is no longer empty. They’ve surrounded you, their dark forms closing in like a tightening net. Your breath catches in your throat as you search for a way out, but there’s none.

Before you can even react, something hard strikes the side of your head. Pain explodes in your skull, and the world around you spins wildly. The ground seems to rush up to meet you as your vision blurs, darkening around the edges. The last thing you feel is the cold, unforgiving earth beneath you as consciousness slips away, pulling you into a deep, heavy darkness.

When you finally come to, your head throbs with pain. Your eyelids flutter open, and the first thing you notice is that you’re propped up against a large, moss-covered stone, the dampness of it seeping through your clothes.

Panic sets in as you realize you’re bound—your wrists and ankles tied tightly with coarse rope, the roughness biting into your skin. There’s a gag in your mouth, muffling your shallow breaths. Your heart races as you struggle to move, but the ropes hold firm.

Looking around, your eyes adjust to the flickering light of candles surrounding you, casting eerie shadows on the trees. There are seven figures, cloaked in black, standing silently around you. They are still, their faces hidden under the hoods.

You hear it then—the low, rhythmic sound of chanting. The voice is monotone, steady, like it’s reciting something ancient and powerful. You don’t understand the words, but you guess it’s Latin. You begin to struggle, trying to loosen the ropes, heart pounding as your fingers strain against the bindings. But the more you move, the tighter they seem to become. Panic rises in your chest.

Suddenly, one of the figures steps forward, and in their hand, you see a dagger glint in the candlelight. Your stomach twists in fear. You freeze, eyes wide, unable to tear your gaze away as they approach you. The chanting continues, unwavering.

Without warning, the figure kneels beside you. The dagger’s cold blade presses against your cheek, and then—pain. You flinch as the sharp steel slices into your skin, a thin line of blood trickling down your face. A muffled whimper escapes your throat. The figure collects the blood, careful and deliberate, smearing it onto an ancient, crumbling scroll that looks like it’s been carried through time itself.

Terror takes over as you watch, helpless, as the figure lights the scroll with a simple flick of a lighter. The flames catch quickly, consuming the scroll in moments. As the last of it turns to ash, the chanting stops.

A deafening silence follows.

No birds. No wind. The entire forest seems to be holding its breath, as if the world itself is waiting for something terrible to happen.

Then, all at once, the candles surrounding you flicker out, plunging you into darkness. But just as quickly, they flare back to life—only this time, the flames are blood red, casting an ominous, fiery glow over the ritual circle. The figures stand unmoving, their faces still hidden, but you can feel the shift in the air. Something has changed.

Something is coming.

The air around you feels thick, oppressive, as if the very forest is suffocating under some unseen weight. Then, suddenly, a voice cuts through the silence. It’s sultry yet booming, rich with mockery and power. It doesn’t come from any one direction—it comes from everywhere at once, as though the trees themselves are speaking.

“Well, well, well,” the voice purrs, dripping with amusement. “How desperate you all must be, fumbling with your little rituals and chants. Meddling with powers far beyond your reach.” It chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the forest, making the ground beneath you tremble. “Did you really think you could summon me so easily? That I would come at the beck and call of your pathetic incantations?”

The cloaked figures stiffen at the voice’s words, shifting nervously in their places. They remain silent, but you can feel their fear in the way they hesitate, as if they didn’t anticipate this response. The voice continues, teasing and condescending. “You should’ve known better. But here you are, scrambling in the darkness, begging for something you cannot possibly understand.”

Just then, one of the figures dares to speak. Their voice is trembling, but steady enough to say, “But we brought you a sacrifice.”

The forest falls deathly still. The voice, which had been mocking moments before, quiets suddenly. The shift in its tone is palpable, as though whoever or whatever it is has just taken a keen interest in something—or rather, in someone. You feel a chill creep up your spine.

There’s a long pause, and then the voice speaks again, but this time it’s softer, quieter, as though it's enthralled. “A sacrifice…?” The amusement fades, replaced by something else—curiosity. Desire. “And what a beautiful offering you’ve brought me…”

Your blood runs cold as the voice seems to focus entirely on you now, its words lingering in the air. You can feel its attention like a weight pressing down on you, though there is no form, no figure to see—just the voice, enveloping you in the darkness.

“I must say, you’ve outdone yourselves,” it murmurs, almost appreciatively. “Such beauty… such fragility. A rare find indeed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t tell if this attention is a blessing or a curse. Every muscle in your body screams to run, but the ropes still hold you tight, and the darkness closes in.

The figures, emboldened by the voice’s attention, begin to speak. One by one, they make their demands, their voices eager and trembling with greed.

“We ask for money,” one says, stepping forward.

“Power,” another adds, almost hungrily.

“We offer our loyalty in return for wealth, for control. We will serve you without question,” one of them declares, their voice dripping with desperation.

For a moment, there is silence. Then, the voice returns, and this time it’s filled with cold, biting laughter. “Money? Power?” it repeats, the words laced with disdain. “How pitiful. Is that what you’ve gathered here for? How small your desires are. You dare summon me, meddle in forces far beyond your comprehension, and for what? Gold? Influence?”

The voice’s laughter grows, mocking them all, cutting through the air like a knife. “You offer loyalty as if it means something to me, as if you’re anything more than fleeting, mortal specks. You want power? You want riches? You have no idea what true power is, nor the price it demands.”

The figures hesitate, doubt creeping into their postures as the voice continues to belittle their wishes. And then, just as your heart beats faster with terror, you feel a breath against your ear—soft, like a gentle wind. A whisper, barely audible, brushes against your skin.

“Close your eyes.”

You freeze. Slowly, you turn your head, expecting to see someone beside you, but there’s no one. Just the oppressive darkness and the flickering red flames of the candles. Your pulse quickens, but something deep inside you urges you to trust the voice. Against the rising panic in your chest, you clench your eyes shut tightly, your body trembling as the atmosphere around you shifts.

Suddenly, the stillness of the forest is shattered by the sound of screams. Blood-curdling, desperate cries fill the air, piercing through the night as the figures around you shout and wail in terror. You hear the snap of branches, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the crackling of something far more sinister. But you don’t dare open your eyes. You’re frozen in place, paralyzed with fear, every muscle locked in place as chaos erupts around you.

The screams continue, a cacophony of horror, but you keep your eyes shut, holding onto the whisper’s command. Your breath is ragged, your chest heaving as you try to control the overwhelming panic that’s rising inside you. Time stretches, seconds feeling like hours.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the forest goes quiet. The screams fade into nothing, leaving only an eerie silence. Your heart races in the deafening stillness, and though you can no longer hear the carnage, you can feel its lingering presence.

You breathe in and out, fast and shallow, terrified to open your eyes, terrified of what you might see. The forest is so quiet now, as if it’s holding its breath once more. You start to wonder if it’s truly over, if the nightmare has passed.

Then, the whisper returns, soft and chilling, right by your ear. “Sleep…”

Before you can even react, your mind becomes heavy, your body limp. It feels like a spell, something irresistible pulling you into darkness. Your eyes, still shut, flutter briefly before you fall into an all-consuming sleep, leaving the horrors of the forest behind.

You drift through the most peaceful sleep you’ve ever had, your body weightless, like it’s floating down a calm, serene river. The usual tension in your muscles is gone, replaced by a deep, soothing calm. It’s as if you’re cradled by warmth, gently rocked by invisible hands. There’s no sense of time, only pure restfulness, the kind that reaches into your soul and makes you feel whole.

In the distance, you hear a voice—soft, affectionate, and full of admiration. It whispers sweetly, its tone rich and tender, complimenting everything about you. It praises the softness of your hair, the elegance of your face, the beauty of your body, and even your very presence, as though every part of you is perfect. The words wash over you like a lullaby, pulling you deeper into that blissful rest.

When you finally wake up, you’re in your bed. The familiar comfort of your own room surrounds you, but something doesn’t feel right. You blink groggily, sitting up, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep. Confused, you glance around, and your heart races as you remember the events —the forest, the figures, the voice. Instinctively, your hand goes to your cheek, expecting to feel the sting of the cut, but there’s nothing. Your skin is smooth, untouched. There’s no sign of what happened.

You throw off the covers and hurry to the mirror, your pulse quickening. You search your reflection, half-expecting to see some trace of the terror from the forest, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Your hair is the same, your face unmarked. It’s like nothing happened at all, and yet… you know it wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. The memory is too vivid, too real. The voice, the blood, the chanting—all of it remains sharp in your mind.

You turn away from the mirror, trying to make sense of it, when something catches your eye. Your breath hitches in your throat. On your bedside table, there’s a candle—lit and burning softly. Next to it, a single rose, its petals dark and velvety, resting elegantly beside the flame.

You freeze, your heart pounding as you approach it. Slowly, you pick up the rose, your fingers brushing against its delicate petals. The candle flickers slightly, casting a warm glow across the room. You stare at it, the confusion settling deep in your chest.

“Oh…” you whisper, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. The soft voice from your dream, the one that praised you, seems to echo in your ear again, gentle and intimate. Startled, you whip around, expecting to see someone behind you, but there’s no one. Just the empty room.

“Weird…” you mutter under your breath, glancing around once more. Still, there’s no explanation, no figure emerging from the shadows. You place the rose back down on the table and blow out the candle, watching the smoke spiral up into the air before it disappears. The room feels normal again, but the unease remains.

You climb back into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. Despite everything, the warmth of sleep begins to pull at you again, as if beckoning you back into its embrace. And though the forest may be far behind, you can’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—is still watching.

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In the days that follow, you can’t shake the unsettling feeling of being watched. It’s always there, just out of sight—a presence hovering behind you, lingering at the edge of your senses. Every time you glance over your shoulder, expecting to see someone or something, there’s nothing. Just empty air. But the feeling never fades. It clings to you like a shadow, haunting your every move.

You become more cautious, always looking around, watching for signs of movement, but there’s no panic, no alarm. It’s almost as if your body has accepted the presence, even as your mind refuses to make sense of it. You should feel fear, but instead, there’s a strange calm, an eerie quiet that lingers no matter how close the feeling gets.

The day after the incident, you return to the forest, hoping for some kind of clue, some proof that it wasn’t a dream. But the forest is peaceful, untouched. There’s no sign of the ritual, no remnants of the candles, no trace of the figures. It’s as though the whole thing never happened, swallowed up by the woods themselves. The silence feels wrong, and as you walk the same path, the memory of that night burns vividly in your mind, but there’s nothing here to confirm it.

You try to move on, but even your friends start noticing the change in you. Rei, Jeongin, and Yujin glance at you with worried eyes, asking if everything’s okay. You brush them off, telling them it’s just stress, maybe some restless nights. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. There’s no rest anymore, only the constant feeling that you’re being watched, even when no one is around.

And then there’s the candle and rose. Every night, without fail, when you go to bed, they’re there. The candle always lit, casting a soft glow across your room. The rose—perfect, fresh, never wilting—sits beside it. It weirds you out, gnawing at your sanity, especially when you know you lock the windows and draw the curtains every night. There’s no way someone could be getting in. After the third night, you even called the police, desperate for answers. But they found nothing—no signs of forced entry, no signs of any entry at all. The officer told you everything seemed normal, but nothing about this felt normal to you.

The hopelessness sinks in. There’s no explanation, no rational way to understand what’s happening. And it doesn’t help that at night, when the world is quiet, you can hear it again—that soft voice. It’s always there, whispering just at the edge of your consciousness. Close, yet distant. Its words are impossible to grasp, like a lullaby just out of reach, tugging at your mind as you drift into sleep, feeling the weight of something you can’t explain pressing down on you.

You want to scream, to fight it, but there’s no fear. Only that strange, unsettling calm, like a storm waiting to break. And you can’t tell if you’re more terrified of what’s happening—or of how much you’ve come to expect it.

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One day, in the midst of your growing paranoia and frustration, you find yourself mindlessly scrolling on your computer when a strange ad catches your attention: a website for a fortune teller. The colorful banner flickers, promising answers to those who seek them, and normally you’d scoff at something like this. But with everything going on, you find yourself clicking the link. Desperation tugs at your thoughts. Maybe she could explain what’s happening, or at least help make sense of the strange calm that now follows you like a shadow.

The next day, you go. The fortune teller’s shop is tucked away in a quiet part of town, the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. Inside, the scent of incense hangs thick in the air, and the room is dimly lit by candles that flicker with every movement. She sits across from you, an older woman with knowing eyes that seem to see right through you.

As you settle into the chair, she doesn’t need much prompting. After a brief introduction, she tells you that she feels something around you, something that clings to you. “There’s a presence,” she says, her voice low and thoughtful. “Usually, a presence like this would be malevolent, something dark and dangerous… but right now, it’s calm. It feels content, almost protective.”

Her words send a chill down your spine. You’ve never bought into this kind of thing before, but something inside you tells you to listen. You can’t deny the truth in her words. That presence, the one you’ve felt trailing you day and night—it’s always there, but never threatening.

She pulls out her tarot deck, shuffling the cards with practiced ease, her fingers nimble as she lays them out on the table. One card catches your eye immediately—the Devil. When she spots it, her breath catches. “The Devil,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “It represents temptation, control, and obsession. But it’s also a card of power, of something… primal. Something that binds itself to you, and once it has, it rarely lets go.”

You sit there, frozen, as she explains the meaning of the card. It’s about being tethered to something you can’t escape from, something that might seduce you with its calm but still holds an underlying danger. You barely hear her as she continues, your thoughts racing.

When you finally leave the fortune teller’s shop, you step out into the street, dazed and conflicted. The cold air bites at your skin, but your mind feels numb. You stand there for a long time, thinking over everything she said, the Devil card burned into your thoughts. The idea that this presence, this voice, is somehow tied to you—content now, but still something to be wary of—it sends your head spinning.

Eventually, you walk to the bus stop, lost in your thoughts. When the bus arrives, you get on, finding an empty seat by the window. As you sit, staring out into the city, you can’t shake the strange feeling again—that presence lingering close, too close. You glance out the window, and for a moment, you swear you see something sitting beside you in the reflection. A shadow, just out of the corner of your eye.

Your heart skips a beat, and you turn to look—but there’s nothing. No one. Just the empty seat beside you, like always. You squint, trying to shake the feeling, and look back at the window. The reflection shows nothing.

You huff in frustration, shaking off the moment, and pull out your phone, trying to distract yourself. But as the bus rolls forward, you can’t help but feel that presence still, hovering just beyond your senses, patient and ever-present.

You step off the bus at the stop you wanted, your mind still racing from the strange encounter on the ride. The air is cool as you walk, your footsteps almost mindless, leading you down familiar streets until you reach the church. Its tall steeple rises against the sky, and you pause for a moment, staring at it. A sigh escapes your lips as you shrug, figuring there’s no harm in trying. Maybe this place, of all places, could offer you some sort of clarity—or peace.

Pushing open the heavy doors, you step into the threshold. The moment you cross over, something shifts. The constant feeling of being watched, that heavy, unshakeable presence, vanishes. It should bring you relief, but instead, a hollow emptiness fills the space where that presence once lingered. You stop in your tracks, feeling strangely vulnerable, exposed in a way you hadn’t expected.

Every cell in your body screams at you to turn back, to leave the church and return to where you felt… safer. But you swallow the feeling, pushing it down as you make your way past the countless rows of benches, your eyes fixed on the altar.

“Hello,” you call out, your voice echoing through the empty space, bouncing off the high ceilings.

“Hello, my child,” a voice responds. You turn to see a priest walking towards you, his face kind, his eyes full of concern. “How may I help you?”

You hesitate for a moment, wondering how to even begin explaining what you’ve been feeling, but something about the priest’s calm demeanor makes it easier. You tell him everything—about the ritual and the feeling of being watched that never left you. He listens carefully, nodding as you speak, never interrupting. When you finish, he places a hand on your shoulder, his expression grave but understanding.

“I think you may benefit from a cleansing,” he suggests gently. “It could help you find peace.”

You’re not sure what peace would even feel like anymore, but you nod anyway, agreeing to the cleansing. He leads you to a small side chapel, where he begins to recite verses, his voice steady and reassuring as he works through the ritual. You stand still, feeling the weight of his words settle around you, like a protective barrier forming between you and whatever it is that’s been haunting you.

When he finishes, you feel lighter—but not in the way you expected. You thank him quietly, offering a small smile before heading back toward the exit. But as you reach the door, you stop, standing just before the threshold. There’s an odd feeling gnawing at you, something that makes you hesitate before stepping outside. You take a deep breath, as if bracing yourself for whatever might come next.

Finally, you step out. You wait for the familiar sensation to return—the feeling of being watched, the strange calm that’s followed you for days. But nothing happens. The air is still. The presence is gone.

You exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening, and for the first time in a while, you feel a flicker of relief. Maybe this is what peace feels like. Maybe you’ve finally managed to shake whatever it was that had been clinging to you. You walk down the church steps and start making your way home, your steps lighter, as if the weight of the last few days has lifted.

But as the quiet of the evening settles around you, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder, just to be sure.

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That night, when you finally make your way to bed, something feels off the moment you step into your room. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, and when you glance at your bedside table, the absence hits you immediately. There’s no candle softly flickering, no rose resting beside it. For days, those strange, inexplicable objects had become part of your nighttime routine, and now, without them, your room feels… empty.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the bare space, unsure how to feel. Part of you should be relieved, right? The presence is gone, the priest’s cleansing worked, and now, everything is back to normal. But as you sit on the edge of the bed, you can’t shake the odd sense of unease gnawing at you. That eerie calm you’d come to expect—no matter how unsettling—had become familiar. And now that it’s gone, it feels like something important has been ripped away.

You lie down, pulling the covers up, trying to convince yourself that this is what you wanted. Peace. Quiet. But as the night wears on, you toss and turn, the silence pressing in on you from all sides. Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every time you close your eyes, you expect to hear that soft, whispering voice, or to catch the faint scent of roses in the air. But there’s nothing. Just the cold, stark quiet.

Hours pass, and despite the exhaustion, you can’t seem to find any comfort. The night drags on, restless and heavy, and when you do manage to drift off, it’s into a light, uneasy slumber. The dreams that come are disjointed, dark, and full of shadows that shift and twist just beyond your reach.

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As the days turn into a blur of mundane routines, you find yourself increasingly aware of an emptiness that settles in your chest. It starts subtly, creeping in like the morning fog, but soon it becomes a heavy weight you can’t ignore. You catch yourself glancing around your room, searching for something, but you can’t quite put your finger on what’s missing.

You dismiss it at first. Tell yourself it’s just a phase, a product of the unsettling experience you had in the forest and the church. But deep down, you know what it is.

Each night, when you lay in bed, the absence gnaws at you, louder than your rational thoughts. You try to convince yourself that you don’t need any strange tokens, that their disappearance signifies freedom. But the truth is, you miss the ritual, the soothing presence they offered, even if it was unsettling. They were reminders that you weren’t entirely alone, even if the presence felt like a shadow lurking in the corners of your mind.

You begin to notice it more and more during the day. At work, when the sunlight streams through the window, illuminating everything around you, your thoughts drift to that flickering candlelight. You find yourself distracted, unable to concentrate, imagining the scent of roses filling your room, their petals vibrant and alive. In moments of quiet, when you should feel at peace, your mind wanders back to the eerie calm that came with those objects.

You even catch yourself thinking about the fortune teller’s words, the way she spoke of the Devil card and its implications. Was it truly gone? Or was it simply biding its time, waiting for you to acknowledge its presence again? The uncertainty hangs over you like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive.

Every night, as you prepare for bed, you look at that empty space on your bedside table, and a familiar ache settles in. You want to deny it, want to convince yourself that you’re better off without the strange gifts. But as you drift into an uneasy sleep, the truth lingers just beneath the surface—you miss what once was, even if it was chaotic and frightening.

And the more you deny it, the stronger that longing becomes, until it feels like a part of you is reaching out, desperate to reclaim the connection you once had.

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One night, as the hours dragged on, you found yourself tossing and turning, your mind racing with thoughts that wouldn’t settle. Eventually, you groaned in frustration and opened your eyes, confronting the reality that sleep was eluding you. With a resigned sigh, you sat up, pulling the covers off your body. You felt restless, as if your own skin was too tight.

Navigating through the dark, you made your way to the kitchen, each step a little more deliberate than the last. The house was silent, the only sound the soft padding of your feet on the cool floor. You reached the fridge and pulled out a water bottle, opening it with a quick twist before taking a few long gulps. The cool water felt refreshing, but as you set the bottle down, a familiar shiver raced up your spine.

You froze, instinctively turning slowly around, scanning the dimly lit kitchen. “Hello?” you called out, your voice a soft echo in the stillness. But there was no response, only the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of the wind outside.

Turning back around, you tried to shake off the chill that lingered, but then something shifted in the air. It wasn’t stifling, but it felt heavy, pressing down on you like a weight. A sudden awareness prickled at the back of your neck, and you froze again, feeling a breath whisper past your ear.

It was warm and sweet, mixed with an intoxicating scent of roses and something burning, like incense.

“Hello, little angel,” a sultry voice whispered, sending chills through your body. “Miss me?”

You turned your head slowly, dread pooling in your stomach, and there it was—a black shadow, dark and formless, hovering just inches from your face. Two crimson eyes glinted in the darkness, locking onto yours with an intensity that paralyzed you. You wanted to scream, to run, but your tongue felt heavy and your limbs refused to move. All you could do was stare in terror, heart pounding in your chest as the shadow loomed closer.

In that moment, you understood with horrifying clarity: you weren’t alone anymore.

You could only watch as the shadow moved to stand directly in front of you, your gaze locked onto its form, mouth slightly open in disbelief. The presence was back, and you felt a strange mix of fear and longing bubbling within you. You hadn’t realized how much you missed that voice, that intimate whisper, until it echoed in the stillness of your kitchen once more.

“Excuse my sudden disappearance,” the shadow spoke, its tone smooth and rich, wrapping around you like silk. “The cleansing you underwent caused me to step back. I could only return to you when your soul desired me again.”

Your heart raced as his words registered, the surreal nature of the moment crashing down around you. You found your voice again after the shock wore off, forcing the question out of your throat. “What… are you?”

The shadow paused, then gave a graceful nod as if remembering something important. “Excuse my manners,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with dark elegance. And then, right before your eyes, the inky figure began to shift. The darkness gave way to a striking form, his transformation almost too breathtaking to believe.

He stood there now, a tall, beautiful man, whose very presence stole the breath from your lungs. His skin with pale, flawless that seemed to glow in the dim light. His black attire was tailored perfectly, hugging his body and adding to the aura of power he exuded. But it was his eyes that drew you in —those deep, red orbs that gleamed with a playful yet dangerous light, and his blond hair fell effortlessly around his soft features. But it was more than just his face that left you spellbound—two long, black horns curved proudly from his head, and behind him, a sleek, horned tail swished lazily through the air. In his hand, he casually twirled a pitchfork, as if it were an extension of himself.

“I am the Devil,” he said with a charming smile, his gaze locked onto yours, “but you may call me Sunoo.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You stared at him, a whirlwind of emotions crashing through you—fear, intrigue, and an unsettling familiarity. The realization of what he was settled deep within you, mingling with the longing you had tried so hard to suppress. Despite the warnings that echoed in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, to the chaos and the darkness he represented.

The kitchen felt smaller now, the shadows thicker as he took a step closer. “And I have come back for you,” he said, his voice low and enticing, making your heart race faster. His red eyes locked onto yours, and with each word he spoke, the weight of his gaze felt as though it was peeling back your very soul.

“I watched you,” he began, his voice a low rumble, rich with emotion. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I craved you. You ignited a hunger within me that I had thought long extinguished. A mortal like you,” he said, his tone reverent, “looked like an angel in my eyes. Your innocence, your strength, your beauty—each facet drew me closer, wrapping around my heart like a vine.”

As he reached out, his fingers brushed against your cheek, a caress that sent a shiver of warmth through your body. His touch was electric, igniting a spark deep inside you that resonated with every heartbeat. “But then,” he continued, the softness of his voice darkening, “I saw you on that forest floor, hurt and scared for your life. It filled me with fury, a rage that pulsed through my veins. How dare they threaten you?”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he continued, “I sought you out. I stood by you, watching over you as you went about your days, waiting for the moment when you would long for me as I longed for you. I protected you from the darkness that surrounded you, even as I stood in the shadows. I knew this night would come—the time when you would feel my presence and accept me as your own.”

Your heart raced, his words weaving a web of desire and belonging that tightened around your chest. “Your soul now belongs to me,” he whispered, and as the words left his lips, you felt his hand press against your chest, right over your heart. The moment his palm made contact, your heartbeat quickened, a rapid rhythm drumming beneath his touch, as if responding to him alone.

You were so close to him now, his presence overwhelming, the warmth of his body radiating against your own. His gaze never wavered, locking onto you with a hunger that made your skin flush. Without warning, he moved swiftly, twisting you in a fluid motion until your back was pressed firmly against the counter. The cool surface was a stark contrast to the heat that coursed through your body.

Before you could react, his strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he hoisted you up and set you on the counter. The sensation of his touch lingered, your body humming with warmth as his gaze roamed over you, a possessive fire burning in his eyes.

He took a moment to admire you, his gaze roaming from your head to your toes, as if memorizing every detail. “You complete me,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I have waited countless millennia for my Queen. And here you are, the one I have searched for. When you were sacrificed to me, I knew your soul would be mine forever.”

As he spoke, you felt a rush of warmth flood through you, like molten gold coursing through your veins. His presence enveloped you, making you feel alive in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

“You are perfect,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Every inch of you is a work of art, crafted for my eyes alone.” Then, without warning, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that ignited every nerve ending in your body. It was passionate, a collision of heat and longing that left you breathless.

Suddenly, you felt whole, as if the missing pieces of your soul had been returned to you. A wave of warmth washed over you, burning deliciously from the inside out. You melted into him, feeling safe and cherished as he held you close. His kiss deepened, a dance of desire that left you wanting more, while his hands roamed your body, caressing your curves with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of his longing.

You lost yourself in him, wrapped in the intoxicating blend of warmth and desire. Every kiss, every gentle caress, felt like a promise—an assurance that you were meant to be together, that you had finally found the place where you belonged. In his embrace, you felt invincible, as if nothing in the world could ever harm you again.

When you pulled back, breathless and dazed, he dove back in, capturing your lips with a fervor that left you reeling. “My angel,” he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with longing, “you don’t understand how much I need you. You are everything to me.” Each word tumbled from his lips like a sacred incantation, wrapping around you and pulling you deeper into his world.

You gasped as he kissed you again, his mouth moving against yours with a hungry urgency that sent shivers down your spine. The warmth of his body pressed against you, and you felt as though you were melting into him, losing all sense of time and space. He was insatiable, a force of nature, and you struggled to keep up with the intensity of his desire.

“I will keep you for myself,” he vowed, his voice so soft that it sent a thrill of excitement through you. “No one will take you from me. I will protect you for all eternity.”

With every kiss, he expressed a need that felt primal, as if he were staking his claim on your soul. You gasped again, trying to keep pace with the whirlwind of emotion that engulfed you both. He pressed against you, the world outside fading into a blur as his presence consumed you. You could feel his heart racing, a rhythm that matched your own, each thump a testament to the bond that was forming between you.

“Please,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his red gaze filled with a fierce intensity. “Let me show you what it means to be loved by the Devil. Let me drown you in my devotion.”

As he pulled back slightly, his red eyes shimmering with intensity, he asked, “Will you come with me? Will you rule beside me as my Queen?” The weight of his question hung in the air, and you felt your heart race at the thought of a life intertwined with his—a life where you would stand by his side, embracing the darkness and light together.

Looking into those mesmerizing, molten eyes, a wave of certainty washed over you. You found yourself nodding, breathless as the words tumbled from your lips. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”

A wide grin spread across his face, a radiant joy that illuminated his features. The sight sent a rush of warmth through you, igniting a fire that burned hotter than ever before. He leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a passionate kiss that left you dizzy. The heat between you surged, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth that made you feel like you were burning from the inside out.

In the blink of an eye, the world around you shifted. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself in a magnificent room bathed in rich, lavish reds. The walls pulsed with a warm glow, and golden accents shimmered in the ambient light, highlighting the opulence that surrounded you. You were nestled on a grand bed, the silken sheets beneath you soft and cool, cradling you like clouds.

Turning your head, you saw him standing a few feet away, his red eyes locked onto you, radiating affection and adoration. His presence was comforting, that it made your chest swell with joy. You belonged here—with him.

As if reading your thoughts, he climbed into bed beside you, pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you, strong yet gentle, holding you with a protective warmth that made you feel safe. A wide grin spread across his face, and you noticed how his eyes almost disappeared when he smiled, his soft cheeks lifting in a way that made him look so much more human, so endearing.

It almost made you want to reach out and squish his cheeks—this unexpected softness he showed you. His red eyes glimmered with love, as if you were the center of his universe. “My Queen,” he said, his voice filled with pride and affection.

You smiled back at him, feeling the weight of the bond that now intertwined your souls. “My King,” you whispered in return.

His grin widened as he hugged you even closer, his hold warm and reassuring. The titles felt right, as if they’d always been meant for the two of you.

[honeylullaby]

“Ya’ want me to touch ya’ like that?”

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by my dearest Miranon🩷 / A budding author, you are introduced to Declan O’Hara by your friend Lizzie, and realise your new book has a profound effect…

18+ FANFIC / SUPER SMUT! Finally some more Declan! Super long, I’m so sorry. Reader character aged at 21. As always, request what you wanna see in my asks 💋

“Bloody hell.” Lizzie Vereker remarks, flipping through pages of your first ever publication. “This is… this is porn!” She speaks through a flustered grin. “Oh God, Lizzie. Don’t say that.” You roll your eyes and tut, anxiously chomping at your fingernails as you intently read her expression. It had been 2 weeks since you had published your first book — something of an erotica. You had recently been taken on by Angler Publishing, Lizzie’s agent. Something to be overjoyed about, but you couldn’t help but be frightened about the public reaction you were to receive.

“Well, I can tell you, it has been quite the hit in Rutshire. I’ve handed out a copy to quite literally everybody I’ve met.” Your foxy-haired companion informed you. A wry smile painted your face, half-petrified by the thought of an entire village dispassionately flicking through your novel. “Well, let’s hope it goes down well.” You sigh.

-

Declan O’Hara, recently unemployed and hopelessly bored, was sat in his arm chair. Lighting a cigarette and huffing out the biggest exhale manageable, he picked up the novel that Lizzie has passed to him in the village shop earlier that week. “What a load of shite.” He quipped to himself as he scanned over the title. Starting the book from halfway through, he happened to land upon one of your more risqué chapters — detailing the most erotic and fantastical scenes. Reaching down to adjust his growing bulge, Declan groaned and spoke into the air, “Fuck me, she’s a dirty girl. Mind of filth.”

It had been a while since he’d been intimate — Maud had took off a few months ago now, with no contact or intention of returning. He was a red-blooded mammal with a carnal instinct, he needed to get his release sooner or later, and it wasn’t going to be over a fucking book. He arose from his chair, closing the book and camouflaging it within his bookshelf. A short snap of the letterbox irritated his ears as he began to stride towards the front door. “The fuck is this?” He asked to himself, bending down to retrieve the small, glossy leaflet that had been pushed through his door. The leaflet advertised your book signing, with a guest appearance from established author Lizzie Vereker herself. “Fuck that.” He rolled his eyes, balling up the leaflet between his palms and tossing it into the paper bin.

-

“Will anyone actually come?” You ask as you watch Lizzie, frantically laying out pens and copies of your book on a fold-up table, carefully prepared outside of the village hall. “Of course!” She lies, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her arm. Lizzie desperately wanted you to succeed and had personally posted a leaflet through every house door in Rutshire. Whether anyone actually turned up, however, was a different story entirely.

Declan, an ever pessimistic look engrained on his face, began to trudge past the stoned driveway of the village hall, furiously puffing on a cigarette and muttering to himself. “Declan! Declan!” Lizzie began to call, and you immediately rested your head in your hands — today was going to be mortifying. The moustached man appeared to ignore her, but Lizzie would not give up. “Come on Declan, come on Declan.” She shouted, waving him over with every word. The man muttered to himself once more, turned on his heels, and began to walk towards your crudely prepared desk. “Hello, Miss Vereker. How can I help ‘ya today?” He asked, feigning friendliness. You took a quick glance at the man and immediately regretted it. Darkened chocolate hair, rather tedious tweed outfit… but an incredibly intoxicating face. “This is my friend,” Lizzie begins to introduce you, but you chime in with your name and give Declan a small wave, to which he shoots you a small smile.

“I gave you her novel the other day. Did you get a chance to read it?” She asked, speaking in a hushed tone in order to avoid embarrassment.. she knew the answer would most definitely be a no. “I did, actually. I flicked through it last night.” Declan replied, raking a hand over his curled hair. Lizzie looked at you with wildly optimistic eyes, to which you nervously grinned. “Wh-what did you think?” You peeped, clearing your throat immediately after. “You’re quite the little minx, aren’t ya’?” He smirked down at you, avoiding Lizzie’s unsettlingly persistent eye contact. Blushing wildly, you giggle and pick up a novel from the top of your almost-toppling pile. “Care for a signed copy?” You ask, a sanguine smile controlling your mouth. Declan scratched at his beard hesitantly and exhaled thunderously. “Go on then.” Clapping her hands in excitement, Lizzie pushed out a small ‘yay’, and equipped you with a pen. Scribbling your signature into the book, you pushed the copy towards him, keeping one hand on the cover. He repossessed it from you, brushing softly across your hand and smirking at you.

Figuring he may as well take his chance, Declan cleared his throat and pursed his lips in speech. “If ya’ free tonight, why don’t ‘ya come for a drink with me and go into more detail about ya’ filthy book?” A rare smile interrupted his question. “Oh… okay. Where’s good for a drink?” You question, flipping your hair to one side. “Ah, nowhere around here. Lizzie’ll tell ya’ which my house is. If you’re comfortable, I’m free tonight.” He murmurs, turning around and walking away from the table.

“Fuck. Me. Lizzie. He is gorgeous.” You groan, rubbing your hands over your eyes. You couldn’t have been more embarrassed at how you handled the situation. “Oh God, Declan? No, no. Dirty.” Lizzie grimaced, turning her nose up at Mr O’Hara.

-

Some few hours after what seemed to be a semi-successful public appearance, you lay on your bed in solitude. Declan hadn’t left your mind the entire day. After some careful consideration, you decided to at least visit him for a very quick, very small drink. Curling your intricately long eyelashes and swiping gloss over your lips, you scanned yourself in your dressing table mirror — chestnut hair curled delicately and a tight floral dress hugging your curves, accessorised with a delicate pearl necklace and earrings. Taking a quick glimpse at the scrawled address that Lizzie had written for you, you begin to make the bitterly cold journey to The Priory.

Gently knocking on the front door of the luxurious country home, you waited nervously and replayed your earlier conversation in your head — unpicking on every stutter and incorrect word. “Oh. I didn’t think you were gonna come.” Declan spoke as he opened the door. Not quite the grand entrance you were expecting. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I just thought-“ You begin to panic, instantaneously blushing and backing away from the door. After a few painfully uncomfortable seconds, Declan allowed himself a stifled chuckle as he extended the door to let you in. “Ahh, I’m just jokin’. Come in. Lounge is the first door on the right.”

Taking a demure seat on his sofa, you kept your hands bunched up in your lap, afraid of taking up too much space. “What do ya’ drink? Whiskey? Vodka?” He bellowed from the kitchen, voice overcome only by the sound of glasses chinking against each other. “A vodka and lemonade will do, thank you.” You smile, watching intently as Declan entered the living room, pouring out two drinks with a trembling hand. “Did you really like the book?” You ask, pulling your cigarette case from your petite, leather clutch bag and lighting it. Declan followed suit, and subsequently swiped the signed copy of your novel from his coffee table, opening it a quarter way through and reading a sentence aloud.

•

“Alice howled in intense sexual gratification as Edward swirled his fingertips across her swollen clitoris,” Declan began, voice assertive and proud, “Jesus Christ, how are ya’ even allowed to publish this?” He asked, barking out a laugh. Rubbing your lips together in self-consciousness. Declan took note of your diffidence and halted his laughter, coughing brashly from the fumes of his cigarette and reading the next sentence of your book inwardly. “Sorry. I, uh… didn’t mean ta’ embarrass ‘ya.” He sighs, as you knock back the entirety of your vodka. “Can I have another, please?” You ask, and Declan obliges, filling more than half the glass with vodka, and replicating the insane measurement in his own.

“It’s erotica, Declan. It’s very popular. Really, it reflects all of one’s needs and desires.” You tut, tucking a strand of chocolate hair behind your left ear. Halfway through a mouthful of vodka, Declan paused and glared at you. It was the first time he had noticed you — really noticed you. The hopeful glint in your lazuline eyes, the gentle undulations of your shapely figure, the sultry pursing of your reddened lips. Your cheeks glowed the most charming shade of rose as the vodka coursed through your veins. “So, what are your needs and desires?” He whispered, voice gravelly and coarse. “Read the next line.” You hush, taking another large swig of your drink. “Her wetness coated his fingers and his erection grew at the smell of her.” He reads, shifting himself in his seat uncomfortably. “It’s how every woman wants to be touched.” You whisper, inching closing to him and resting your head on your hand.

“Ya’ want me to touch ya’ like that?” Declan growled, pulling your knees apart gently and creeping his hand up your thigh. The heat emanating from your pussy made him grunt in pleasure. Shuffling slightly to allow your dress to ride up to the top of your thighs, Declan pulled at your knee once more until your legs were widely spread. He brought his finger to your clit and gasped, “No pants? Fuckin’ dirty girl.” You softly bite your bottom lip at his words. Nimbly swirling circles around your pink clit, you felt yourself dripping in excitement. You panted desperately at your heightened sensitivity. “Does that feel good?” He asked, delving two fingers inside you and moaning at your constriction around him. You squeaked out the smallest yes possible, pleasure making it impossible to formulate coherent sentences.

Removing his fingers from you and standing up, Declan unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his wildly hairy chest. Gazing at him with adoring eyes, you watched as he unzipped his trousers and pulled his boxers from his ankles. Sitting back down on the sofa and motioning for you to copy, you pulled your floral dress over your head and off — substantially large breasts bouncing through the rhythm. Grabbing your hand and pulling you onto his lap, Declan fervidly crashed your lips together in lust — tongue fighting it’s way into yours and hand reaching up to grab a tight handful of your left breast. Desperate for friction, you began to grind your clit against his firm cock, moans escaping through the gaps of your kiss.

Grabbing your petite waist, Declan hoisted you up slightly and lowered you back down onto his cock. A powerful groan left your lips, your pussy slowly stretching open over his girth. Moving his hands to grab handfuls of your area, flesh spilling between his fingers, he bounced you up and down, his head lulling back in pleasure. “Declan, you’re so fucking big.” You exclaim, steadying yourself on his shoulders. “Am I breaking ya’, my girl?” He grunted into your ear, setting the pace of a madman. The way he could so easily raise you up and down created the most powerful knots in your stomach. “Yes, and it feels so fucking good.” You moan.

Feeling you clench tighter around him, Declan moaned under his breath and released his hand, allowing you to set your own pace. Uncontrollable with ardour, you bounce on his cock with a frantic pace, evermore spurred on by his lustful reaction. “Keep goin’, my girl. I’m gonna fuckin’ cum inside ya’.” The Irishman grunted, keeping his hands by his side and allowing you to ride him to release. “Fuck, Declan. Cum for me. I want it so fucking bad.”

Lowering his head to take a nipple into his mouth, Declan moved his right hand to wrap around your waist, thrusting into you sloppily as he neared his ecstasy. “Are ya’ fuckin’ ready for it?” He asked, cock already twitching in anticipation. You nod lazily, losing control of your function. Grunting carnally as he shot his hot ropes of cum inside you, his grip around your waist tightened and you both panted together, relieved and exhausted. Slowly, lifting yourself from him, Declan watched as his seed dripped from your entrance — a successful symbol of your lovemaking.

“You look so fuckin’ good with my cum inside ‘ya.” He smirked, playing a firm smack on your arse. This would most definitely not be the last time you saw each other…

[um-soybean]

Pact Marking

Summary: What happens if your pact marks burn instead?

Warning: light description of burning skin, talk OF burning skin, brandings, a darker side to pact markings, mention of death, no ship or specific mention of other characters

Reactions: Lucifer

Pact markings but they burn into your skin when you use that sin.

They start off as colorful tattoos. Bright and intricately designed just to mark your skin. To be a traceable feature of you. To symbolize the beauty of your newfound demon. A pretty marking, or a horrible mistake. But as your rage builds, as your pride makes others merely stepping stones, as you glance around to ensure no eyes follow as you swipe something, it burns.

Every deadly sin makes a deeper and deeper branding. Smoke flowing off your skin with a searing pain. One that even prevents you from doing so for too long. Or, that is so subtle you don’t even notice till afterwards when your skin flakes off a burnt black or furious blisters decorate your skin instead.

You bear it alone. Only Solomon with his endless years of use and numbness bears it. Bears one. No other human has been graced with the same curse you have. Meaning no one can know what it will do to you in the long run.

It’s unknown if the marks will eventually burn into your bones. If the marks will taint your blood. Or if by the time it happens, you’ve already died from the pain.

Maybe you manage to resist the temptation after the first time. Maybe, you learn your lesson and refrain as best you can. No matter the healing time, nothing can stop the remnant of a silvery scar etched in to your soft human skin.

Because you’re not dealing with just simple demons. Demons whose pact marks only tingle and glow when you use them.

No.

You’ve made a pact with THE Seven Deadly Sins the lords of temptation themselves, and you will bear that scar, that weight, and that burden no matter if your pact is eventually broken.

Note: Well then! I’m back (likely short lived) thanks for reading! This came to me randomly while trying to find a really specific lesson 16 fanfic (I didn’t find it).

[djpachipikachu]

doodle dump of unreleased aus that r still actively in my Brain Often but i dont post shit about them

⚠️warning for old art and blood and injury drawn and death mentions⚠️

———

magic lily au:

main theme -

summary is that leo is transported to the samurai rabbit universe instead of his family’s arms through a trifecta of his ninpo, mikey’s mystics that begged for him to be safe, and the ki stone sensing a hero in need

when leo lands in the world, he doesnt know any japanese aside from simple phrases he grew up with; “thank you”, “please”, “excuse me”, “help me”, “i love you”, etc

him and yuichi fall in love and he remains there for a few years ! however . theyve all known since the beginning that the ki stone would take leo back once he was healed. she was clear on the fact he was only there to be helped , not to live there . so yuichi and leo hold off the inevitable, despite leo missing his family horribly and knowinf they think hes dead , despite knowing how selfish it was to have one more day with each other , they avoided the ki stone until they go to the temple together and leo is ripped from the world without even a chance to reallt say goodbye to everyone

uhhh etc etc they were their first and last loves as they were both on the aro spec and didnt have a need to find that kinda love again they just . wanted each other and blehhh

i have a playlist for it as well ! my oldest au , started since i got into the fandom

UUAU:

[temp name]

my original usagi/tmnt iteration with miyamoto usagi as the main protag ! i still want to create a comic and really officially send this out so i wont spoil a lot, but !

the basis is that usagi lives in a post apocolyptic solarpunk society and is forcibly sent back in time to a cyberpunk city where the seeds of a war have begun to sprout, dropped in the middle of the highest tensions between three turtles and their eldest brother who is on the enemy side

doomed siblings, doomed toxic yaoi, doomed Everything, its inspired by idw and 2003 so what else is there to expect

only showing the beta design for usagi ! i have a lot of other drawings for this but again, spoilers

historical graves au:

this one is the most recent of the bunch, just putting my version of yuichi for rise into a more usagi yojimbo styled setting ! the story is entirely different from the fanfic and im still working on it But

yuichi is the great grandchild of miyamoto usagi instead of a distant ancestor , so the debt of the shogun’s assassination is that much heavier and Far more dangerous to hold. yuichi and his adoptive little sister, hana, have recently escaped the mass murder and pillaging of their rabbit village (the same one that mariko and kenichi and usagi grew up in) and are on a journey to find their aunt for sanctuary

along the way, they run into a lot of familiar faces, such as the hamato clan , who has karai as their jōnin ! also yuichi gets possessed by jei at some point

hes trans too so he “disguises” himself as a boy to be more hidden as they travel

ive got one more original iteration but theres like . nothing i want to share from it rn lmao

SOOO THATS IT basicallt !!umm if anyone wants to know more about any of these aus id be happy to answer ! u can request doodles of them too !

if u read this far ily and im kissing you

[alphajocklover]

No longer a Spider, finally a Man

**Hey! First time doing a fanfic muscle growth. Or at least posting it. I hope you guys like it! Please tell me how I can do better, and send in story suggestions if you want!**

Peter Parker loved being Spider-Man. He loved saving people, he loved using his powers to make a difference, he loved swinging through the sky line. But he also hated it. He hated the pressure, the responsibility, the fact that he nd his loved ones were in constant danger, the fact that he was always lying to everyone. He hated that he could never be normal. But then again Peter had never been very normal. Even before becoming Spider-man he had been a nerd. Smart, socially awkward, and tormented by the popular kids. That didn’t exactly change after becoming Spider-Man either, though his social issues had definitely gone to the back burner with him constantly fighting crime. If he was being honest his social life had only gotten worse since becoming a superhero. He had gained some muscle and no longer needed glasses, yes, but he couldn’t exactly show that. He hadn’t had time for his friends, his normally fantastic grades were slipping, and Flashes bullying had only gotten worse.

As Peter, out of costume, walked to Midtown, he wondered what it would be like to be a normal teenager. Not just what it would be like to not be Spider-Man, but to not be a nerd. He wondered what it would be like to be a regular teenage boy. Maybe if he wasn’t Spider-Man he could have even been… cool or something. Probably not, but it was still a nice fantasy. Just as he was imagining this, his spider-sense went off. He looked around, prepared to jump out of the way of any danger, but, even with his super reflexes, he couldn’t get out of the way before the strange something hit him right in the middle of his chest. Peter stumbled back, not realizing that the reality stone, one of the infinity stones, had lodged itself inside of his heart. Normally such a thing would kill someone, or at least hurt them, but due to the magic nature of the stone it phased through his chest and inside of him without harming him. Peter blinked. What… just happened? He had sworn something had just flown into his chest but… wouldn’t that have killed him or something? Before he could investigate further, an alarm on his phone began to ring. Crap, he was late for class! Peter ran into the school as the power of the reality stone seeped into his blood. He turned a corner, just a hallway away from his classroom, when he almost ran straight into a wall of muscle, his super-reflexes being the only thing that saved him. As he skirted to a halt, he came face to face with his biggest tormentor (supervillains and news editors notwithstanding) : Flash Thompson. The most popular jock in school and Peter Parker's personal bully. The blond quarterback sneered cockily at Peter before he spoke

“Hey there Puny Parker. Running late again? I thought geeks like you were supposed to be punctual and shit?” Flash said with a cocky mocking laugh.

“What do you want, Flash?” Peter asked with a scowl, trying to keep his patience.

“Just checking up on my favorite nerd.” Flash mocked, grabbing Peter’s arm. Before Peter could react, Flash had shoved him up against the locker, peters arm pinned behind his back. What the heck? He had super powers, enhanced reflexes, he should have been able to see that coming. Peter didn’t realize that his subconscious desire to be normal was repressing his powers. Unable to fight back, Peter was shoved into a nearby open locker and locked inside. Peter sighed. Stuck in a locker again. Peter didn’t notice as the orange light in his chest began to glow. He closed his eyes and deeply wished… to stop being a loser. To be normal. To be… anything else than who he was. The orange light grew brighter and brighter… until it completely consumed Peter. Suddenly he heard something

“Parker… Parker!”

With a start Peter Parker woke up, looking around in shock. He was… in a classroom? He was sitting at a desk at the back of a class he didn’t recognize, one that he seemed to have been sleeping through. Had all of that been a crazy dream? He looked over to see the remedial math teacher, Ms Jones. What was he doing in remedial math? Before he could say anything, Ms Jones spoke once more

“Mr Parker, please try to stay awake during class. Your grade is already low enough.” She said, sending a chuckle throughout the room. Peter spoke without thinking, his voice deeper and fuller than he remembered.

“Sorry teach. I’m still tired from our ‘study session’ last night. Thanks for the extra tutoring by the way~” he said. Did he just… flirt with a teacher? He did! And weirdly enough the slight embarrassed blush on Ms Jones face suggested that it was working. Ms. Jones spoke again, more timid this time

“While.. just don’t be late tonight.” She said with a slight wink, before walking over to the front of the classroom again. This caused the class, which now that Peter was looking consisted mostly of the football team, too laugh loudly, one punching Peter on the shoulder in a playful manner. Peter felt a smirk he couldn’t control come over his face, and his eyes involuntaries followed Ms Jones' ass as she walked back to the front of the class. In a daze, Peter tried to figure out what was happening. Wasn’t he just in a locker? What was he doing in remedial math? And why was he acting so weird? Before he could wonder any further, the bell rang and class was dismissed. Peter ran out without talking to anyone, and headed to a nearby bathroom. He looked in the mirror and froze. It was Peter but… completely different. He was bigger, taller, with wider shoulders. He had full, bouncy pecs that were barely contained by his tank top, shredded abs that he could grate cheese on, and truly impressive biceps. Peter had gone from a geek who gets stuffed into lockers to a huge muscular jock! Peter wanted to be shocked, to be horrified, but… he felt another smirk cross his face. He began to flex his muscles cockily. He smirked and felt his thoughts turn. He looked fucking amazing! I mean, of course he did. He was big Pete Parker, the big man, the quarterback, the stud! Slowly Peter began to forget about his old self, too absorbed in the strong, dull thoughts going through his head. He wondered what he and his best bro Flash would do after football practice? Maybe beat up some geeks, or find a hottie to hook up with? Peter had a lot of girls to choose from already, including MJ, Liz, Gwen, Charlie and of course Ms Jones, but… he wouldn’t mind another. Pete smirked and strut out of the bathroom, not noticing a light orange glow between his pecs. Life was fucking sweet.