#maybe it's just the nails on chalkboardness getting to me because even 'you can do it!' sounds less obnoxious

[sttoru]

Omg could we see reader getting jealous of Sukuna having sec with his other concubines? And maybe liek the other concubine rubs it in readers face?

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. angst (no comfort), suggestive \\ smut aspects. size difference. one tiny mention of reader being a crybaby. reader gets called ‘little one, brat’ \\ kuna’s an asshole! not proofread, excuse the grammar. no part 2. wc: 3.3k

you’ve been away from the estate for three days; three days too long for the king of curses. so much had happened while you were away to take some well deserved rest—a small vacation that sukuna had granted you because you needed it.

perhaps that was his first mistake. giving you permission to leave his side ended up being a bad decision. he hates that faint feeling in his chest, the feeling of missing something.

missing someone.

it couldn’t be. sukuna doesn’t have any weaknesses, and yet he can feel his body reacting to that unfamiliar emotion again. all because of you— that one human who always succeeds to occupy his mind.

he couldn’t let himself succumb to it—he’s not going to. sukuna is not going to let a mere human like you deter him from his superior identity that he’s had for decennia. he’s not going to let you have that power over him and his body.

and thus, when you return to the estate, you find yourself being laughed at. you were unpacking your luggage when two concubines stand at your doorway, hiding their evil smiles behind their handheld fans.

they don’t waste a single second and immediately rush to ruin your carefree mood.

“you know, you shouldn’t have returned at all,” the brunette giggles, her laugh sounding like nails scraping against a chalkboard. she looks to the other woman next to her before glancing back at you, “i mean—heh—lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence.”

you figure it’s just another way to get you riled up, so you do your best to ignore them. you put your packed kimonos in your wardrobe as your back faces the two.

yumi, the second concubine, nods along. she knows what she’s about to reveal will get on your nerves. and deserved, if you ask her. they had successfully caught the attention of their king while you were away. for the first time in a good while since your arrival in the estate.

the fact that they managed to spend quality time with sukuna again, is a wonderful first step to your downfall. one that will surely crumble your confidence as his so-called ‘favorite’.

“mhm,” yumi grins as she recalls the memories of her time with sukuna. time spent together that you were unaware of, “lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence when he had me in his bed last night.”

you freeze.

your brows furrow and the corners of your lips twitch. you don’t know if you should believe them—they could’ve lied about it for all you know. although, the voice in the back of your head had already rang the alarms.

guessing by the way they were dying to talk to you the second you came back - which never happens - you realise that they’re probably telling the truth. they’re only telling the truth to agitate you. it’s so painfully obvious, and yet so. . . hurtful.

“what?”

you don’t recall when you’ve choked up. you feel a lump in your throat. it shouldn’t even be there. you promised yourself to not get attached to a monster like sukuna.

so what if he went to bed with his other concubines?

but of course he’ll get pleasure from his other women when you aren’t around. he doesn’t feel any love, he sees it as worthless, so why did you expect him to not indulge himself? he still has his other concubines around for a reason.

you really shouldn’t be surprised by this revelation.

“what do you mean ‘what?’ - you heard me,” yumi shrugs, that cocky smirk still on her face. she’s clearly enjoying your reaction to everything she’s revealing. all the two concubines wanted to get out of this encounter with you, is to break that delusion of yours.

the delusional thought that you’re special to the king of curses—the delusion that sukuna considers you as something more than a toy to emotionally manipulate and play with until he’s tired of you.

“my lord spent all night with me in his chambers until the sun rose,” yumi continues without an ounce of shame. she bites her lip as she remembers the way sukuna had her body positioned on his large bed. for her, it was a dream come true.

though for you, it’s a living nightmare. even if you try to deny the fact that it physically and mentally hurts. there’s a painful twist at your heart—reminding you of the truth.

the truth being that you had truly thought that sukuna wasn’t really a monster of a man. you thought he was a different, more softer person around you.

you should’ve listened to the servants when they told you to not get tricked by sukuna’s special treatment, that he could easily manipulate you and make you do and act as he pleases.

“do you want me to explain it in detail?” yumi crosses her arms over her chest as she looks down at you with a menacing glare. both of the concubines are loving that face you’re making. that face of defeat that you’re attempting to hide from them, “how he held me and pleasured me until i—”

“enough,” you cut them off with your hands clenched into fists. you don’t want to hear another word. you’re already feeling awful; already, not even an hour into your return. you can never catch a break.

you have an urge to throw things around. you already feel stupid, and if you decide to throw a fit, you bet that you’d feel even dumber. you truly do not know why you’re getting this worked up about it.

maybe it’s because of the special treatment. the delusional thoughts you have about your relationship with sukuna. you really thought that you two had something special. an unofficial romantic relationship, perhaps, or something that resembles it.

a secret, unspoken deal where you’re promised his loyalty in exchange for your body and soul.

although, those dreams have been shattered this very instance. you’re once again reminded of the animalistic nature of the being called ryomen sukuna.

he told you clearly that he’d never tie himself to someone, a human no less. devotion to one person? why would he.

“out of the way.”

you push the brunette and her sidekick the other way. you’re going to confront the man yourself. or at least, you’ll try to. you can hear their sick laughs and chuckles fade into the background as you stomp your way towards sukuna’s chambers.

the other concubines seem to have gotten the gist. some peek their heads out of their rooms, grinning at you in victory. seeing your confidence slowly crumble and the realisation kick in - the realisation that your dear lord’s special treatment means absolutely nothing - is a sight for sore eyes to them.

you enter sukuna’s room and close the heavy doors behind you. you swallow the lump down your throat and try your best to look presentable.

no tears, you promise yourself. you’re not going to waste them on something like this.

“oh, it’s you, little one,” the familiar voice calls out. sukuna’s low and husky voice rings from his bed. he’s laid back against the many silky pillows, blowing smoke from his kiseru. he lays there like he doesn’t care about your reappearance at all.

he eyes you up and down, “how was your vacation, hm?”

sukuna asks like it’s the most normal thing to do. it seems like he’s trying to catch up with you, to ask you how you’ve been enjoying your time alone, though it also seems like he couldn’t care less at the same time.

“just absolutely fine, my lord,” you reply with gritted teeth and an obvious hint of sarcasm. there’s also a bitterness to your tone that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pink-haired man. he frowns—this cold greeting is not what he expected nor what he wanted to hear from your mouth. he expected you to at least smile at him like you usually do, but you didn’t.

on top of that, you seemed to be annoyed with him. that unexpected attitude of yours made something inside of him snap. it irritated him somehow; the fact that you’re so comfortable talking to him like that . . . it reminded him of the recent inner conflict he had which you were the cause of.

one of his hands tightens into a fist at his side. his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow into slits. you’re physically in front of him, which means that he’s also about to experience those complicated feelings again. the same ones he tried fleeing from by letting you go on a break, and by physically taking his mind off you.

he did the latter by taking his frustrations out on his other women. the stress that came with the thought of him possibly liking a human, relieved by pure animalistic sex.

that’s exactly what you’re upset about.

there’s an urge inside of sukuna to act normal. to ignore those difficult emotions and just treat you like he usually does. yet, another part of him is trying to protect his sense of superiority by trying to push you away.

there’s a war going on in his mind as he tries to calm himself down. you’ve always had this effect on him and it’s becoming unbearable. he has to show you, no - remind you, that you’re nothing to him. you mean nothing—nothing at all.

he’s the king of curses, you’re but a human. he’ll need to remind himself of that obvious statement as well. he’s got all the power in this situation. not you.

you cannot rule over him or his mind.

“you dare come back with an attitude? tch,” sukuna scoffs, nearly breaking the kiseru with his fingers as they squeeze around the solid material. he’s turning off whatever emotion present in his body. that doesn’t belong there anyway. he won’t care if you cry—he won’t care at all.

you notice the sudden change in sukuna’s tone as well. you’re sure you’re the reason for it. perhaps you crossed a boundary with how sassily you replied to him when he was simply asking you how your vacation went.

“my apologies,” you murmur with a sigh. you try to avoid getting on sukuna’s nerves any further, yet when you remember the words from the concubine, how she implied that sukuna had given her the best night of her life when you were away, you get mad again.

your eyes have a fiery look in them. you don’t want to get worked up. you don’t have the right to. you were warned from the very beginning to not get attached to an asshole like ryomen sukuna.

you’re to blame for feeling like this. it could’ve been prevented if you just weren’t so weak. if you just stayed away from him.

“did you have fun while i was away, my lord?” you continue, your voice shaking a little. you need the confirmation. you’re sure sukuna knows what you’re referring to by now, especially because of the way you’re acting out of character.

the king of curses raises a brow at your question. you sound even angrier, even more pissed off. he tilts his head after taking a deep inhale of the tobacco from his kiseru. he tries to figure out what you’re hinting at, “what are you—”

and that’s when everything fell into place. the dots connect.

sukuna’s jaw clenches. he realises that you’ve found out about him receiving services from his other concubines while you were away. there could be no other explanation behind your sudden attitude. besides, he knows how his other concubines could be. they must have told you the moment you came back.

normally, he’d say that it’s none of your business. what he does is up to him—he does not care about the consequences of his actions. though, seeing the slight hurt in your eyes, mixed with sadness and disappointment stirred something inside of him. he brushes that feeling away and stares at you intently, awaiting another comment. perhaps you’d cuss him out or bawl your eyes out in front of him.

either way, he promises himself that he won’t care.

sukuna is the king of curses. feeling bad for a human like you would only further tarnish his image, that image of superiority and power he has.

he’s a man of many needs. you should’ve kept that in mind when you left him. he wanted to keep you with him—to hold you down and refuse to let you leave—but that would be another sign of weakness. one sukuna could not manage to show.

when you departed, he was irritated by the fact that he had no one to turn to with his needs. from simple needs like wanting your company to sexual needs like craving your body.

keeping you by his side or letting you go; both decisions seem to clash. either way, there’s one thing he’s sure of, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it: he missed you.

sukuna can’t believe that he can feel an emotion like that. he can’t accept that fact. that’s why his irrational mind took over—his dark urges that strived to prove himself to still be the same old ryomen sukuna. the monster that did not need a single soul. the ruthless man that did not depend on anyone else, especially not a human. a woman like you.

he thought he’d forget all about you if he’s surrounded himself with other women. but, he was quick to be proven wrong, and that only caused to enrage him more and more.

every time sukuna fucked a concubine, his thoughts still manage to drift away to you. to how he wished that it was you he was holding.

nothing hit the same with the other women and that frustrated him. he’d keep them around in his room after he fucked their brains out, something he never allowed a woman to do except for you, yet kicked them out again after a few minutes.

it doesn’t hit the same.

you’re just different. your presence is soothing and calming to the chaotic soul of the pink-haired man. no one else could compare. that realisation made him feel inferior; a feeling he loathes.

sukuna’s red eyes glow. he hates seeing you look so defeated, but he cannot give in. if he tells you the truth, he’ll admit his weakness. he’ll admit that a human like you has completely taken over his brain. that’s no good.

if he doesn’t tell you the truth, he’ll save face. he’ll feel like himself again. his old self—the cold ruthless monster that he was before he met you. one without a soft spot for a human.

it’s an active dilemma that’s running through his mind as he slowly blows out another cloud of smoke. you cannot guess what’s going on behind those intimidating eyes staring you down.

sukuna tilts his head back and scratches his neck, smacking his lips as he makes his decision.

“yeah, i did. i had lots of fun.”

the words sting. they hurt you and make your heart ache in a way that makes you physically weak. you should’ve expected that answer. your shoulders tense up and your fingers curl around the material of your kimono—feeling a sense of anger and betrayal.

you can see a ghost of a smirk on sukuna’s lips, which only reminds you of his nature. his nature as an independent, aloof and cold man who likes to play with his prey. a natural disaster that knows no emotion, that shows no mercy to anyone.

you’re naive for thinking that you could be the exception. all of those times with sukuna were confirmed to be but a lie in that moment. as your gazes meet, you can now easily interpret what that look in those red eyes meant.

‘know your place,’

that’s what it means. you’re foolish, dumb. you take a deep breath to compose yourself after you’ve been made out to be a total fool. you should’ve listened to those warnings, you should’ve known that you were getting played.

this is exactly what sukuna desired to achieve. to build up your trust, to make you comfortable enough with him, to think you’re special and that he won’t need any other woman other than you — just to shatter your pathetic delusions when the time comes.

“tsk tsk. no need to look at me like that,” sukuna scoffs, a mocking laugh leaving his lips. he can hear a small voice in the back of his head telling him to shut up and let you go, to not make it worse, but who is he to listen to that irrelevant thought? he can decide for himself.

“y’ weren’t around, so the other concubines simply did their job by serving me,” he stares the other way, seemingly not interested by your presence anymore. his face is as expressionless as ever, “what do y’ think i keep them ‘round for, brat? for decoration purposes? hah, nah.”

another loud mocking laugh makes you nearly burst out in tears. you don’t know if it’s in anger or sadness. you take a deep, shaky breath for the last time. you unclench your fists and nod, accepting the reality check you’d just gotten.

it’s a slap to the face, but it helped you get out of your delusions. the delusions that sukuna is a man capable of loving someone, even if it is just for a tiny bit. this visit confirmed that there’s not an ounce of love or appreciation in that man’s body.

“i’m glad you had fun, my lord,” you answer after a bit of silence. you bow at sukuna in an attempt to stay polite while struggling with that inner turmoil. you don’t even glance up at him anymore. you need another break already.

sukuna isn’t dumb. you may think that you’re good at hiding your emotions, but you’re not. at least not around the king of curses. he’s spent enough time around you to realise that you’re going through a lot right now.

he’s the reason for it, yet he cannot bring himself to feel an ounce of empathy. he just looks at you with a blank stare, thinking that this is for the best.

“good night then,” you add and turn around to walk out of sukuna’s room. your steps are slow as you secretly hope to be called back, like sukuna would do every time you’d leave his room after an intimate night. you just want him to tell you that this was a test of some sort—a cruel joke.

you want to feel like his favorite again. you don’t want to be thrown away like this. you don’t want to be on the same level as all the other concubines. you want to stand out to him.

unfortunately, you don’t hear sukuna’s voice anymore. he lets you walk away without a care in the world. the heavy doors of his chambers close behind you and you feel your knees buckle. “fuck,” you cuss to yourself and clench your chest.

you lean back against the closed doors and try to regain your composure. crying can be done when you’re in your room—not in the hallway where anyone could catch you. you don’t want to give the other concubines more reason to bully you.

you drag your feet across the wooden flooring. all those times with sukuna, all those slight glimpses of his soft side that only you’re allowed to see— all of that is thrown into the trash.

you really shouldn’t have gotten so attached to him on an emotional level.

meanwhile, sukuna is silently sitting on his bed, thinking back to what just happened. he usually never doubts his decisions, but this is an exception. why couldn’t he just tell you the truth?

his mouth had moved before he could let his mind process all that he was feeling. a small part of him regrets it, though strangely, he couldn’t feel any real sympathy for your situation.

sukuna drapes an arm over his eyes, clicking his tongue at himself. he just wants to let the situation go, though his brain isn’t letting him to. the image of you standing at the edge of his bed, clearly hurt by his actions, flashes through his mind again.

he sighs. he’s sure that he’s going to forget about you soon enough. he needed an excuse to get rid of you for the sake of regaining control over his own being and he took the chance. he should be glad that he did—it meant that he’d be his usual self—with no weaknesses to look out for.

sukuna blows out another cloud of smoke through his mouth. as much as he’s proud of himself for not giving in to you, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander again. you’re probably crying in your room. he knows you’re sensitive. you would always cry about the smallest of things and he’d hold you (feigning reluctance) until you’ve calmed down.

he can’t do that now.

well, he can, but he won’t. sukuna has made his decision today: it’s power and status over you. that’s what it’s always been. you were but a toy he used to get a stronger grip on himself.

perhaps he simply is what people make him out to be; a monster. nothing more, nothing less.

[elainemorisi]

genuine curiosity, is there a person on this good green earth who finds a generic "you got this!" to be heartening?

[hazelfoureyes]

for your consideration:

a reader who’s genuinely more powerful than Alastor is. maybe they’re royalty or another overlord or maybe they simply just have a more commanding presence than him, but in any way, he hates it. he goes out of his way to try to one-up them (much like how he did with Lucifer), but the reader never falters, ever-calm and ever-in control. it infuriates Alastor to no end— not only because of the simple fact that he isn’t the strongest person in the room anymore, but also because the reader never treats him like he’s lesser than them. they treat him like an equal, and it makes him even angrier.

when they fuck for the first time, it’s a last-ditch attempt for Alastor to regain control— and it fails, because even though Alastor is on top with his nails digging into the reader’s skin, doing his very best to cause the pain he knows he can cause, the reader still just stares up at him, taking it like they always do. no tears fall from their eyes, no pleads fall from their lips. Alastor is dissatisfied— very much so. so they do it again. and again. and again, until it’s something of a game between them. until one day, the reader’s composure finally shatters.

they’ve had enough of Alastor’s attitude and disrespect, and they tell him as much. they pin him down, snarling about his god complex and his twisted sadism and how long they’ve been waiting to put him in his place. and Alastor finds that no matter how much he struggles, he can’t get that control that had been so rudely snatched from him back. but the thing is— a part of him likes it. really, really likes it— that loss of power that should be his and his alone, being held just out of his petulant reach. it brings him a sick feeling that he’s never felt before and can’t get enough of.

that part grows and grows until he’s the one crying and begging and squirming weakly underneath the reader, both his smile and his mind threatening to break as the reader fucks him relentlessly. no matter how many times either of them cums, the reader doesn’t stop, not until Alastor is screaming his apologies, over and over and over again. he hates it. he loves it.

when it’s all over, and when the reader has settled, Alastor makes them promise that they will never speak of this again. without a hint of smugness, the reader agrees— but maybe the next time Alastor is acting up, the reader will only have to give him a look. and he will know.

I know this wasn’t a prompt necessarily but don’t think you can come into MY HOUSE and lay a feast in front of me and not expect I’d dig in 👏 face 👏 first 👏 so here’s me just kinda riffing off your DELICIOUSLY WRITTEN MESSAGE. NO TIME TO EDIT A CUTE REPLY IMAGE

Wrapped around Your Finger (Ace Alastor bottoms for a GN!Seraphim Reader short smut)

Warnings/Promises: 🗣️ ALASTOR GETS FINGERED, Gender Neutral Reader x Alastor smut, hate fucking, bondage, initial dubcon, Ace Alastor, scratching, kinda degradation kink, Angel Reader, Reader is a good friend, Protect Angel Dust at all costs

minors dni

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ When Lucifer introduced a defected Seraphim to the hotel, Alastor’s smile dropped. You had feet yet to him you seemed to glide through the hotel halls effortlessly. You were impeccably dressed, ever polite, well mannered, clean. It was driving him mad. Yes, Alastor knew the importance of being well groomed. He exalted manners and gentility. He disliked grime and thought a lack of personal hygiene was an actual sin. But the sight of you, every fucking day with that ever present soft smile on your lips? Your gaze, always gentle as you listened to sinners explain their dreams of redemption. Nails on a chalkboard. Every room you were in, all eyes turned to you. It was if the air itself was pulled into your charms.

Every one in the hotel either feared Alastor or, at least, failed to hide their annoyance when He’d sneak up on them or touch them without warning. Of course, not you. Alastor shocked himself with his antics in attempt to make you react to him at all. Charlie would pull him aside weekly, asking what the actual fuck? “Why did you say that? They know they aren’t from here, we all know that, but telling them they are most unnatural creature to ever exist in Hell? And I don’t think it was an accident you knocked their drink over. Al, you are being a bully.” Yes, and he was sorry. Sorry he was so ineffective. Not even a fucking knitted brow so much as flashed at him when he spilled your drink down your chest. You smiled, you had the audacity to smile at him and say, “Whoops. Your monocle isn’t prescription, huh?” He only had one option left to push you beneath him—-rip you to pieces. Any thing to get you to look at him differently than all the other weak souls mulling about in hell.

Alastor had seen you fight, when an overlord came to the hotel to taste seraphim blood, all of the Pride Ring saw your power. Arms out stretched, a glow came from your palms, yellow and bright. With the speed of someone enjoying a breakfast on the patio on a Sunday in hell, you knelt down and pressed your palms into the ground. A flash of light and power rung out from you and blinded everyone watching, but Alastor could see you as he melted into the deepest shadows your light created. White and gold glowing shards erupted from the dirt, fracturing the grounds of the hotel lawn as they formed a jagged but intelligent line straight for the demon. The overlord barely recovered from the blinding effect of your power before a glass-like piece shot from the ground and straight through his chest. It was over in seconds, and you had never dropped your soft grin.

He was prideful, but not stupid. A test, a little experiment first. When you watched sweetly from the sidelines and Charlie directed yet another meaningless activity, Alastor stood opposite you. Your eyes flitted from person to person, your smile small but genuine. Were you glowing? He had had enough. He reached his shadow appendages out and wrapped one around your ankle, as it gripped and prepared to drag you to the floor in what he hoped would be an embarrassing display, nothing happened. As the tentacle touched you, it dissipated. Your light entirely erasing the shadow.

He felt his mind breaking. Every night he paced, feeling your overwhelming presence in the hotel even at such a distance. He decided to try the one thing he’d never tried. Atleast, not since coming to hell. You were always so accommodating, maybe to a fault? He found you in kitchen, alone, making yourself some sickeningly sweet drink. Your body froze when Alastor pressed against you from behind. But, you didn’t make a sound. “Apologies, I don’t think I can suffer any longer.” He ground his hips into your ass, “I never do this, a gentleman through and through. But you see, as a deer demon, sometimes there are periods of—- unbearable discomfort. I can’t focus on redemption like this.”

Alastor was shocked when you swiveled around, eyes closed from your smile, and said, “I came here to help. What can I do?”

He couldn’t understand it. Bent over the counter in the common area, his nails cutting lines down your sides that healed with a frustrating speed, you just sighed into him. Little moans, soft exhales. He slammed your hips against him, the sound ringing through the kitchen. But still, your eyes were closed but not clenched. Your sounds small and even. The only thing keeping him hard was your hand, reached back and digging nails into his thighs. The tiniest hint of your true feelings. He’d bury his mind where your hand tore his skin and find release. Happy to see you at least a little less perfectly assembled after.

Alastor would find you at the most inconvenient times, in the most public settings, and find some excuse to need to fuck you. At one point a sinner even walked in on you two, and to Alastor’s palpable dismay, you apologized to the sinner for blocking the ice machine.

Your resolve finally snapped, however, when Alastor stepped past a line he didn’t know you had. Alastor had you, uncharacteristically, in your bed. He always spoke during sex but now, now it was genuinely grating you. “You’re such a whore, coming to Hell just to eat demon cock. If you drowned in cum you’d probably respawn as an even bigger slut than Angel Dust.” You sat up, one hand on his chest and the other under his armpit, and flipped him onto his back. Alastor’s arm moved to push back, but he found both wrists held down to the bed with a signature glow.

“If you knew Angel half as well as you pretended, you’d know how fucking stupid you sound.” Your hands gathered his cum from earlier that evening, slowly dripping out of you with the sudden change in position. “He’s the whore? Who stalks this hotel, hungry for any ounce of attention? A petulant child willing to embarrass others just so teacher notices them?” Your hand began to pump his cock. Alastor thrashed, he hated people handling his dick, but that was overshadowed by his disgust of having his semen spread over his skin. The sensation made his skin crawl and he would have gone soft but when he met your gaze he only grew harder in your fist. Your eyes were alight, figuratively and literally. The rage on your face made his smile drop entirely. You looked like you hated him. “If he is a whore, then you are Mary Magdalene. I’ll wash your feet for you, sinner.” You used your knees to spread open his untethered legs.

“I know you, Alastor,” the fingers of your other hand slicked through the lathered cum dripping down his ass and began to massage at his hole. “Your greatest sin wasn’t murder. It was pride. Never could let anyone see the famous Radio star with even a hair out of place. You’d drop your morals for even a taste of an improved social image. Even in death, you abuse and hound others who dare to make you feel less than how you demand you look from the outside.” He wanted to say anything, argue, roar, but his jaw was locked in place. Your eyes never left his, and soon his vision was darkening around your luminescent stare. A finger slipped into him, slowly but with resistance.

“Tell me to stop.” Your hand slowed to let his muscles relax around your digit before picking up speed again, curving your palm over his head with every pull upward, “Tell me to stop and I will. I’ll go right back to who I always am, and always will be. I’ll smile at you every morning and move out of your way with a nod in the halls. Say ‘stop’.” Your words were threats, not idle or hollow and it made Alastor’s thighs twitch. Go back? Return to looking at him like you truly wanted the best for him despite how dirty his hands were? Soft eyes threatening to make him melt into a lesser, weaker man?

You were in him to the knuckle, finger prodding and twirling.

His eyes were wide but focused on you. Alastor thought his soul would evaporate, your face a sneer he’d never been so lucky to even imagine before now. He could feel you around him, in him.

A tiny, halted, “S-,” was forced through his teeth.

Stop?

Slower?

He shook his head, eyes fluttering closed.

“God, you’re pathetic. What about a sorry? Can you manage a single apology for your comments tonight? I’ll let you roll me back into the mattress, for a sincere ‘sorry’.” Alastor's knees hitched, his head fell back, and he came over your knuckles with a pained groan. But you didn’t stop. You’d get your reply, eventually.

Alastor gave a threat of his own when you finally got your apology, half screamed through his third orgasm, and let him flee your bed. You nodded and agreed, yes yes, this never happened blah blah yet another example of your enormous pride.

After that night, any time Alastor wanted to yank on Husk’s chains, or double speak someone into a deal, he’d pause and look around. Expecting your two golden lit eyes to be staring, ready to flip him onto his back and drag several more apologies from him.

༻Masterlist༺

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER FOUR: holy waters

masterlist

“Give it up for Miss Ayesha Erotica, everyone!” Yn announced with infectious enthusiasm over the radio waves.

Miwa, sporting vibrant teal hair and an equally vibrant grin, followed up with theatrical flair, “God, I love emo boy!”

Yn shot her a smirk. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s a sentiment we can all get behind, right?”

Miwa didn’t miss a beat, her excitement bubbling over as she declared, “No Yn, I really, really love emo boys!”, being sure to enunciate the s at the end.

Yn’s face contorts as a picture of Megumi flashes through her mind.“That makes one of us,” Yn quipped, “but I see your point.”

“Seriously, though,” Miwa said, barely containing her glee, “today is shaping up to be amazing!”

Yn arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Oh? Do tell.”

Miwa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she revealed, “Because Tridant has graced us with 10 free tickets to their show this Saturday, and we’re giving them away!”

Yn’s face twisted into a mix of dread and disbelief, her jaw nearly hitting the studio floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered into the mic, trying to cover her panic with a forced grin. “Trident? You know I’d rather listen to nails on a chalkboard.”

Miwa’s eyes widened in playful astonishment. “Huh, since when did you become such a critic?”

Yn leaned over and mouthed, “Just roll with it.”

Miwa nodded, her grin widening. “I know, but that’s exactly why this is going to be hilarious. We’re going to make someone’s day—and maybe even get you to enjoy yourself.”

Yn groaned dramatically. “Alright, but if I have to endure this concert, you owe me a full day of Solange on the station.”

Miwa clapped her hands together, her laughter echoing. “Deal! Alright, listeners, if you want a shot at these coveted tickets, call in now and tell us why you’re the ultimate Tridant fan. And don’t forget to shout out how much you adore these emo boys!”

As the phone lines lit up with eager callers, YN slumped back in her chair, torn between dread and reluctant amusement. Despite her best efforts to look disgruntled, she couldn’t help but be drawn in by Miwa’s infectious enthusiasm. And she knew Twitter would have a field day with this one—especially with a certain raven-haired boy likely to make an appearance in the trending topics.

“Megumi, get off your phone! We need to practice otherwise Gojo will be up our asses!” Yuta barked, his voice cutting through the cluttered practice room like a drill sergeant.

The space was strewn with old gear, tangled cables, and random junk, making it look like a tornado had hit a music store. Yuta, already in dad mode, stormed out, his footsteps echoing off the mismatched walls as he went in search of something crucial.

“Yeah, but Toge’s on his phone too,” Megumi shot back, his fingers still scrolling through his screen, barely lifting his gaze.

“Yeah, but nobody gives a fuck about him,” Yuji interjected from the corner of the room, where he was perched on a drum stool, grinning like he’d just won a prize.

“Suck my dick ,” Toge retorted, his white hair bouncing as he turned, looking genuinely miffed.

Megumi rolled his eyes with exaggerated drama, reluctantly shoving his phone into his back pocket. He could feel the buzzing vibrations through his jeans and couldn’t help but smirk, taking a twisted pleasure in the fact that he was managing to irk you.

“Ugh, Megumi, why are you grinning like that? A jumpscare warning would’ve been nice,” Toge commented, half-annoyed, half-amused, from his spot by the amp.

“Go fuck yourself,” Megumi snapped back, his smugness evaporating into a gruff irritation.

Did he really find joy in annoying you? Megumi mused, a hint of doubt creeping in.

“Hey, Megumi, you seem unusually cheerful today,” Yuta announced as he reentered, clutching whatever he’d gone to fetch with an air of importance.

“See? Even Yuta’s noticed,” Toge snarked, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“So what’s up, big guy?” Yuji asked, his grin widening as he strolled over, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“Did you finally get your dick sucked or something?” Toge blurted out, his tone blunt and unapologetic.

“Why would that make me happy?” Megumi shot back, genuinely confused.

“Because everyone can tell when you’re sex-deprived,” Toge replied matter-of-factly, adding with a laugh, “Plus the horny slash hate subtweets you’ve been posting do nothing for your case.”

“I’m not sex-deprived,” Megumi insisted, his face turning a shade of crimson.

“MY BOY!” Yuji cheered, rushing in for a celebratory dap.

“Not like that,” Megumi murmured, his cheeks burning as the room erupted in laughter, the awkwardness of the situation making it clear that maybe he should have kept his phone in his pocket.

“Alright, let’s get down to business. We need to nail this new song for our upcoming gig,” Yuta finally says as the laughter dies down, holding a stack of sheet music with an air of importance.

“Finally!” Yuji cheered, bouncing on his drum stool.

“Yeah, yeah,” Toge muttered, putting his phone away and grabbing the microphone. “Let’s see what this new song’s all about.”

Yuta handed out the lyric sheets and nodded at the band. “This one’s a bit different—more upbeat. I want to hear energy and precision. Let’s start with the intro and build from there.”

extras!

• the band in sjap is called triDANT not triDENT bc the group collectively came up with the name together but toge was the one entrusted (first mistake) who had to write it down for copyright purposes etc paper work ete anyways this man CANNOT spell so that's why it's with an A instead of an E lol

• yes the group definitely clowned him for it but they couldn't change it so it stuck and they ran with it

• toge did go to the gym but he snuck in when yuji went and they definitely blasted him on their social media page and stuck his face on the wall of shame😭

• the tickets sold out COMPLETLY and yn lowkey wanted one for herself…

• definitely did not smile to herself when panda told them he scored her tickets thanks to toge..

• dramatic ass

• megumi has convinced himself he only texts yn to piss herself and nothing more than that

• i aspire to be at his level of delusion

• yn, panda and nobara all went to whole foods and asked if they had any close to expire tomato’s at the back (they did)

• they went home with 2 crates full of the most saggiest wettest tomato’s in existence

• hope u guys enjoyed the week overdue chap :3

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[grapejuicestyless]

Haunted By The Look In My Eyes

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: After a near death experience while on an adventure Y/n and JJ were supposed to be sat on the bench for, tension builds between the Pogues until finally, JJ’s reckless attitude meets Y/n’s intense feelings that can only be compared to the hopelessness JJ once felt himself.

“Guess it’s just you and me.” I rolled my eyes, the coolness from the surface of the metal shipment container doing nothing to cool down the sweltering heat that danced through the air within the four walls. Boxes of random assortments of various items plastered in rotting wood and wrapped thickly in plastic wrap.

Water clung to everything, beading down my forehead in thick droplets of sweat, the salty liquid tasting on my tongue with each swipe of it over my cracking lips. I swore if I ever had the curse of being sent to hell, this was it. This was the fiery depths of heat people spoke about, I was sure of it.

JJ was glistening too, though, he seemed used to it. Growing up with no temperature regulations in the unforgiving summer heat seems to have made him less uncomfortable by the thickness in the air, I hadn’t been lucky enough to adapt over time.

I watched him slide down against the floor, trying to get as low as possible. Heat does rise, after all. I sat opposite of him. Climbing on the crates of junk and cringing at the insufferable squeaking sounds that I could only ever compare to nails on chalkboard. I sat as close to the small opening in the container as possible without making myself known to anyone walking outside. The risk was worth it for the cool breeze of the ocean, even for just a moment.

But just as I close my eyes, swaying and praying that the heat will die down, the blond speaks.

“You know, I’ve been thinking. When all this is over, and we’re just rolling in the dough…I’m gonna get a new board and I’m gonna deck it out. And I’m gonna go on a surf trip.” His head leaned back against the crate behind him, his hair sticking to the back of his neck and his once wildly untamed hair clumping together in a wet mess.

I gave him a look, leaning forward on my palms and smiling at him, I let my eyes wander around the container.

“I don’t know where, but like, the worlds callin’.” He smiled, dissociating for a second and letting his smile fade. Slipping away for only a moment. “I don’t…name a place.” He was back, the same toothy grin as before, the same glistening shine in his blue eyes.

I thought for a second, blowing air through my lips.

“Spain.” I nodded my head.

“Then, after Spain…South America or South Africa, you know-“

“You’re gonna go to South Africa?” I interrupted with a teasing smile, partially shocked that JJ ever wanted to go away so far.

“Or one of the south places.” He defended himself. “A-and then Micronesia maybe. And then, just ride…wherever the wave takes you.” He looked down at his ring clad hands, twisting them nervously like he might have doubts that his dreams were stupid, unachievable.

I smiled at him even when he wasn’t looking because I believed everything he said. I knew that one day, he would go out just like he said and catch the best swells around the globe.

“Y’know?” He looked up finally, catching my grin.

“So that’s the plan—if we were to get a ton of cash?” I asked, looking away from him again. “That’s the dream?” I said it like a question, though, really I was agreeing with everything he said. It sounded like a dream. “Surf trip.”

“Bamboo hut…cooking a fish on a fire and…after that you go back out and just hit the waves again.” He moved his hands wildly as he spoke, building his dream in his mind with just the wiggling of his fingers. I rolled my eyes playfully.

“That’s the dream.” He confirmed, his voice lowering slightly, and I knew he was serious.

“Sounds perfect.” I agreed softly.

“Yeah.”

“Got room for one more?” I shrugged, asking honestly despite the light smile on my face. JJ simply laughed, smiling and looking back up from his lap to meet my eyes. I watched how his smile dropped when he saw how serious I was.

“You got your passport?” He asked, and it made me laugh this time.

“You don’t got a passport.” I teased.

“Hell no I don’t got a passport! The Kookiest thing ever.” He smiled, and I felt myself laughing from my stomach. A real, happy laugh that I hadn’t felt bubbling up since I was a little girl. Since before all the guns and allegations, and prison sentences, and near death experiences.

Sometimes I wondered what I would think of JJ, if I didn’t know him. Sometimes, I feared that if I had been born on the other side of the island, if my parents could afford a nicer house, if I lived just nearly two neighborhoods over, would I be just like everyone else?

Would I have thought of him as just another Maybank? Surely, if told his dreams to Topper or Kelce, they’d laugh and call him nothing greater than his old man. I thought he was a great deal more than Luke ever was, but would I think that if I had more money in my pocket?

I decided that I would, because the look in his eyes told me I would have. They were blue, sure, but they were the most trusting, truest eyes I’d ever seen. Maybe that’s why he knew he was a good liar, because he had the doe eyes down, but he couldn’t fool me any more than he could fool John B, Kiara, or Pope.

JJ Maybank had been the center of my universe since he had dropped down right front and center of me, since he had wandered into my life and claimed that we were to be best friends forever without leaving any room for argument.

I knew that I would have found him in any life. Because I know JJ Maybank better than anyone ever has, and he knows me more than I know myself.

When he sighed and fought against the “B-Team” I faked my offense, because though I knew he was itching for action, we’d get to share a tender moment like this together, just locked up in a hot box with no room the breathe and no wind to cool us down.

I craved our conversations like he craved the chaos, and I clawed my way into his heart because since the moment I met him I understood how special he was to me. He’s so, undeniably special.

“The Kookiest.” I agreed softly, letting my head fall back and my eyes close again, content with the feeling of my beating heart racing for him.

Maybe being the B-Team wasn’t the worst, because then the only worry was trying to maintain a steady temperature and keep myself from swaying my way to the floor. Heat stroke seemed a lot less scary than this.

JJ quieted me down, though, I hadn’t said a word, and his pointer pressing against his lips reminded me that maybe he shouldn’t be leading us around the boat, completely exposed to danger, and so I snuck around him and squeeze through the thin passageway, ignoring his whisper-shouting protests.

Our bodied pressed flat against the side of the upper deck walls, my head stretched around the corner to view the empty deck ahead of us.

“Clear?” He asked softly, and I nodded my head quickly.

We ran on our toes, walking light on our feet to avoid the loud slapping of boots against metal. JJ fell behind me slightly as he spun around, paranoid of the potential of someone following behind.

“Jay, come on.” I mumbled desperately, feeling the stress falling down on me.

We turned the corner quickly, JJ turning to look over the railing for John B on a lifeboat, our getaway car, only to be met with open water. Our breathing echoed between our ears, neither of us heard the harsh slapping of extra feet plowing down the stairs ahead.

“I don’t see them.” He announced, all too loudly.

I froze in the presence of a taller man with untamed hair and scruffy facial hair.

“JJ…” I warned, squaring my shoulders off as he stepped in line with me. No one made any movement for a split moment.

“Jayj…” I said a little more desperately as the man unsheathed his machete, only drawing JJ’s in closer, a fein for danger, and a junkie for risk.

“Of course…” The man began to speak, his brows furrowing. “There’s more of you.”

JJ and I shared a look, our faced contorted in an unspoken agreement that we understood the numbers here. Two against one was a safe bet, though the factor of his blade made me squirm a little.

“Get down on your knees.” The man instructed, and I wanted to laugh.

“Yeah, thats not gonna happen!” JJ’s words became shorter as he took a step back, the man’s slow approach sending both of us in fight or flight. I knew from the first glance what JJ would choose.

The man swung violently, aiming down on JJ’s shoulders with a quick blow, but missing as he ducked and shifted to the left. The machete made a loud clanging sound as it hit the metal floor.

He swung again, this time at me, but he was already off balance, swinging aimlessly at someone who wasn’t there. My hands pushed down against his arm, keeping him and the weapon pinned to the wall of the boat, right against a closed compartment that looked like it was hiding electrical cables.

Grunting as he fought against my hands, JJ wound up and struck the man with his bare knuckles, hitting him square in the jaw. His hands braced the mans shoulders, our eyes meeting in the chaotic scene, another unspoken plan shared between our glances.

“Hit him, Y/n/n!” He instructed, and as JJ pulled the man back, I opened the compartment where his hand had been, smacking him dead center in his face so hard, it echoed through my ears. I couldn’t help but grimace to myself.

“Wheres John B?” JJ shouted, his voice rough with anger. He shifted from foot to foot, hands drawn in a position ready to swing, even with the man helplessly lying on the ground.

I ran to the edge of the boat, my palms bracing myself over the edge, the empty water making my stomach drop. I wondered helplessly what was holding the others up as JJ and I fought on borrowed time.

“John B!” I shouted, my voiced strained.

I heard the sound of hair moving quickly, the cut of a blade slicing above JJ’s head as he once again ducked, but this time, we weren’t as lucky. With a kick to the gut, JJ went flying back, his head bouncing off the side of the railing. He sat with his hand cradling the back of his head.

“Y/n/n!” He alerted me. Turning on my feet, the man was closer to me than before, his gaze deadly and set solely on me.

He swung once, twice, missing with each violent stroke of the blade. I ducked the best I could, growing more confident as the pain of connection never came, but I grew too overconfident. I spend too much time with JJ, I guess.

The sting came quickly, a burning pain that ripped through my skin and sunk deep past the tissue. I screamed out in a broken cry of desperation, my fingers gripping my shoulder in agony.

The man swung again, only to be pulled away by the blond boy once again, his arms swallowing him whole from the back. Their grunts were the only other thing I could hear past the beating of my heart, yet, seeing the man elbow JJ in his sternum hurt more than the wound that bled out between my red fingers.

He had JJ winded, and with one swift turn, he tried to take me one more time.

I ducked, and watched in horror as the blunt end sent JJ flying over the edge of the boat, nearly three stories until the splash sounded from the deck.

The man came at me again, the dance becoming all too repetitive as the sole of my shoe connected with his stomach. He stumbled into the ground, lying flat. I raced to the edge, the sight below me sickening.

There JJ was, floating on his stomach, his head below the surface, unmoving and sinking slowly. The waves look him in every direction, and all that filled my mind was the silent begging that he would flip.

“JJ!” I screamed, trying to wake him as if the water wasn’t filling his ears. The water around him bubbled, the deep blue a bright white from the impact, his old tank top lifting to reveal the shape of his back.

He didn’t move, he didn’t respond, and my feet met the top of the railing on the boat. I didn’t even think, I didn’t register all the danger below the surface, how stupid it was to jump into the open water with no guarantee that John B would ever show up, but it didn’t matter because I couldn’t stop it. I was hitting the water regardless of how fearful I was of the cold.

“JJ!” Water fell out of my mouth in heaving splatters of coughing fits, my hair glued flat against my skin and my clothes clinging to every inch of my body. I would be lying if I said the impact didn’t hurt, if the salt water didn’t burn the harsh aching in my shoulder.

“Jayj!” With my good arm, I pulled the blond boy into my body, laying his head back against my shoulder to keep him above the surface, to get some air into his lungs.

“Jayj?” My other hand came to grab his face, and my thighs burned with how viciously they cut through the water, treading painfully harsh to keep us afloat. His limp body drifted against mine, and the gentle tangle of our limbs made it harder to swim.

“Jayj, stay with me!” I dropped his cheek, needing the extra hand to keep us above the water. With no help around and only the unfamiliar waters to call home, I felt a bile rise in my throat, like I could vomit if my stomach wasn’t so empty, if hungry was a feeling I had grown to know.

“Please!” I gritted my teeth, feeling my head drip under the gentle waves for a moment, it stung when I opened my eyes again. “JJ, please!” I cried out, taking in every breath of air like it was a gift.

“Stay with me, stay with me!” I grunted, using all my strength. I debated letting the water take me, if only I could extend my arms to keep him a float, I would let myself drown.

My thighs burned, and my arms were too shaky to hold on for much longer. My brows furrowed and my nose burned, a familiar ache in my lungs. I knew crying would do me no good, but as my chest became hollow, I felt my tears mix with the oceans waves drowning out my face.

Everything hurt. Hurt in a way, I could never explain. It was like I could feel each edge of my heart giving out and the sharp cuts of every wheeze that huffed past my cracking lips.

The water was red. Redder than I’d ever seen the ocean because water isn’t red. Maybe it was the cut from his head staining the once vibrant seas a dark maroon, but I could see it swirling in delicate droplets down my arm, I could feel the stickiness even in the salty surroundings.

But there was also fear. Fear that my best wasn’t enough, fear that I would become inclined to give up, because giving up is much sweeter when you have the option. Dying never is. Not even when you want to. Having the urge doesn’t make the pain less scary, and so I kick restlessly to keep the both of us up.

“John B’s coming, John B’s coming, okay?” I assured the empty crowd, JJ completely unaware of the distress of the situation as he lay lifeless in my weakened arms.

His arms floated with the movement of the ocean, his hair covering his eyes. The blond hair that I adored, ran my hands through and ruffled was darker now that it was wet. Not in the way it was when he surfed, but drenched. Stuck to his skin and covering his forehead.

With one strong kick, I gained enough power to lift us up just a bit higher from the surface. My shaky hand brushed the hair from his face.

“John B!” I call out as I steal another glance at his paling face, a red stain spreading on his temple from the blow of the blade, leaking down and staining my own cheek from how close he is to me.

“Help!”

The motor of a boat catches my ear, but my lungs have given up and I’ve already sunk so far below the water, our heads are barely breaking surface.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I pant out, my eyes shutting like it would do us any good. I could have let him go, I could have carried my own weight a moment longer, but with every doubting thought, my hands only held onto him tighter, a silent refusal to give up on him, even if it meant letting the darkness consume me.

Kiara would have yelled at me, and been proud all at once. She would have called me stupid for risking my life for someone so reckless, but then she would have clapped me on the back and said it was what any of us would have done. Pogues for life and all that.

I really missed her now, I wished she was here to scold me, I wished I wasn’t so alone.

“Hey! JJ!” A chorus of cries for us rang throughout the distance, the motor boat approaching as the others all cried out for JJ, my head slipping below the waves.

“No, no, no, no!” John B’s voice broke, the weight on my shoulder lifting, I saw Pope and John B lift him from the water through the stinging of my blurry vision, I felt him leaving my grip, but my hands only grabbed onto him harder.

Subconsciously, I couldn’t let him go. It was only hurting the both of us, we were saved, the Pogues finally finding their way to us, but part of my brain couldn’t comprehend that it was all ending soon because it was all going black. My vision, my heart, my mind.

But just before the water could suck me down, Kiara pulled me on board, her hands grabbing onto me like I had grabbed onto JJ.

“Y/n, holy shit.” Her voice shook with concern. Where her knuckles had held onto me, where my shirt was wrinkled wetly between her fingers, came the slow oozing of deep maroon down my skin, staining everything it touched.

It smeared around with every rock of the boat, and I swore I felt myself swaying. Kiara said something about the depth of the wound, how she thought she saw bone. It blurred like my vision, my lips parting only to shut at the sound of Pope and John B’s distress.

JJ laid still with his head propped up against the edge of the boat, eyes shut just as they were in the water, his eyelashes laying curled against his wet cheek.

The sight gave me a second wind, my hands craved to feel the weight of his body in my arms, to feel the warmth of his skin against my finger tips tor remind me he was here.

“JJ, no, come on!” I begged through broken tears. “Please, get up!” My hands tapped on his chest, though I was ready to press my lips against his and give him all my air if I needed to.

I crawled to him like I needed him to breathe, my knuckles scraping across the bottom of the boat, bruises and cuts littering my pruning skin. I clung to him like a vice, my lips wobbling like a child.

“Get up!” I shouted, scolding him like a mother. Yet, the brokenness of my voice seemed to carry into his empty head as his drool spilled out of his lips, spitting up onto his chest as he gained his bearings.

It was gross, the salt water mixed with the slimy drool dripping from his mouth and wetting his soaked tank top beyond what it was, but I had never seen a more relieving sight. My best friend drooling all over himself, but god, he was alive and that’s all that mattered.

The boat seemed to fall quiet for a moment, all in awe of his return, all following the wavering gaze that swept over the small boat. He was out of it, for sure. His eyes carrying a sense of question beyond what he usually held, but as he registered the faces around him as his closest friends, his family, the panic seemed to fade into a mellow knowing.

“Yeah, yeah! Cough it out, cough it out baby!” John B encouraged, a sea of instructions following from the others in a desperate hurry, all reaching over to simply feel for a steady thumping of a pulse.

I sat back on my heels, looking down at him, and revoking my warm touch from his chest quickly. Retracting it with uncertainty that it would hurt him, like he was fragile.

“Welcome to the land of the living, dude.” Pope smiled, earning a side eye from JJ as he looked around to find his friends all looking down at him with concerned gazes.

My fingers shook, hovering over his chest like I didn’t know if it was right to touch him, if I had the right. I’d felt my own chest caving in just minuted ago, I wondered if I dared to rest my palms against his skin, would he feel the same?

I laid a hand on his shoulder, and watched his vision dance from where we touched to my face, taking a moment to breathe in my presence.

“Hi.” I breathed out in relief, but also something deeper that I didn’t have the words to describe.

“‘Sup.” JJ said, his usually cool demeanor meaning nothing to me at the moment. I pushed his head away gently, still all too aware of the wound leaking from his temple, the way the blood seemed to stain everything. His hair, his skin, his stupid shirt. It tainted everything good with the memories of the bad, the unforgettable, the hurt. But I couldn’t stay away for too long.

As soon as the smile cross his golden features, my arms wrapped around his face like a blanket, holding him to my chest to feel how fast he had my heart beating. He didn’t mention the drumming against his ear, but the warmth that spread across his face told me he felt it, he knew the feeling all too well. Maybe if I had the courage to rest my hands over his heart, I would have known.

I thought of the surf trip, of his dreams, of the gold, of everything that he ever wanted, and I sweat at the thought of it never happening. I crumbled at the idea of him not getting to be a forever given in my life, of him only being a fraction of time, when I wanted it all.

“Don’t ever do that again.” I mumbled against his wet hair, but I don’t think he heard it over the chatter between him and John B, the laughter from Sarah all too loud to hear my soft whisper, a confession that really wasn’t much, but carried the weight of all my emotions.

If he did, he didn’t mention it. He was good at not mentioning it, but he was bad at forgetting.

“You’re bleeding all over the sand, Y/n.” Sarah pointed out, stepping out of the boat, allowing JJ and her husband-to-be to drag the long dead motorboat onto the shore.

An island to call home and a tropical paradise to explore for however long the summer would last and the warmth would suffice.

I was the first to let the water reach my shins, practically jumping out of the boat in a rush, an overwhelming need to feel the ground between my toes, to rinse off the grime and hurt from the failed mission. One cross gone and another home taken.

My body lay starfish position on the soft surface, my shoulder still open and aching, but dulling over time. It didn’t feel that bad anymore, and I was sure the ringing in my ears was just from the adrenaline, though, I’d never heard it before.

“That’s nasty, shes right.” Kiara agreed, trying to tug me up by the arm, only to stretch out my collar bone and earn a lazy grunt from my lips. If I were as smart as I had been prior to the stress, prior to the fact of the pact of the B Team, prior to all the shared dreams and promises to make it out, I would have asked Cleo or Pope to help mend my wounds.

Now, I just felt ready to die. Let my life wash away into the open ocean and let the jellyfish drink me up. Let the sea turtles consume me and share the same bliss of a high that I did with my friends.

“Circle of life.” I grunted, my cheek covered in sand, I buried my face into the dirt. “It’s an early Thanksgiving for the seagulls.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Kiara kicked my hip lightly, trying to move the rock of a being I had become.

“Yeah, and not everyone celebrates Thanksgiving.” Cleo joked from a distance, already gathering wood and stone for a fire. It would be dark soon anyway.

“My joints hurt.” I complained drowsily.

“No shit, I can practically see your bone. Get up.” Kiara fought, turning her head to call for back up from someone with the power to move me from my dormant headspace.

“John B, Pope!” Kiara called out with an annoyed expression, and I found myself smiling at the way her face grew fuzzier and the sounds all became one loud booming ring in my ears.

It hurt so good, a warmth covering my body like a blanket, a reward after fighting so hard. If death found me, I found it peaceful. Ready to be consumed by the darkness to avoid the haunting memory of the limp body floating in my arms. To forget about the way my heart clenched beyond repair.

It wasn’t like, it was love. I’d always known it deep down, but now I knew I could put a name to the feeling, and it terrified me. Because it replayed every second of JJ’s life slipping away, and somehow, it left out the part where he came to.

I could barely make out the shape of the trees anymore. Everything became one big collage in the sky.

“John B! JJ!” Kiara looked back, stunned by the look in my eyes, the same look that had been in JJ’s before he was taken by the waves. A look that would have haunted me for a lifetime. It now tormented Kiara.

It was a look of slipping, of giving up, giving out. The end, even.

“Help!” She cried out desperately, watching the clumsy boys scramble to the ground and catch their bearings, hands digging through the dirt to get to me.

“What happened?” Pope called out, his concerned hands holding Kiara’s shoulders and his love sick gaze failing to focus on what really matters.

Isn’t that funny? I spent all my time focused on JJ, my own gaze stuck in the permanent focus of only him. I didn’t even care to feel the pain tearing away at my skin and my bones. I barely even noticed it after a while. It became nothing compared to the something I almost lost.

Now, as I lay in the sand, choking on my breath in agonizing pain that slowly seeps through in waves, I watch through blurred vision as Pope does the same.

It seemed that it just now snapped in everyone’s mind that the maroon pooling around my arm wasn’t normal. It wasn’t like the scrapes from sharp rocks in the surges, or the nasty head wounds from countless drunken dares to climb things that shouldn’t even be looked at while sober.

The bubbling, and the smell, the metaling smell, it was sickening, and it wasn’t normal. Adrenaline can only get you so far, and hell, I’d already spent it all up.

“Y/n/n!” I heard a familiar voice, rough with exhaustion but stronger now that the day was beginning to wash over and the pain was beginning to creep away.

His dirty hands pressed hard against my skin, his delayed nature only slipping his hand over the one place it shouldn’t have been. Touch me anywhere, make me feel okay, like this isn’t really the end, but please, don’t dig your fingers around in the wound I have just for you.

It only makes things harder to mend.

“JJ!” Sarah screamed, and I threw my head back, screaming.

It hurt worse than anything, the feeling of nail against flesh. It stung more than any jellyfish and it scratched sharper than any knife. Thousands of needles shot down my veins, my knuckles stuttering into a pitiful fist.

“Stop! Stop!” I cried, my whole body shaking—no, my whole body collapsing in on itself. Folding into the earth in order to run away from the pain.

“I’m trying to help, stop squirming like a fish!” He stressed, the creases by his brow showing the wear from the evening already, we all felt as though we’d aged a century in a minute.

“Get off of me!” I tried to reach over, I didn’t want his dead hands on my cold body. I didn’t want his limp fingers rubbing against my moving joints. I didn’t want to feel what I felt in the water, and I didn’t want to see it either.

“Please, get off!” I shouted, my voice breaking like a fragile thing. A thin layer, a brittle sheet of clay crumbling under the weight of the hands that once so tenderly shaped it.

Dying does a funny thing to the mind, especially in a panic. You spend all your time trying to remember to breathe, you forget reality. Even though he was kneeling down beside me, digging around under my skin and arguing back harshly words he meant as sentiment in his overwhelming stress, to me, I had convinced myself he was dead. I didn’t do it, I couldn’t save him, I let those thoughts of giving up consume us and I watched him die in my arms.

There is no boat ride, there is no island, there is no nothing. There is only before, and the end. There is no after. Forget the fact the blood is sticking to everything, and the fact that I’ve felt John B’s cold rings slapping hard across my cheekbones to keep me aware of myself, everything is all nothing and I hear nothing but the sound of my ragged breath wheezing and my horrible cries echoing, bouncing off the Pogues.

Pope took over, finally getting his brains back. The scarecrow held firm pressure over the wound, evenly spread along my arm in a way that stung, but never scratched, never matted the fur of my mane or cut off my skin. He spoke so quickly, and it was so muffled, I began to want to hear him, take the trip down the yellow brick road and find the courage to stay.

Then, there was the ripping of a shirt. It was dark, and rough, but worn in so it felt softer that way. Then, more pain, more pressure, and then, nothing.

But this wasn’t death, because I could still hear and feel and taste the spit on my tongue, the salt water that washed everything I bit down on away. I was still there, but now, I could feel myself calming down, drowning out the silence and coming back to the truth.

“Have you considered a career as a EMT?” I panted, my heavy eyes flickering up to Popes reforming face, the hay and the straw hat fading away into just the kind boy I loved. The yellow road becoming the soft, now wet, sand beneath my back.

He smiled like a dope, clicking his tongue and showing his toothy grin. Relief was the only word to describe the silence that fell over the group at that moment, silence that felt heavy to everyone but the victim. Silence that I felt on the boat.

“I hate you.” He laughed, punching me between the ribs with a force that only could be equated to the fact that he wasn’t a liar, and it was obvious he was on the math team, not an athlete.

“No you don’t.”

My body curled up in laughter, nose scrunched and aware of the extreme caution that was required to keep my arm from splitting apart. I tried to argue back, but my words fell short on choked laughter, letting Kiara hoist me up by the waist and feeling her wet bracelets press against my warm skin. JJ simply walked away, all too quiet for a boy who never knew silence in his life.

I didn’t press him.

“Can I sit?”

Days had passed, water lapped at the shore, quenching the insurmountable thirst of the dry land before it. The wind blew softly against the greenery, and the birds sung out, diving into the distant waters for their supper.

JJ sat with his knees pulled to his chest, arms thrown over the bend lazily, hands fiddling with a sharpened stick he had been working incessantly on since he’d finished his first project, a white waving flag that read, Pougelandia.

The wind blew up the end of his shirt, a cut off tank top that once fell to his mid thigh now rested loosely at his tanned hips, ripped unevenly across the dark stitching.

He breathed evenly, eyes not even flickering over to meet mine, not a word shared between us. A dream of surf expenditures and found family adventures. We talked of island paradise when all smoothed over. When the earth buried our blood and tears, and the sting began to slip away.

There was happiness, beyond the blood and bruise, past the curses and cries. Beyond the terror of the swift nightfall, the impending cold that would have brought any surviving energy away from our warm bodies. There was calm.

He promised to make boards with dried wood, to carve them by hand, break them with his knuckles. The wood was rotting, and it was cracking quickly.

Once again, dreams were altered to fit the shitty hand that was dealt. The rich became richer, and our frames became thinner.

The world spat in our face and said it was the wind.

I sat down beside him now, and it was unusually quiet between us. I guess, this was better than the forever silence, the six feet of separation that I wanted nothing more than to leave behind. He couldn’t even see me.

“Did I do something?” I asked quietly, voiced drowned out by the sound of the sea, the distant hollers of our friends echoing above the trees. I wished I could see everything for what it is, but I had not a clue, a fool sitting beside my uncharacteristically empty best friend.

“No.” He answered plainly.

“No?” I asked, begged practically for confirmation. He nodded his head, agreeing, but it was unclear if it was an agreement within a disagreement.

“Are you sure?”

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’, bitter, I could see it more clearly now in my new found focus.

“I can’t make it go away if you don’t tell me, Jay.” I smiled, laughing like it was a pity for us to be so awkward. And it was, it was so fucking weird. Fake niceties are weird.

Leaning forward to mirror how he sat, I tried to get a forward perspective of the furrow between his brows. He brushed the space below his nose and sniffed like he was annoyed. It reminded me of the boy who held up the cross with his bare hands on the ship, the boy who had aimed a gun at the kids he grew up with, his own sister too. His anger reminded me a lot of a Camerons anger, and I figured he had enough reason to feel stressed, he had all the reason to show it.

“This isn’t Kildare.” I reminded him.

“I know.”

“It’s just us.” I added.

“I know.” He nearly snapped, fingers tingling with annoyance, anger, grief even. It was a dying fuse ready to explode, to burn it all down.

We sat in silence for a moment, and I hoped he would speak. Rarely, we had fights. Usually they were stupid, ending in us laughing and my hips thrown over his shoulder. He never hit and neither did I, neither of us even tempted the idea. If we needed space, we gave it, though, it never lasted long because we craved each other like a dog to its owner. Like a moth to a flame, we always came back.

Still, I hoped he would speak first. I felt like I was doing most of it, carrying the conversation for five people while only speaking to one. When he remained quiet, trying to reel it in, I broke the tension.

“You can tell me what’s wrong, Jay. I’ll be here. It’s not like I could leave even if I wanted to.”

If I hadn’t lost my life, I had lost my ability to read the room, because my weak joke fell so flat, it might as well have served as the boards we never got to make together, the memories we would never get to experience. It rotted into his mind and left something so disgusting to him, I could read it on his face.

“No, no but you could.” Sand kicked up behind his heels, hands pushing up off of his knees, knuckles bruised and palmed sandy. He was scruffier than usual, but the blues of his eyes were all the same, dappled with the flickers of light I had fallen in love with so long ago.

“What?” I laughed, standing up slowly, but then jerking forward once I saw how quickly he was creating distance between us.

If we weren’t alone then, I was sure he had led us into total solidarity.

The trees were thicker here, the shoreline rocky and short, even at low tide. It would be completely gone in a few minutes when the tide would start rolling in. I could feel the water trying to break free against the soles of my shoes every time a larger wave came crashing through, between the overhangs and vines that tried and failed to barricade the sacred land.

“Because you did leave, Y/n. You left.”

JJ turned around, his hand pointing to my heart and his eyes avoiding contact where the cloth was wound tightly around my skin and bone. The shirt he tore to let me wear and to let me feel put together again. He stepped closer, closing the distance between us.

I caught the way his eyes seemed to shine more delicately in the reflection of the ocean, the way the wind blew against his blonde locks, the same shining color as his heart of gold. A loyal, fiercely protective friend who was crumbling at the mere idea that abandonment could always win, even though the people he believed would never leave.

“You left.” He repeated more quietly, his lower lip wobbling with such an intensity, I felt the bile rising up in my throat.

“I didn’t leave.” I defended quietly between choked breaths. “How could you think I would leave? I would never leave you, I wouldn’t want to.”

“Then what was that then?”

His head turned to look out at the horizon, biting down harshly on his teeth and sucking in a sharp breath through his nose. His weight shifted from left to right, fists clenching and unclenching by his side, conflict evident in his face. His brows were drawn in so tightly, his face scrunched up almost like he was in pain, like he couldn’t even fight anymore, I watched the internal battle between strength and hurt argue over who got control over his brain. I could tell which had already won his heart.

“I watched you there, Y/n. I saw the…the blood and the tears. I saw all of it, you were dead. You died.”

I shook my head, feeling a familiar lump forming in the base of my throat. Everything seemed to burn. From my sweaty palms to the flare of my nostrils and the back of my skull. It all ached dully, inflamed by the accusation that I had truly given up, that I had been gone with no intention to come rescue him.

“I was there.” My voice broke, my eyebrows pulled down in a deep frown. My palm instinctively came to cup my wound, and my fingers cupped around the fabric, pulling down gently to let the pain breathe.

Never in our decade of friendship had I ever felt so alone from JJ. We were on other worlds and it was clear, and it was something I hated being accustomed to. We were so alike, but so different in this moment. Together but so far apart. Like January and December, one after the other, following like ducks but with the distance of a lifetime between.

“I was there, I saw you standing over me.”

“You pushed me away, you didn’t need me! You didn’t want me. I saw the look in your eyes. You wanted to leave. You were okay with leaving!” JJ shouted, his voice booming. I wondered if it had the power to carry over to the others and reveal our argument to everyone. We were too far away, and I was thankful for that because I knew whatever was coming wasn’t going to be kind. I could feel the bubbling pressure building in my chest like a hot rock sizzling my flesh from the inside out, and it wanted to sink through if I didn’t spit it out.

“Can you blame me?” I cried out, tears falling from my water line in a stream of pain that cut deeper than any blade had. “I was in pain, JJ! I was in so much fucking pain! I was bleeding out, in a place I don’t know, and I’ve never felt more alone! I couldn’t breathe, JJ. I couldn’t hear anything, I couldn’t see. Why is it selfish to not want to want to suffer, when I would wish you the same peace if it were to happen to you.”

JJ’s chin wrinkled in sadness, wetting his lips with his tongue and blinking back his own tears. I had so much to say and only so much air in my lungs. Only so much I could choke on before it all came out.

“The worst part is, I thought you were dead. If the damn blade didn’t kill me, you would have because I would rather die than have to live the next eternity without you by my side. I thought…I thought I failed you, and I couldn’t even look anyone in the eye because all I could see was your face in the water. Do you know how terrifying that was? To have your limp body weighing me down in the ocean? My best friend, my buddy, the only person I’d ever want to bother me like you do. Dead, all because of me? Do you know how guilty I’ve been? How guilty you’ve made me? I’m a god damn monster, and it’s a shame I turned out like I did because I had the potential to be something like you. But I can’t be because I’m a failure. Because even for even for a moment, I was thinking that maybe we would both be better off if I just gave up? If I let the ocean take us because god, if the light hasn’t been kind then the darkness can at least give me some damn peace!”

We both fell quiet now. My chest heaved with anxiety. My bones felt heavy, I felt heavy. I felt stupid, and I knew nothing I was saying made sense. It was all mindless rambling about everything I’d been mulling over for what felt like years.

“I love you. A-and I mean that in a way that I’ve never known before, and that fucking terrifies me. It terrifies me that theres always a chance that one day I won’t have the privilege to lay next to you, or-or to sit with you on the porch at John B’s and just talk about things that don’t matter like they do. Like, I love you, dude! And I can’t act like I don’t anymore. I thought…I thought that if I pushed it down, if I ignored it then maybe I could forget about it, but I can’t. Because the truth is I’ve always loved you. And I’m sorry if this means everything has been a lie, if I’m a fraud but I can’t pretend like I wouldn’t die for you, because I would and I tried.”

“I’m sorry, what?” JJ breathed, eyes wide and lips parted. He was shocked, and so was I. There was no going back, it was eat the words or let the words eat me. The truth was out, and I couldn’t deny it.

“I love you.”

Silence. Every moment led me here, to this island. Every time I grabbed onto the back of his jacket to steady myself, or the times I pawed at his chest to get him to stop trying to antagonize the Kooks. I followed him to the ends of the earth, literally. That was proof of my love, if not, it proved my devotion.

“I’m sorry.” JJ whispered back. His eyes shined with freckles of light from the waves and the stars and the sun. He couldn’t say it back, and I knew why because I know him, but we both knew what he meant to say with his apology.

“Me too.” I breathed out.

Often, our friends would poke fun that we couldn’t keep it under wraps around each other. That our lingering touches and fleeting glances were too romantic to be a friendly gesture. Maybe part of their teasing was right, but not completely.

Stepping forward in the sand, I felt the warmth of his arms pulling me into his chest, the strength and the kindness familiar, but the touches deeper and different. Where we once dappled with affection became a feeling that dominated now. We’d stood like this before, but with the confession hanging between our lips, everything was different.

His breathing, his gaze, the curve of his lips, the tucking of his nose against my cheek. We bumped noses blindly, his fingers dancing up my spine to the small of my back. I felt his eyelashes tickle my skin before I felt the rough-soft mixture of his lips pressing against mine.

It felt like something out of a movie, like fantasy. All those stupid stories I’d never believed where the lovers fit together perfectly made complete sense now as we molded together with a dance we knew all too well.

My hands reached for the back of his neck desperately, pawing at whatever curves I could get a grip on. It was slow, a steady pour of the heart into each other and completely intoxicating up until the moment we split apart for air.

“I should die more often if you’ll kiss me like that.” I joked, laughing into the crook of his neck.

“Nah, you don’t gotta do all that anymore.” He promised.

Affection was never our thing, love was foreign and forgiveness came hard. We held grudges and fought secrets for each other, and in the end, it’s what made us make perfect sense.

I look at JJ now in the dimming light above the ocean, and I no longer see the reflection of his empty gaze and heavy body. I see adoration, a softness that I’d always failed to recognize before.

“Jay?” I mumbled, chasing his lips again. He hummed against my skin, warm air tickling my body.

“Save it for the surf trip, okay?” I teased.

He growled playfully, squeezing the curves of my hips and nipping at my shoulder.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

I laughed.

“I’d save you.”

“Maybe.” JJ smiled, beaming with love.

After a moment of silence in each others arms, I felt his chest expand with a calm breath, and the stutter in mine silenced whatever thought he was about to blurt out impulsively.

“We should probably really consider getting passports.” I suggested softly, still longing for the surf trip with my best friend.

“Hell no, thats some kook bullshit” He argued softly, his smile still stretched against my skin.

“The kookiest.” I agreed.

I felt JJ pull away to breathe in the salty air. His eyes remained trained on mine, and the look gave me deja vu to a time not so long ago. A look we shared in the sweltering confinements of the cargo ship container. Only, now that I wasn’t blinded by a mixture of excitement for the treasure and the fear of failure, I could see the real gold in front of me. I could understand the gravity of his gaze.

A look that would fluster me for a life time.

[gtgbabie0]

HI, i love your work about the marauders and hotd and i was wondering if u would write cregan stark fluff with jealous reader but if u don't want to its okay. HAVE A GREAT DAY

-Cregan Stark x reader

{House Ryswell seeks an audience with Cregan Stark, and their daughter seems to take quite a liking to him}

I got extremely carried away with this, I hope you enjoy lovelies! 💕

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It's strange how time can seem so slow when your mood has been soured by something so silly, something that you're sure you have made up in your own mind, to defend the feeling of this unadulterated jealousy that slithers its way at your heart tugging on it every so often.

Foolish, you think, although you're not quite sure what exactly it is about this whole situation you find, foolish. Is it the way, Cregan smiles at the ever-beautiful Lady Darla of house Rsywell? or is it because your mind has convinced you that Cregan would break your trust like that? maybe, it's her ever thinking she stood a chance with your husband. Whatever it might be it's sure is foolish.

But it's real nonetheless, horrible and very real. The jealousy that bubbles deep within you only fuels the doubts that plague your mind, and those same thoughts conjure another dreadful feeling, something that pinches at your heart as you watch Lady Ryswell place a dainty hand on Cregan's arm, insecurity it finds an unwelcome home within your chest.

Despite sitting so close to Cregan, you still feel miles away, watching him converse, lost, within his own world with the Lady next to him. You feel ignored and as you glance around the room you're sure that everyone else sees it too, you've been pushed aside like some sickly wife that's nearing her time.

It's only when you hear Cregan's warm chuckle do you look over to the pair once again, her hand sits higher up on his arm, there's something about the sight that breaks you. As if it couldn't get any worse Drala turns to you with a smile that makes you sick to your stomach, warm and inviting.

"Your Husband is so charming Lady Stark" she giggles, her hand still against his arm, and you swear she squeezes it ever so softly.

Slamming your cup down against the wooden table, with more vigour than you had meant, you clear your throat, "Yes he is- charmed me right into marriage" It gets a laugh or two from the others is House Ryswell.

Drala's mother even leans to you whispering a humoured, "My husband could learn a thing or two" You watch as she glances over at him with a teary smile, he seemed quite caught up with gawking at the maids, "That man knows nothing of charm" she spits before leaning back into her chair.

Cregan's hand rests against your thigh, and for a second, your racing mind seems to calm down, it's as if you can finally breathe, and then he pulls away going back to what must be a riveting conversation with Darla. You've had enough of this torture, no longer being able to bare it you call for Lyra, keeping a hushed tone as she bends down to you slightly.

"I think I am ready to retire for tonight," you tell her through gritted teeth, trying to keep the barrage of emotions at bay, she gives you an understanding nod.

"Of course M'lady " She smiles softly as she hurries off to your bedchambers preparing a change of clothes for your arrival.

You stand keeping a strict posture, it's only now do you feel as if you finally have caught Cregan's attention. "Forgive me, but I think I shall call it a night" You bite back the tears that collect along your lash line nibbling your cheek.

"Aw already? Just when I thought our conversation was bearing good fruit" she whines, her voice going straight through you just like nails on a chalkboard, she pouts, a spoiled brat who knows no discipline.

"Oh please, don't feel inclined to stop on my behalf" You smile with a curt bow before turning your heel and leaving, ignoring the way Cregan calls for you, an advance he must've given up on quite quickly as Darla calls for more drinks practically begging your husband to stay, you don't hear the rest of the conversation too focused on trying to calm your breathing.

"Lady Stark" Lyra bows softly as you walk into your bedchambers, shutting the heavy wooden door behind you with an exasperated sigh. "I have prepared you some tea m'lady," she says with a gentle tone as you sit down in front of your vanity. She makes starts to unclasp your necklace.

"Thank you Lyra, you're far to-" and before you can finish your sentence the door opens with a low groan. You don't bother turning around already knowing who it is.

"Lyra, could you give us a minute" Cregan huffs, sounding very unamused as he walks into the candle-lit room.

"Of course m'lord," she says, bowing as she rushes out of the room, and it's then the silence hits, smothering the room with its thick presence that you're sure it could snuff out the flames of the various candles.

You look at him through the reflection of the mirror as he sits down on the fur-covered sofa, running a hand through his hair before finally glancing over at you, there's something in his eyes that makes you feel... small, you have always said you would hate to be on the receiving end of Cregan's anger, that any man to challenge him would be a fool.

"Would you like to explain to me what exactly just happened?" he asks, frustration seeping into his tone and your answer or rather lack thereof only fuels it further. "Do you find pleasure in ignoring me?" he huffs, giving you a rather annoyed look.

And as childish as it might seem, you were. "Yes, well now you know how it feels, don't you?" you mumble, untying the pins in your hair before taking off your rings.

"What?" he questions watching in slight shock as you stand up, the chair behind you drags along the floor with a shriek.

"Tell me, Cregan, do you think our marriage is a farce?" you ask turning to face him with tears in your eyes, tears that you try so hard to hold back, "Do you take enjoyment out of making a mockery of our marriage?" your hands shake with the sudden adrenaline as you point at him, your finger nudging his should as rage pinches at your skin, he looks up at you with hurt in his eyes and for a minute you feel inclined to apologise.

He stands up, trying to reach for your hands but you don't let him as you pull away from his touch, he accepts defeat with a heavy heart, the sight of your tearful face makes his stomach drop.

"A farce? What in the seven hells are you on about women?" the hurt that sits in his chest slowly churns into something much more as it wraps around his heart squeezing it with force.

"Do not play ignorant with me Cregan" You speak through gritted teeth as he inches closer to you, "You sat there the entire night ignoring me whilst you entertained that naive girl" You feel your knees buckle under the stress of it all as you fall back onto the bed with a soft bounce.

"I was merely trying to be a good host" his voice is so gentle, calm that it makes you angrier.

"Being a good host does not substitute you pushing me aside like some sick dog as you fool around with her!- the entire night." you huff biting the inside of your lip.

"You're jealous?" he asks in almost disbelief.

"What?- Jealous I'm-" You can't deny it, you were, you were jealous of the pretty Ryswell girl and how she seemed to have captured Cregan's attention.

"You are missing my point entirely," you whisper leaning into him as he sits down on the bed next to you.

"I'm sorry- you're right, I should've paid more attention to you," he says, wiping away the tears that fall from your eyes, "I meant no harm by it, I swear." he presses a gentle kiss to your hairline.

"It was embarrassing Cregan, the way they all looked at me with pity in their eyes. I am your wife." you sigh, the events of tonight wearing down on you more than you thought, and now the fabric of your dress felt all too tight and itchy.

"Forgive me my love- my beautiful wife" he says pressing another kiss to your shoulder as he helps you up from the bed.

"You can get Lyra to help me if you want to go back to entertaining our guests" you whisper, testing him a little as you sneak a glance his way.

"There are no guests to entertain sweetheart, I called it off as soon as you left," he mumbles against your neck as he continues to peppers soft kisses to your warming skin.

He undoes the lace of your dress, pulling at the fabric as it loosens around your shoulders, coming undone to reveal your back, his gentle fingers trailing along your spine as his soft lips traverse to your neck.

"I never meant to hurt you or make you doubt your place within my heart" he whispers as he tugs your dress completely off, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud before going to get your nightdress, slipping the soft fabric over your body before wrapping his strong arms around your middle, nuzzling his nose in the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he breathes in deeply.

"I swear, by the old gods and new that my heart belongs to you, all of it." Cregan turns you around to face him and it's only then he sees your tear-stained face, the way your bottom lip juts out at his loving words.

"I love you," he says as you push your face against his chest, letting all the built-up emotions go as they leave you in the form of tears. His big hand soothes the expanse of your back as he sways you in his arms ever so gently. He swears to never make you feel as you did tonight, ever again.

"I love you too" you whisper against the leather he is wearing. He cups your face within his hands, the warmth of his palms bleeding with affection as his thumb soothes against the apples of your cheeks.

"Come on my love, let's go to bed eh?" you nod as he tucks your hair behind your ears. You fall asleep wrapped up with him, a mess of limbs underneath the furs as he holds you gently and in the morning and every morning after that Cregan sings your praises, never letting you doubt your place beside him, ever.

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[paperstorm]

Kicking things off with a little scene from 4x18 that I've had saved in my drafts for months, in the spirit of some of us rewatching the season 4 finale on Monday :)

-

“Don’t,” he mutters harshly, the second he sees movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Carlos,” TK practically whimpers.

Carlos looks at him. Tk’s eyes are bright and sparkling with tears. He presses his lips together and squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his chin as tears drip down off his own face and fall to the floor.

TK whispers, “Baby.”

Carlos shakes his head. TK’s been calling him that for so long. Carlos has loved it every time and strived to be worthy of it, and right now it’s like nails on a chalkboard. He'll never hear Carlitos or mijo in his father's deep timbre again.

Suddenly TK is in front of him, hands touching his biceps and then arms being tossed around his neck, pulling him into a hug. The dam completely shatters; Carlos’s shoulders shake as his body is wracked with violet sobs. He grasps helplessly at the back of TK’s shirt, clutching him, keeping TK close because without him to lean on Carlos thinks he would be in a heap on the concrete floor along with his tears.

“I know,” TK murmurs, stroking his hair, his cheek, the back of his neck.

“I don’t know what to do,” Carlos forces out as another flood of tears soaks TK’s shirt.

“Nothing. You don’t need to do anything, baby, you just …” TK cups his cheek, gently nudges Carlos’s head up so their blurry eyes can meet.

TK’s are red rimmed and his cheeks are blotchy, and Carlos is sure his own face is covered in mucus and wetness and shame. He aches down to the marrow of his bones with the fact that he can’t ever remember his father being sweet and silly with him. Carlos would give everything – every penny in his bank account, anything else the universe wanted to steal from him – to replace his memories of years of quiet disapproval and unspoken disappointment with the version of his father who spoke in a terrible Australian accent to make Carlos laugh. He wants to buy a fireproof safe to keep that VHS tape in so that he can watch it every day for the rest of his life, and he wants to drop it onto the sidewalk outside and smash it to bits with a hammer so he never has to watch it again.

He wonders when it stopped, when Gabriel turned stoic and serious and withholding. He wonders if it was all in his head, if he can’t even trust his own memories because they’ve been warped and twisted by too many years of his own insecurity – everyone is so insistent that his father loved him, so maybe Carlos is the problem, if he can’t seem to remember a time when that felt true. Maybe he wasted the only years he’d ever get on pride and stubborn arrogance, and now his papá is gone.

“Do you remember the night my mom died?” TK asks.

Carlos nods miserably. Neither of them will be at their wedding. The thought scrapes away at his insides.

“We sat right there, right on that couch, and you held me while I sobbed. That’s what we should do.”

“It won’t make anything better.”

“No. It won’t.” TK kisses the damp side of his face. “But neither will anything else, right now. So just let me be with you while it sucks. We’re soulmates, remember?”

The word unzips Carlos even further and he feels his face crumpling, tipping forward so his forehead bumps painfully into his fiancés.

“Say it,” TK urges gently.

“You’re my soulmate,” Carlos repeats, the words feeling monotonous and not tasting as sweet as they should.

“You’re the love of my life. I’m so heartbroken that you’re hurting this much. I can’t take it away but I can hold you. Please let me.”

Tagging @theghostofashton @birdclowns @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@carlos-in-glasses @actual-sleeping-beauty @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos @heartstringduet

@goodways @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @freneticfloetry

@liminalmemories21 @nancys-braids @lemonlyman-dotcom @whatsintheboxmh

@bonheur-cafe @reasonandfaithinharmony @thebumblecee @never-blooms

@sanjuwrites @orchidscript @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce

@fifthrideroftheapocalypse @fitzherbertssmolder @butchreyes @just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh

@captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @anactualcaseofthetruth @ironheartwriter @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@ditheringmind @emsprovisions @irispurpurea @nisbanisba @corsage

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[ramblebramblefun]

"It looks like you two could use a little heart to heart!" The villain chirps, and the world goes black.

When Katsuki wakes up, it's to his own face hovering worriedly over him, which is-

"Kacchan?"

Which is what the fuck, that's what.

"Deku," he growls, or tries to. It comes out as more of a squeak, which would be embarrassing if it were actually his voice, but it's not, so instead it's just fucking. Annoying.

Bloody hell, no wonder all those people were screaming. Katsuki hates this already.

"Kacchan?" Katsuki hears his voice say again, tentatively.

"Who the fuck else?" Izuku's voice has never sounded so flat, and Katsuki doesn't like that either. Makes him sound like a fucking robot.

"How the hell are we going to switch back?"

The villain's long fucking gone, obviously, so it's not like they could politely convince them to undo whatever they'd done.

Maybe Katsuki should have read that stupid report, even if it was ten pages long. He'd decided that the nerd had it covered, the muttering had had a familiar cadence and maybe this is a sign that he should stop tuning Deku out in the briefing room.

Speaking of tuning him out...

Katsuki zeroes back in just as Izuku starts opening and shutting Katsuki's mouth like a fucking fish.

"Spit it out." Katsuki's voice, fuck it, does not growl.

"Um, well..." The nerd stops, and gives himself a little nod. "Right! So the report said that their quirk is called Heart to heart-"

"Stupid-ass name."

"-And that it swaps the bodies of two people at a time and that it's verbally activated (which is probably why it took so long for them to try and use it, they don't seem used to running?) and the people being swapped have to be within five metres of each other and be, um, arguing for whatever reason (like we were, a little bit, um, sorry for knocking into you?) and-"

"And how the fuck do we undo it?"

The nerd goes all shifty again. His eyes dart about nervously and if it wasn't for the risk of breaking his own nose then Katsuki would hit him.

Actually, can he use One for All? It's like, locked or some shit isn't it? Izuku had said something about ghosts that one time Katsuki found him buzzing in the kitchen. At fucking three am.

Fuck his life. And fuck the nerd, who still won't spit it out already.

"Actually," the nerd says slowly, standing up and leaning back.

Katsuki scrambles to his own feet and is profoundly irritated to have to look up to meet the nerd's eyes.

"Actually," he repeats in a warning tone.

"Actually!" Izuku says, way too brightly, "I don't want to have this conversation!"

And then he blasts a hole in the wall with the ease of someone who's been creeping on Katsuki using his quirk for their entire lives.

The way he promptly flees through the hole, however, is nothing like Katsuki. Slippery little-

"Get back here!" Katsuki screeches.

Fuck, Izuku's voice goes high. That sounded awful. Nails on a chalkboard ass motherfucker, when Katsuki gets his hands on him-

Which will be easier said than done, he realises, when he attempts to activate his quirk and nothing happens.

"Are you fucking shitting me." He glares at Izuku's hands.

It doesn't even make him feel better, and also makes his face feel weird. Izuku can cut a bitch with the best of them, if you hit the right buttons, but his face does not naturally lend itself to the many nuances of fury that Katsuki's does.

He probably looks a hamster. An angry one, but still a hamster. Baby-fat ass cheeks. Katsuki can't even fucking pinch them, because he's the fucker they're currently attached to.

Katsuki needs to get out of here.

He punches a wall experimentally. He makes Izuku's knuckles hurt, but still no dice on One for All. The fuck. How does he activate this thing? Izuku never does anything special, he just starts sparking out like Dunce-face and then breaks Katsuki's nose.

Katsuki will break Izuku's nose as soon as it's not his face it's poking out of. Fucking hell.

Well, super-strength isn't One for All's only trick. There's also that Blackwhip crap Katsuki's always training against, along with a bunch of other rubbish. Katsuki can probably activate Blackwhip.

He's just got to get angry, right? That's how Izuku got it, as weird as that had looked, and Katsuki is great at being angry. The world is full of things that piss him off, like fucking nerd's who run off with his body using his quirk and-

Pink bananas!, screams a voice inside Katsuki's head.

-and leaving Katsuki fucking stranded because he's a stupid fucking-

Stop that!

"Make me," he snarls on reflex. Some see-through fucker with a bald head shows up in front of him, and the reflexive explosion doesn't hit him because Katsuki doesn't have a damn quirk at the moment, that fucking-

Seriously, the bald fucker frowns. Stop that!

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

i so badly want a wukong pov of being in the zoo, how long do u think he would get stuck in there? a day, two days? a week? a YEAR? would he be seperated from macaque? would he take the zoo monkeys with him when the curse breaks?

monkey orphans seem to be hand raised, which mean they would effectively replace reader with a zoo worker, imagine their reaction to THAT.

face mauling i assume. lots and lots of mauling

… Okay I took forever with this ask. But I am going to give a SMALL glimpse to how this would be. Only because it would be hilarious.

Blood dripped down the zoo keeper’s face as Wukong screeched in his arms, his little claws dripping with his blood. Loud growls and hisses were easily heard. They took you away, you weren’t in sight! Where did they take their precious darling!? The police had to practically drag you away from the two monkeys who hissed and chirped to get you to come back. It didn’t work, no matter how much they called you weren’t answering.

Another worker came up wearing large gloves which got torn to shreds almost immediately.

“What is this breed? I’ve never seen a monkey like this,” The man said as he jumped away while Wukong was dropped into a crate rather unceremoniously. Reader would never be this rough on a cub! How could these people be so cruel!?

With that thought he let out another feral growl, biting and clawing at the man who claimed to be a zookeeper. Growls left his throat, tiny but vicious as he attempted to fight against the humans around him. If he was himself, if he was whole he’d be able to fight against them, he’d be able to KILL them. Their blood would cover the ground easily, and there would be nothing left but blood and broken bones.

‘Macaque!!’ Wukong chirped loudly as his mate was tossed into a different crate. He let out a howl at the mere thought of them taking him away. NO NO NO!!

‘Wukong!’ Macaque chirped angry as he banged against the bars of the crate before it was picked up and he was taken away.

‘NO!!’ Wukong screeched trying to bang against the bars, letting out chirps, chitters and anguished shouts.

“It’s alight little one, we’ll reunite you once we finish with a check up,” A woman spoke up, dressed in a short shorts and a tank top. She looked at him with adoration in her large blue eyes, her long blonde hair tied up in a pony tail as she approached the crate.

Wukong immediately hissed as she approached, she was looking at him with kindness. HE WANTED READER!! He wanted Reader, now now now!! He wanted his darling to snuggle with him and give him scratches. He wanted her to cut him up fruits and give him all the attention he deserves!

He wanted his mate who was always by his side. He wanted his moon, he wanted his calm, he wanted his warrior. For the first time since the curse had started he felt truly and utterly alone. His chest tightened at the very thought, alone? He was alone in a world he didn’t know, with people surrounding him and staring at him like he was some creature to gawk at.

A cold silent fury suddenly built in his chest as the woman let out a coo. He wanted Reader’s coos. The woman was talking, some would call it a beautiful voice but to Wukong it sounded like nothing but nails on a chalkboard.

“Don’t worry, we won’t let that woman hurt you any more.” Hurt them? HURT THEM!? It was those words that sealed their fates.

In an instant there were screams, broken wood, and melting iron. Materials were scattered around as smoke billowed from the standing monkey demon. Like chains snapping away from his soul he knew he was back. He didn’t even have to move to know that the people around him no longer saw the small cute yet angry cub. No they saw what they should always see, the seething warlords with deep gold eyes, and golden fur that covered his body. A thick powerful tail snapped against the ground, the ground breaking from the single motion.

“Hurt me? You think you can keep MY woman away from ME? Maybe I should show you just what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Every words was pierced with nothing but cold fury. Deadly intent soon became clear as he walked towards everyone around him.

“A-A MONSTER!” The last words that filled the air before Wukong let out an enraged roar.

Blood coated the ground, blood dripped down his fangs, his claws and stuck to his fur. Bodies dropped like flies as Wukong slaughtered anyone in his path, traveling in the direction of his mate. Not that he needed to when he watched shadows wrap around every piece of building around them. His beloved’s shadows were always so beautiful to watch.

The sight of his mate was more breathtaking than he had remembered before. Snowy white fur splattered with blood as the shadow monkey made his way directly to Wukong. Their chains now gone they were able to look at each other, really look at each other again. A shiver ran down Wukong’s spine as Macaque wrapped his arms around his neck and gave him a kiss. It was quick, nothing like he REALLY wanted but Macaque’s words stopped him from taking more.

“Let’s go get our wife~”

“With pleasure my love.”

Sooo- This took WAY longer to write than I planned. Yeah over a month. I AM SORRY! But I finally got to it. Adulting is hard sometimes. But I’ve got the work for you.

And yeah, the curse lasts for less than a day in Reader’s world. Why? Because one of the biggest things that keep the curse active is that the monkey duo feels SAFE around each other. They are always together and never leave each other’s sides. However when the curse broke it didn’t just crack of creak, no the thing SHATTERED! So now the zoo has a monkey duo who wants nothing more than to find the woman that the ZOO separated from them.

Remember, Reblogs and comments are always welcome!!

[moongreenlight]

WIP Wednesday except it's Thursday and I'm using this as an excuse to post something without the imaginary pressure of getting a full fic out. :D

800-ish word excerpt from my Ghoap x Reader nutcracker AU that I meant to finish around Christmas.

The orchestra has picked up about half a beat too fast and the conductor seems not to have noticed.

Too busy salivating at the legs of one of the snowflake girls a few spots to your left. His baton is getting lazy. Long, drawn out flicks and swishes like he’s casting spells instead of directing. Strange, you think. If anything they should be slowing down to match his tempo.

Maybe it’s the strings? They’re nipping into the winds and forcing the entire group forward. It throws off a girl in front of you. She’s younger by a handful of years. Doesn’t quite have the music- even at the right tempo- committed to memory. She drops her arm a full count too early. Even from behind you can hear her curse.

This seems to rouse him. He jerks his head back to center and starts flicking the tip of the baton back on beat. He’s a stern man. He’s got coal-black eyes that seem to house the staggering power to burn a hole straight through someone bone and all. You swear you can hear flesh crackling and sizzling as he casts his gaze out over the stage. It takes a moment, but he’s able to herd the group back onto a single track. Dancers and musicians alike.

Someone has either put too much or too little rosin on their shoes. It’s difficult to pinpoint, but there’s a terrible squeaking sound from somewhere on the stage that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Like nails on a chalkboard. It gets worse during the final round of turns.

And then, by some miracle, intermission. Big cloth curtains draw together. Kicking up dust and loose sparkles and large pieces of fake snow that adhere themselves to your skin. Kept snug in place by the sheen of sweat that collected under the brutal heat of the spotlights and the effort it took to dance for nearly forty minutes straight.

Imogene, the girl who’d just recently championed the superlative of biggest blunder to date, was now heavily crying into the arms of her older sister.

You relish the few moments you get to catch your breath before the mistress comes and begins to shoo you and the other girls offstage. She’s far more stern than the conductor. And unfortunately less handsome, though they share the same deep-set frown lines that cage their mouths. You catch her give a shaking Imogene a whack to the ear before you can duck backstage.

In your hurry to whip your head back around for fear of meeting the same fate, you run directly into someone’s back. You’re quick to hiss out an apology, but it’s drowned out by the sound of a man speaking terribly muddy French.

“- gorgeous. Even caught the orchestra’s attention.” (please pretend this is French I forgot to translate it and I'm too lazy rn)

The girl he’s talking to, Sophie, giggles and he sways slightly from her batting him in the chest.

“Excuse me.”

It comes out a bit more stiff than you mean it to. He doesn’t wait for Sophie to dismiss herself before turning around.

John MacTavish is one of the few men in the company, but even without such slim options, you feel he would still be a standout.

He’s not from France, though it’s not uncommon for members to have made pilgrimage to join such a prestigious group. His accent is horrible, any potential ruined by his upbringing somewhere in Scotland, though he earns himself a few points with native speakers for his enthusiasm.

He’s also granted the cushion of patience because of his undeniable good looks. He’s got great blue eyes that emote just as well as he does. Shining and laughing along with him like they’ve got personalities to match. He’s big. Tall and muscular, which -again- isn’t uncommon what with all the lifts and spins and acrobatics he does, but he packs on muscle in a way not many other male dancers have the capacity to do.

You’re sure it’s a nightmare to source costumes for him. He’s tore the back panel out of his jacket twice this season alone and you’re only about three-quarters of the way through.

He’s gorgeous and he knows it, which makes him insufferable. He’s charming and got fantastic whit, sure, but he’s perverse and a habitual letcher so it all seems to cancel out.

His great beauty makes him the popular option for most all of the company and the patrons of the opera house alike. It’s become a running joke that you’ve not really served your time unless you’ve had a go with John.

Your participation is left widely up to speculation.

“Sorry, hen.”

If he noticed your rigidity, he doesn’t bring it up. Instead he leans down and takes you by the wrists. Brings his face close to yours and plants a kiss on the right corner of your mouth.

“Jesus, John.”

You scramble away, much to his delight.

“Always forget if it’s right or left first.”

He’s snickering like he’s clever. It takes some legitimate effort to wrench your arms out of the manacles that are his hands.

“Funny.”

You say flatly as you shoulder past him, wiping at the corner of your mouth with the heel of your palm.

“I thought so.”

[lushlovers]

C*ntmuffin, J Burrow

summary; you're just having a bit of harmless fun, but joe doesn't seem to enjoy it as much as you are.

warnings; fwb type beat, swearing, joe's actually a dick and a hypocrite, mentions of smut(?), alcohol consumption, lsu!fratboy!joe (yes that needs a warning), cameos from jj and ja'marr:D, literally all the things you'd see at a college party, use of the c-word like twice lolll.

word count; 811

note; ummmm i love lsu joe and i need a frat au because there's so little its criminal. my friend called me a cuntmuffin earlier and i wanted to write about frat joe so.

If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under right about know. You can feel Joe's eyes burning holes into the material of your best little black dress, he watched as your hips pushed back onto the crotch of some guy you had no clue or desire to even learn what his name was. His hands feeling you up was just enough.

"D'ya wanna come get a drink?" He's slurring into your ear shamelessly, his accent was thicker than it was a couple drinks ago. You nod, grabbing his hand and pulling him behind you in the direction of the kitchen. Glancing in the direction of Joe, his brows raise, looking at you in a way you didn't quite understand or maybe you didn't care to acknowledge.

He scoffs catching the attention of Elaine, who was running her mouth about whatever she could think of, "You okay, Joey?" Her voice is obnoxiously high pitched, almost like nails on a chalkboard, even worse because she didn't understand the concept of shutting the fuck up. "'M fine, thanks. Gonna go get another drink," he murmurs, pushing himself off the wall and quickly walking away before the girl could think to muster a response.

He brought this upon himself when he walked through the door with an overly chatty, but quite pretty brunette cheerleader on his arm. Karma's a bitch and you were gladly playing him back in this game. All night you kept you options open, bouncing between different guys, some of them even being some of his fraternity brothers.

Speaking of, one of his good friends was leaning against the counter chatting up a pretty girl, "Yo, JJ," you heard his voice before he pushed passed you to clap his friend on the shoulder. Justin smiled wide, introducing the girl at his side as Aiyanna, "It's nice to finally meet you, we hear a lot about you," Joe smirks obviously trying to embarrass his friend. It's true though, Justin never shuts up about this girl.

You decided to not join in the conversation simply listening in as you poured yourself a generous amount of vodka and following it with some juice. The guy who's name you still have yet to remember watched you closely, like he was in a trance of some sort. "You're staring," you mumble, tilting your head to the side a small smile playing on your lips. Guys are so easy sometimes.

"Sorry," he stutters, "You're just really pretty." His face flushes, resembling a tomato, as you closely watch his reactions. You hadn't realized how close Joe was to you both until he leans in to whisper in the boys ear loud enough for you to hear, "Should see her on her knees, Blake. Fuckin' incredible."

Blake's eyes grow ten times the size, "Fuck off, Joe," you grit pushing at his chest until he's out of the kitchen and into the crowded hallways. "'M really sorry about him, he's a dick." Not really sorry, the jealousy he was radiating was the hottest thing ever. Now your face is warming at his words, you groan as you cup your face in your hands, no way he just said that to this poor dude.

As Joe walked back over to his "date," he had this shit eating grin on his face, Ja'marr was well aware he was up to something, "The hell'd you do, JB?" He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. "That smirk, you did something." He knows he did, but he's not going to tell him just yet.

The cheerleader looked between both of them confused as ever, "Did-" Joe cuts her off with his index finger on her lips, shushing her. Ja'marr's laughing now, all this time it took for him to do that. Her brows furrow and she storms off to god know's where.

Before Ja'marr can ask again, you are standing in front of them with the biggest crease in your brows and hands on your hips, "See her on her knees? Really, asshole?" His friend gapes, feeling just how angry you were, "It was nothing, babe. Calm down," he reached out for you but you slap his hand away from you.

"Don't 'babe' me, you cuntmuffin." He keels over at your insults, his eyes clouding over with tears as he cackles. "Nothing about this is funny," your arms are crossed over your chest now, huffing you punch him in the shoulder, making him grunt and stand up straight.

"It's just, that's a first, I've never been called a cuntmuffin before, baby."

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Hey love! I really enjoy your writing specially another lie it was so good and i really loved it and enjoyed the two endings but can you please give us maybe a drabble about what charles' reaction to the 'announcement' maybe from charles' pov? No pressure if you don't wanna do it and thank you for giving us such a great work!

A/N: not proof read and written on my phone. It’s my baby girls birthday this weekend so I’m mostly offline 💕

Another Lie (Blurb) ||CL16 {5.1}

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five (Max’s Ending) || {5.1} Blurb || Five (Charles’ Ending)

Charles had never accepted that you were no longer his. Not even marrying Max had stopped him from thinking that one day you would be back where he knew you belonged. He refused to acknowledge your surname even two years after it had changed to Verstappen.

But this announcement crumbled those dreams.

He should have paid more attention. He knew your body better than his own yet he had been blinded to the changes. He should have questioned why you backed away from him, why you gave up the fight he knew you were always up to having. It was narcissistic but those arguments were the only time any of your burning passion was spent on him, so he would take the acerbic lacerations from your tongue just to have you speak to him.

There would be no more arguments.

Charles couldn’t shake the image of you standing with his son, exactly as it should have been. But those were not your features on Jules face and it was all his fault.

You would never be the mother of his child. You were already a mother to Max’s.

Charles fist collided with the tv screen in front of him, the image of Max kissing you suddenly turning to jagged lines of purple hues as it broke. “Fuck!”

Knowing why you backed away from the fight only made him feel worse. Had you really thought he would hurt you? He flinched as he remembered how your hand had floated across your stomach when he released your wrist. He had hurt you in so many ways, but he would never do that.

If he wasn’t so caught up in the anger he held towards Sapphire he would have noticed how the material of your shirt hung differently, or how your breasts were larger than the last time he saw you. He missed the signs that were right in front of him.

“Charlie? Have you seen Jules?” Sapphire asked with that grating voice of nails on a chalkboard.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he growled as she stared at the broken tv screen and the blood running down his knuckles. “He was roaming the fucking paddock alone!”

He didn’t need an answer as she tossed her bleached blonde hair back ready to make an excuse. The evidence was clear. Purple marks littered her pale neck, marks he knew didn’t come from him.

“Fucking whore.”

“Get off your high horse, you’re no better than me,” she scoffed, pulling her hair back into place.

Charles open his mouth to give his scathing response but he had none. His cheating was the very reason he lost the greatest thing he ever had and now any hope of repairing what he broke was gone.

“Get your shit and go,” Charles said quietly as he turned back to the broken screen, flickers of your face fading in and out. This flashes were just enough to catch the glimpse of pure joy for moment before it was gone again. He looked at his fist and sighed in defeat. “My lawyer will be in touch with a settlement and custody agreement. You’ll be taken care of, just get the fuck out of my sight.”

“You can’t be serious. Is this because of her?” she asked as she pointed to the TV.

“I don’t love you, I never have. In fact, just the sight of you makes me sick and the only good thing to come from you is Jules.” He took a step closer with each brutal slap of honesty, but it was all for nought as she knew this already. “We’re done.”

“I’m glad,” she spat as she stood a little taller and looked down her nose at him. “She is never going to choose you. Who would? You’re never going to be world champion.”

“Take your shit and go, Sapphire,” Charles growled as he took a step forward, forcing her to take a step back to the doorway. “Don’t bother saying goodbye to Jules, he won’t even notice you’re gone.”

[azuresky-agere]

hiya!! idk if you can see this but if its ok can you do a agere venti minific? :3 any cg !

MY BABY......MY BOY.....VENTI...!

CG!Diluc and Little!Venti requested by anonymous!

Plot: thunderstorms.

(also I'm so sorry this took so long anon!! Writing block is a bitch haha)

─ 𖥔 ─

"come on, Venti." Diluc sighs. "It's past closing time."

It had been past closing time for a good part of an hour and a half, and Venti and Diluc were the only people left in the tavern. Considering Venti's identity, Diluc was almost...hesitant to kick his god out of his tavern. Venti had been around Angel's Share all day, from the second he opened. The musician had watched Diluc conduct his usual schedule for closing up; clean the tables, remove everybody from the establishment, count stock, make sure the windows were locked upstairs, and go home.

But Venti seemed adamant of staying. It was concerning.

Rain continued to hit the building, and the storm outside continued. Thunder clapped the ground, and Venti seemed to...whine?

"nono-" Venti mumbled, seemingly to nobody in particular- maybe himself? He curled into his own arms, sinking to the table. He seemed...scared. Diluc just wanted to go home. At least this was a good excuse to stay out in the rain.

"Venti, are you okay?" Diluc's gloved hand reached out to touch Venti's shoulder- he could be experiencing a panic attack? Considering the past of Lord Barbatos, he wouldn't be surprised.

"no!-" the bard flinched, scooting away from the bartender. "p'ease..."

"Okay, no touching. I understand that, and I'm sorry." Diluc noted outloud. Diluc's goal had changed- and Venti didn't seem mentally ready to step foot outside the tavern.

Tonight would be difficult.

Diluc sighed, sitting opposite Venti. The bench creaked under Diluc's muscular build- a comedic opposite to Venti's slim body. That made Diluc worry more- did he even eat? Did he need to eat as often as a human, considering he technically isn't human?

"thunder...bad." Venti suddenly said.

"I figured." The bartender hummed. "Do you have a home to go back to? I've never actually seen your home-"

Venti paused, before shaking his head. "Windrise isn't a home, is it?"

Diluc tried his best to hide his shocked expression, but he seemingly did a horrible job. "No, it's not."

Venti sighed. "M'sorry."

"about what? Keeping me inside during the storm? I'm quite grateful. Even moreso that you're not getting caught in it."

Venti chuckled dryly. "I...it reminds me of Old Mondstadt. With Decarabian." Saying the tyrant's name felt like nails against a chalkboard. "I can leave if'ya want."

Diluc shakes his head- what kind of follower of Barbatos would he be if he willingly let their god outside in the rain? Plus, it seemed as if he was...young. Possibly even an age regressor.

"certainly not. Angel's Share have spare rooms upstairs for nights like this. I originally just wanted to go home because I can handle the rain- I actually find comfort in it."

Venti gasps. "Comfort? But it's so loud..."

"perhaps so," he chuckles. "Come now, let's go upstairs?"

─ 𖥔 ─

Once upstairs, Venti felt smaller than ever. Diluc respected the others boundaries, but he couldn't help but ask. At best, he was a regressor- and at worse, he didn't have a clue what it was, and the topic would be abandoned.

"Venti, do you know what regression is?"

The bard in question nods without a second of thought- and therein lies the solution. "Mhm!" He chirps.

Diluc sits next to the (possibly regressed) bard, nodding. "Do you know that it's very good for you?"

Venti nods again, almost hesitantly. "I...never had a mortal childhood. Cause m' archon!"

"you are- very clever." Diluc can't help but praise. He feels like a father. Perhaps caring for a regressed Kaeya a few many times has caused him to be one, in a sense. Perhaps this is what Crepus felt like, caring for Kaeya and Diluc. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me about today?"

Venti is ecstatic at the chance to talk and babble to Diluc- despite knowing fully well that it's a carefully crafted out ploy to distract him while Diluc gets him sleeping clothes and regression gear.

For once in his life, Venti doesn't mind being distracted.

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 8 Flight of the Noldor.

Yavanna cannot make the Trees again because That's How Things Work. At least we get a clear statement (again) that she did create their light, so sorry musicals, the Trees did not contain the Flame Imperishable. (I know in one abandoned later revision they kind of maybe did, but also it is like nails on chalkboard to me)

And Yavanna says that their harm would be undone and Melkor's evil would not reach its goal. Very Yavanna thing to say, very "where's the undo button". I'm not a fan. Like, I get her and it's not evil or smth… but… sorry, my pretty green lady, this doesn't work like this.

Tulkas. Can't you just sit still? (No, he can't.)

"Not the first one"! This line always makes me smile, it's just so "random oneliners to say". (I don't think Namo is rude, I think he's just quite alien and doesn't understand CoI and their psychology)

Despite being left to brood in silence, Feanor is paranoid anyway. :(

Capital D Darkness again — it's Ungoliant's stuff.

Finwë died on the threshold of Formenos — defending the house, but it is assumed, I think, because everyone else ran away. Either he had a weapon in hand, or they just assumed he was not trying to run away. Anyway nvm the narrative frame, the indent is that he was defending the house, so ok, why not. Very brave of him.

Feanáro curses a lot:

curses Melkor and renames him

curses Manwë's summons (so it was Manwë who ordered him to come? This would be some overstepping. I'll assume it was Manwë inviting him personally to come and Ingwë ordering him. Or just Manwë ordering him to come not as his ruler, but as ruler of this land, like "if you want any chance to be unbanned from Tirion, you must come")

curses the hour when he left home (very puzzling thing to do imo, but it is a genre thing I suppose)

Melkor wanted to kill Feanor mostly. So the book says. i am honestly surprised he didn't— oh wait. Maybe putting the Silmarils on his face and the pain was what made him shift from "kill Feanáro and his kin" to… well, all those stuff he did with Maedhros.

Morgoth can't ditch the spider. :D I suppose this confirms that now he is fixed in his body. She calls him Black Heart (derogatory, I suppose?) which nobody else does. It is kind of cute when your overgrown ex-pet murder spider has a pet name for you. :P

The "I rule the worls" stuff. I think this is the first time we see him say it (at least in the well-established canon timeline).

The Silmarils are in a box, and they still start burning him. So:

the burning increases or at least increases until it reaches its full level

they are small enough and Morgoth is big enough that he can hold the box with them all in his hand (right. does it have any meaning?)

It's confirmed that Morgoth had given Ungoliant some of his power and she'd grown and he'd lessenned. I assume it was during their initial negotiations.

She puts a web on him if not a full cocoon. The Balrogs have to free him with the flaming ...I forgot the word.

Also, the Balrogs were hiding in the deep dungeons after Angband, which suggests they did not work for/with Sauron. they seem very much like Morgoth's private guard. Also, they free him without question despite the fact that he seems pretty weak at this point.

The Balrogs have no problem chasing away Ungoliant, I attribute it to their connection with light (or at least fire. But fire is a kind of light, even their fire).

Yavanna was afraid that the Silmarils would be eaten by the darkness. this sounds very much like her.

Morgoth:

calls himself king of the world (the contrast of this and his situation...)

his hands are permanently black with burns and always in pain (which angers him even more)

also his crown seems to hurt him

seriously what is wrong with you?

you need therapy

seriously is insane at this point

also has a super powerful aura of fear

The Valar sit and (think, I guess), their courts (Maiar and Vanyar) cry about the Trees, the Noldor go back to Tirion. Suddenly Feanor. Who technically is still banished, which I think is more of a case of "the Valar had other priorities and he didn't ask" or "we aren't going to let him back to his brother in this state of emotions because there wil be more murders" than "revenge for not giving the Silmarils o Yavanna".

Also, now, of all times, is when many of the Noldor learn about the Men being a thing. Because before that Melkor told a few in secret and tehy apparently told Feanáro in secret… Peak unfortune timing. Peak planning on Melkor's side (not that he could now appraciate it).

Also, in Polish it's not "jealous gods", but "jealous Valar" which is interesting, but I think it makes sense. Still, it is out-Tolkiening the Tolkien I think.

Oh. Another part I need in English, because it's so important.

After Morgoth to the ends of the Earth! War shall he have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils that he stole, then behold! We, we alone, shall be the lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and the beauty of Arda! No other race shall oust us!’ [src]

Oh my. It is so much.

First, it is obvious that "reclaim the Silmarils" is (in his mind) the relatively easy, or at least short, part.

Second: "We, we alone, shall be the lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and the beauty of Arda!" I don't think this needs any comments.

Aaaand then they swear the Oath.

It's just one huge downward spiral, and he talks himself into it. Yes, trauma, but why are you pouring gasoline on it??? They all need… a lot. And to stop pouring gasoline on everything.

Fefe. I am so dissapointed with you. I am sad. I don't have the words for this. Also, you hate Morgoth, but you two are so similar sometimes.

Oh, and in the Silm they do not call Eru, they call the Everlasting Darkness to claim them if they break their oath. At least according to the translation. also, yes, revenge and hatered is mentioned, but no requirement to succeed in killing the offenders.

Galadriel is enthusiastic about Feanáro's plans, even though she dislikes him. :P

Manwë is silent, because he doesn't want to stop Feanor. Because he careas about the Noldor feeling enslaved! At least the translation says it pretty clearly. They (the Valar, or at least M&V) sit and watch, hoping that the Noldor will calm down.

Politics, politics… Fingolfin goes because Fingon, and the people, and he promised. Mentioned in this order.

90% of all the Noldor go (to Alqualonde and north, it's unclear how many came back with Finarfin). I wonder if it is of all the Noldor or just of the male Noldor. Because most of the women seem to stay.

Eonwë (not named, but seems like him. Technically it may be another Maia) comes to give them advice. Just an advice. Explicitely says that the Valar will not stop them and they came freely, they can leave freely.

Finarfin and Finrod and all the "wisest of Noldor" are in the back and carry a lot of stuff. Good for them.

Túna was nearly at the equator! Oh. interesting. They are very, very far from the Helcaraxe, and I assume nobody invited navigation without seeing the shores (sorry I don't know the English one word term for this). So they have a logistics problem.

The Teleri seem to refuse any help because they don't want to go against the Valar. Even though the Valar did not forbid it, they just said it was a bad idea. The Teleri just trust them, because Ulmo is cool. Also, they don't have much experience with Morgoth and assume "the Valar will fix it all".

An arguement ensues.

Fefe leaves, broods, and returns to Alqualonde when he has enough army. Then he starts seizing the ships. The Teleri push the Noldor to water, a fight ensues. Fingon join them and assumed that the Teleri were ordered by the Valar to stop the Noldor and attacked them. So, Finarfin and his team was not there. Fingolfin might not be at the battle either?

Olwë calls Ossë for help (so, he did survive), and we have the hilarious "I can't because the Valar forbade us to stop the Noldor. However, my wife, who has a clear recorc, will drown them with her crying anyway."

Blatant ad for the Maglor. "…for more details, see the Noldolante…" This is hilarious.

so they all go far, and it takes a long time. Some (most trusted by Feanor) go on the ships, other on foot. they travel from the equator to, idk, but a pretty cold area.

And only then, after probably weeks of travel, they get Namo(or is it?) and the Doom of the Noldor. (I need to correct one of my fics. This fact makes it 3 times more hilarious. even with the Maiarin teleportation).

Finarfin comes back, and he walks all the distance back. Has a lot of time to think, I guess. Many elves join him, but no number estimates or percentages. :(

The rest go further north.

Helcaraxe was assumed impassable. So no, nobody could predict Fingolfin would led his people there.

This was a very, very long chapter.

[miracles-and-butterflies]

When will Camilo's friends get a proper slap and some poisonous plants?

Maybe at some point.

Not now though.

Kinda hard when the rest of the family don’t have their names.

~~~~~~

“—And the rest of us are all left walking on eggshells. I couldn’t stand it a moment longer.”

“Well, you can stay here for as long as you like,” Mariano offered.

Dolores smiled in gratitude. “We both know I can’t. I’d rather be here though. But I have to go back… they are my family at the end of the day.”

“You could always go spend time with Antonio and your grandparents. I’m sure they’d let you.”

“I doubt it. If anyone is going to be needed over the next few days, it’ll be me and my gift.” Mariano opened his mouth and Dolores shook her head. “It’s been too long, Tía Julieta can’t heal her.”

He winced. “Ah, that’s… not great?”

“Mirabel will get over it. It’s not like she does much beyond sewing and reading. She won’t notice much difference physically.”

“I’d send her some ‘get well soon’ flowers, but I don’t think it would go down well with Isabela.”

“Just buy her some wool. She’ll be much more amused.” Dolores chuckled. “Or you could read to her for an hour. Luisa’s already shattered her voice.”

“What? Again? Didn’t she do that last week?”

“Yes. To prove she could sing higher than Isabela. She couldn’t. It was not pleasant.”

Mariano laughed.

Dolores did too.

“It can’t have been that bad. Your cousins can both sing.”

“No. It is like nails on a chalkboard.”

He shook his head, sighing.

“How are your parents taking it?”

“My parents?”

“It’s their son who… you know?” Mariano prompted. For all his poetry, he was struggling to put the action into words.

“I don’t think they know how to handle it,” Dolores admitted. Drumming a pencil lightly against the desk. “Mama thinks he is completely innocent, of course - he can do no wrong in her eyes. And Papa clearly doesn’t want to believe it but can’t argue with the evidence, nor is he sure what to do himself. And the focus somehow always falls back to Antonio because he’s the youngest.”

They didn’t say anything for a while.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Mariano asked.

“Of course.” Dolores asserted. “Just a bit stressed is all.”

“…But?”

“But… why didn’t I hear it?”

~~~~~~

“What noise do you think a doe makes?” Lorenzo asks, turning to his sister.

“They bleat, don’t they? Like sheep?” Rebecca responded.

They glanced back at Mirabel, who kept her elsewhere. Trying hard not to let it show how terrified she was (though knowing she was failing on that front).

She sniffled. “You can’t hurt me.”

“It’s not like you’re going to stop us.” Rebecca shrugs.

“You think we’re just gonna let you skip off and tattle on us?” Mateo asks, looking sincere for a moment. Then he cackles, “God, this isn’t the school playground, you idiot!”

Felicia steps forward, “Even if we did, it’s not like anyone is gonna believe your side of the story. You’ve already proved to be a pretty unreliable witness.” She reaches out, grasping the back of Mirabel’s hair and tilting her head up. “Don’t remember? Let’s see… it was a child’s fifth birthday party, someone cried the building was breaking and the miracle was dying, but when we went to look there wasn’t a crack or any rubble in sight. Ring any bells?”

Mirabel didn’t say a word, not daring to look away from the leaves on the ground.

Something is forced into her earlobe. It snaps in place painfully, burning against her skin and heavy. She wails. Turing around in wild confusion - when did Ignacio get there? But what catches her eye the most is the bright yellow thing hanging there.

“There’s something real for you to cry about,” Sola taunts. Felicia and Rebecca laugh.

Ignacio moves again, going for her opposite ear.

Mirabel tries to curl in on herself, away from the onslaught of pain, away from this torment, but her body is soon being held taut by Lorenzo and Felicia.

There’s nowhere to go.

“What’s the matter? I thought you Madrigals were so brave and invincible,” Rebecca comments, trying to get a reaction.

Felicia thought for a moment. “Then again… she was never a real Madrigal, was she?”

Ignacio shoves the other tag and clips it in. She thinks he caught some skin as he did, there’s a nip that didn’t happen the first time.

Mirabel is dropped, landing on her hands and knees briefly, then collapsing onto her side. She doesn’t attempt to stand, but she tries to sit up and adjust her glasses.

Rebecca harshly swatted her hand away, pinching the glasses at the bridge and pulling them away.

“Animals don’t get nice things,” she explained.

Mirabel doesn’t see where the glasses go but she assumes from the giggling between Rebecca and Mateo, they are definitely broken.

Lorenzo cooed at her suddenly, looking down and petting her head. “What a pretty, little doe you are!”

“And now that you’re all marked up, everyone will know what an important deer you are.” Felicia added. “It must be nice for you to finally be worth something now, isn’t it?”

[asirensrage]

Beauty in the Deep - A MerMay Oneshot

Title: Beauty in the Deep Rating: Mature Pairing: Unnamed character/reader x unnamed male character Warnings: dub-con/forced change, drowning, murder, fear of oceans, unbeta'd.

Summary: “I can show you so much,” he promises. “The beauty of the ocean is in the deep.”

Notes: This is what happens when I'm left to my own devices after getting @vixenofcourse to play with the ideas of making mythical creatures creepier...and then joking about how we'd react to meeting mermen. In celebration of "mermay", here's a quick oneshot I wrote today. Enjoy!

Heed the warnings.

The ocean calls to you. Something deep inside finds it calming. Maybe it's the way your ancestors came from islands or the sound of the waves, but it’s soothing to be near. Not in it though. Never in it. 

You have a healthy respect for the ocean. It is large and dark and deep. There is so much unknown in the ocean and you prefer to stay where you’re in control. You keep your feet planted on the ground, toes digging into the sand, and never go further in than you can touch. Even if you could swim, you wouldn’t go far. The waves are treacherous and you prefer to look at it. 

“Why don’t we go on a cruise or something?”

“Absolutely not.” There’s something terrifying about the abyss it is. Should anything happen, you’d be dead and you quite prefer living thank you. 

Still, it doesn’t stop you from sitting on a dock, feet dangling in the water while she swims. 

There’s something strange about them. 

At first, you think it’s just because they’re calling out to you in the ocean, wanting you to join them just past the reef. Where it’s deeper. 

Your friend wants to go. “They’re cute!” she says. You peer out, trying to make out their features but your sight has never been the best. 

“No thanks,” you say. “Poseidon already stole my glasses once. I’m not risking it again.” She laughs but swims out anyway. You can't stop the fear that sits in your chest at how far she’s going. You can’t help her if anything happens. 

“Come into the water,” he teases. You pull your leg back, away from the claws and webbed fingers that reach for you. The curiosity at the truth of the men was enough to get you on a boat. You can still see land and it’s a small comfort. 

“I can’t swim,” you tell him again. You watch the way his tail moves under him in the water, helping keep him in place. The colours are vivid in the light and you can’t help but wonder if they’re a way to locate each other or a warning to other predators. There are spines and spikes that follow the curve of his back to his tail and along his fins. You had thought your friend was joking when she told you they were mermen. There was no such thing. They proved you wrong. 

“I’ll help you,” he says. It would sound like a promise if it weren’t for the pitch-black eyes that watch you. You’d think it would be too bright for them with eyes like that, but they never seem to hesitate. 

“No thanks,” you say. You’re not about to let yourself drown because you panicked about being unable to touch the ground. 

He laughs - this weird grating sound that might be soothing underwater but it sounds like nails on the chalkboard. “Well, will you sing for me instead?” he leans against the boat. “Come, little siren, it’s the least you can do if you won’t swim with me.”

You frown slightly at the term. “Am I drawing men to their doom?”

He grins, teeth sharp and glinting. “Do you want to?”

It happens fast. 

You find yourself in the water but before you even start to sink, he’s there. His tail winds around you, careful not to touch you, hands placed gently on your hips as he keeps you afloat. “See? I promised I’d help,” he says. 

“Can you help me back on the boat?”

“Come on,” he nearly pleads. “You’re already here. Swim with me.” He holds your hands, tail moving and out of your way while he guides you in the water. It’s nice but the terror overrides it. Especially as he gets farther from the boat. 

“I want to go back now,” you say. You try to turn, but his grip tightens slightly and his tail moves behind you, seeming to block the way. You don’t know if he means to or not, but his scales are sharp. You learned that the first time you touched them. 

“Wait,” he says. “Look.” 

You turn to look where he’s pointing and your breath catches in your throat. There’s a school of fish, sparking in the water and swimming in a wide circle before they dart away from you both. 

“Wow.”

He grins, teeth bared in a warning you don’t catch. “I can show you so much,” he promises. “The beauty of the ocean is in the deep.”

That does not sound good. “Wait, I don’t–”

He drags you down. You kick, try to push him away, but his arm is a vice grip on your waist and all you can see is the way the light fades above you as his scales darken with every movement. 

One of his nails scratches you. It barely registers with the panic that you’re going to drown. Your head feels heavy as you can no longer hold your breath. You close your eyes and let go. 

You wake. 

Your body feels strange, not quite like your own, but before you can even think about what’s wrong with it, something else takes precedence. You are trapped. You are curled up and naked and surrounded by a thick membrane and hard shell. It doesn’t move when you push on it, but you keep trying. You can hear voices around you. 

You’re not sure what’s happening but you refuse to die. Not like this. 

You find a rock that digs into your side and use it to smash against the barrier. You fight and fight and fight. Finally, it cracks. 

It takes ages for you to break it further, to squeeze yourself out of the containment and when you finally do, when you float almost weightlessly for a moment as you escape, you hear cheering around you. 

It takes a second to register the fact that the people surrounding you, the ones cheering for your escape, are the same mermen who called to you. There is a scent around you and the back of your mind registers it as your blood. 

The one who stole you, who dragged you deep into the water swims towards you. You lash out, swiping hard. You nearly catch him with your nails. The grating laugh he had is soothing and that’s when you realize it. You’re underwater. The strange feeling in your body is that it is no longer yours. You were different. 

You hear them laugh as you twist, trying to see what you’ve lost. What you gained. 

Your legs have transformed, a dark purple, nearly black, tail in its place. The fins are wide and the spines that reach out are a bright blue. A warning sign, you know. Your fingers are webbed, with thick nails at the end of them. The trap you escaped is a shell, pale and pearlescent and broken by your hands. 

All you can do is scream. 

He follows you. 

You find your friend attached to the other one, a pale green tail in place of her legs. She grins too wide with sharp teeth, pleased to see you. 

“We’re free!” She says.

“We didn’t get a choice.”

“There is always a choice,” the man next to her tells you. “You could have died in your transformation. You could have withered in your shell. You chose to survive.” 

You snarl in response. 

You glow in your anger. Literally. The bioluminescence of your skin glows in reaction to your anger. A warning to all who may approach. The mer who claimed you, you changed you into this, adores it. You react mainly to him. He wants to show you everything. You want to rip his throat out and teach him the proper meaning of consent. 

He moves in close, taking advantage of your unfamiliarity of your new body, your need to swim and he pins your arms to your side. Your tail lashes out but he was born in this water, long before you were. He tells you, in the farce of an embrace, how they were going to kill you. Your friend accepted and you kept refusing to let them close. His people don’t believe in survivors. Not after all these years. It’s safer when there are none left to tell tales. He wanted you to have a chance. He cheated when he slipped that rock into your shell.

Your anger doesn’t fade and he draws you in to lash out at him. He stays out of your reach, teasing you and offering suggestions as he tries to trick you into learning how to swim. He shows you what you need to know to survive, never straying far but always finding you as you light in rage.

It only changes when your anger is redirected. Your friend leads you to a yacht. You blend into the darkness of the water and watch as the people on it laugh about those below them, telling stories of how they take and take and take. 

Your hands are tearing open the side before you’re even aware of it. Of the twenty people on the yacht, the only survivors are the crew. They whisper about splashes in the dark, how their boat was pulled by something that led them closer to shore. 

There is blood on your teeth and flesh under your scales and he kisses you. He tells you that you’ve never looked so beautiful, that they deserved it. “I knew you would be so good, so ferocious, my siren.”

You swipe at him and he laughs before kissing you again. You let him because he promises to find you more, to help you, to give you everything. 

Children tell stories about lost phones and mermaids who save them from the tides. People give warnings about sharks in the area, acutely aware that those who lose their limbs are often the ones causing trouble for the area. Private beaches become public. The coral flourishes. No one will live on a cursed shore, at least those who are not respectful to the ocean and all it provides. Some nights there is singing, a soft voice that echoes promises across the water. It’s often followed by a grating laugh and splashing that bleeds into the waves of the ocean. 

everything tag: @raith-way @chrissymunson @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse  @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse