#moon mist presentation

[en8y]

[IMAGE ID: six rectangular flags with five evenly-sized horizontal stripes. about half of the flags are taken up by simplified drink images. the first three have boba tea cups, the fourth and fifth have lemonade glasses, and the sixth has a soda can. the first flag’s stripes, from top to bottom, are as follows: black, dull purple, light purple, pastel purple, and black. the second flag’s stripes, from top to bottom, are as follows: nearly-black brown, purple-grey, warm pink, pastel pink, and nearly-black brown. the third flag’s stripes, from top to bottom, are as follows: warm pink, cream, off-white, white, and warm pink. the fourth flag’s stripes, from top to bottom, are as follows: nearly-black purple, warm purple, golden yellow, light yellow, and nearly-black purple. the fifth flag’s stripes, from top to bottom, are as follows: warm purple, golden yellow, pastel yellow, off-white, and warm purple. the sixth flag’s stripes, from top to bottom, are as follows: medium green, green-yellow, dull yellow, off-white, and medium green. END ID.]

taro boba tea: any queer person who presents their gender through the colors purple and black.

strawberry taro boba tea: any queer person who presents their gender through the colors pink, purple, and black.

strawberry cheesecake boba tea: any queer person who presents their gender through the colors pink, cream, and white.

blackberry lemonade: any queer person who presents their gender through the colors purple, yellow, and black.

butterfly lemonade: any queer person who presents their gender through the colors purple, yellow, and white.

moon mist (soda): any queer person who presents their gender through the colors green, yellow, and white.

part of the beverage presentation system by @satyrradio, and can be considered subsets of punch bowl, by @blood-moon-night-coining!

@radiomogai @liom-archive @obscurian @presentationflag-archive @kalliepride

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 24: 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍

title: milk me synopsis: usually demons' poisons just kill whoever was affected by them. this time, it served for something else. something way better. [2.1K] cw: established relationship, eye patch!kyojuro, crystal hashira!reader, sex pollen, public sex, pussy drunk, forced orgasms, overstimulation, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), p in v, dacryphilia, spit, nipple stimulation, accidental voyeurism (we'll say: sorry miss shinobu).

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Monsters, echoed in the demon’s head as he ran deeper into the forest. His arm reattached to his body, fully healed but burning still. With human blood dripping from his mouth, he cursed the slayers after him. Monsters. All of them.

The bastard decided where his body would rot. He was the one to decide over his path. Lurking among the branches, you waited. Concealed by the night, Kyojuro chased. And as the demon laughed, believing to have outwitted the slayers, fire and crystal cut through his neck in union.

Blood burned into ashes on your nichirin sword. As the head rolled, you gazed at the starless sky. Using the moon as a reference, you knew this hunt was too easy. “It’s not even midnight yet”, you frowned. “Sanemi spoke the truth on our last meeting. Those slayers begged for our help to end this weak thing?”

Hypnotized by your presence, Kyojuro cupped your cheek. The head between you two screamed and cursed, but his voice meant nothing for Kyojuro. Talking is a privilege for the living, and he won’t allow a beast to stop him from admiring you.

“Only because of your flawless strategy, flame of my heart!” Kyojuro laughed, thumb caressing your lower lip. He blatantly ignored your last statement, determined to not let worries take you away from him. “How glad I am to fight beside you!”

To feel his hand full of scars, hear his voice full of love, made you come back to the present. Kyojuro knows how easy it’s for you to get lost inside of your own head. Soothing you back into reality, you were the flying pipe and Kyojuro the stone.

How could you care about any other thing when Kyojuro burns this bright? All concerns about the level of those new slayers were quickly forgotten. Moving your face, you kissed his open palm. He was so warm. Welcoming.

“You flatter me.”

“I only speak the truth”, Kyojuro pulled you closer. “As you deserve.”

Peace was disturbed as bones cracked. You looked down to find the demon’s jaw wide open, tongue contorting as he choked on it. You assumed it was agony, but Kyojuro recognized it as a last act of violence. From stroking your face, Kyojuro spared no strength to shove you as far away as he could.

You were about to do the same to him.

As you rose from the ground a heavy, yellow mist came out from the demon’s mouth. Covering your face with your emerald haori, to hear his coughs made your heart stir. The more desperate Kyojuro becomes, the more this pollen will infiltrate his nostrils. The more this wretched demon would hurt your dear Kyo.

In an act of pure logic, you kicked the head away. In an act of pure hatred, you did so with so much strength the head exploded in pieces against a tree trunk.

You turned around in time to see Kyojuro’s nose scrunching.

The pollen was already gone, scattered in the wind. You let go of your haori and held his chin, looking for blisters or burns were the mist touched. As you moved him closer to you, Kyojuro sighed.

More carefully now, you tilted his head. Moonlight revealed his flushed cheeks, forehead already soaked with sweat. His owl eye, always brimming with excitement and joy, never looked so dark. You found nothing. Not a wound, not a scratch.

“Focus”, you demanded, voice stern. Now you weren’t his wife, only a hashira telling a hurt person what to do. “Slow down your heartbeat. Fight the fever. Kyojuro, I need you to breath.”

That damned thing. You doubt that demon could create anything stronger than a common poison. After a whistle, your crow landed on your shoulder. Looking into its purple eyes, you gave the instructions to warn Shinobu of your position.

“Kyo!” You almost lost balance when he collapsed against you. “Listen to me! You need to keep on breathing.”

His arms intertwined around your waist, his hold so tight you could feel his chest moving up and down with every shaky breath. Kyojuro’s knees failed, his weight making you stumble back.

Your mind was a torturous place right now.

Usually, he would fight back. If only his body was threatened, Kyojuro would have stopped that poison by now, but it clearly affected his mind too. You can’t count on Kyojuro tonight. He needs you now.

The best thing is for Kyojuro to get healed immediately, and the only one that can assure that is Shinobu. You want to take him in your arms and run. The sudden movement, the change in temperature, his aching lungs. You want to run, but maybe that would only work to weaken Kyojuro even more. But to stay here, holding a suffering Kyojuro in the hopes of being found? That would make you insane!

And again, you were the pipe flying away, lost in the winds of your head. You need your stone. You need Kyojuro to be fine again.

Kyojuro inhaled deeply your scent, and for a moment you thought he learned how to deal with the poison. Him shamelessly ravishing on your skin made you second thought that.

“Dear”, you whimpered. Trying to move Kyojuro away, you stumbled back once more. This time, Kyojuro stepped forward, putting more of his weight on top of you. “Kyo… What are you doing?”

His warm tongue licked the crook of your neck, tasting your sweat. His nose brushed against you, drowning in your perfume.

“I am hungry”, Kyojuro whimpered, mouth closing around the sensitive skin where your shoulder and neck meet. His lips, soft and plump, stole a little whimper from you. “I burn for you.”

At that, your eyes widened. Aphrodisiacs! That explains why those slayers were so quick to avert his curious gaze and your careful touch. Why they cried as they moved, although they carried no wound. Why you feel something poking at your belly.

His teeth sank on your neck, expelling every thought from your mind. It was strong enough to bring you to tears. A deep moan echoed through the night; a sound so primal a part of you mistook it from an animal’s doing.

Your heartbeat increased, and you knew Kyojuro heard it too.

“Kyojuro Rengoku,” you hissed. It made him froze. “You need to stop.”

Taken back from your harsh tone, Kyojuro tilted his head towards yours. You were mad at him. No, no, no, no! That… That can’t be. He can’t make you suffer. He promised to never make you suffer.

“Forgive me,” he begged. Kyojuro sounded more like himself. Still clouded, flying like a pipe, but real. Caring.

In a merciful act, the moon shone over you two. And in its glow, you saw Kyojuro crying. Heavy tears rolled down his face, sobs forcing out of him.

The great flame hashira reduced to such a beautiful mess.

“I need you”, Kyojuro whimpered. He closed his eyes, all the voices in his head bringing him step by step closer to the abyss. “I feel as if… As if I will go insane if I don’t have you. I am… sorry.” You saw fire inside his eye, heard certainty on his voice. “I just need to… Yes, my flame, I just need to…”

His warmth turned into heat, and Kyojuro moved before you could decide over your next action. Not a second later your back was on the ground, eyes wide as you stared at the predator lurking above you.

Kyojuro kneeled down, thighs closed between your legs. His rough hands tugged at your haori, trembling as he pulled it apart. Like a beast, Kyojuro cut through all the fabrics between you two. He stopped when your breasts spilled out, nipples hard as the wind touched them.

His deep breath made you pay more attention to Kyojuro’s details. Fingers hesitant to touch your skin. Tears staining his face. Lips open, drool falling over you. The sound of his pitiful cries pierced your skull.

Without any words, Kyojuro begged. He begged for your forgiveness. For your help. For you. And how could you deny Kyojuro of what he wants so badly?

“Do it”, you said. You allowed. Supporting your weight on your elbows, back leaving the ground, you bit your tongue. “Knock yourself out.”

“Thank you, my flame”, Kyojuro cried. So beautiful. “Thank you, thank you.”

His warm mouth closed around your nipple, eyes widening as he sucked on it. His fingers yanked the other, rolling it between his fingertips with just the right pressure.

Kyojuro bit your shoulder, this time less feral. It wasn’t possessive, only a need to have you between his teeth. Marking your bust, leaving not a single inch untouched and unmarked, he covered you on his spit.

He is a selfless lover in a way the most selfish one could appreciate. There isn’t a single moment Kyojuro doesn’t think about your pleasure. He is always seeking for it, drowning himself on you and only coming back to surface when you beg for rest. It’s nothing but a mere coincidence that Kyojuro takes his own pleasure from yours.

The more you whined, hips twitching beneath his broad body, the more Kyojuro gave to you. You hissed when his teeth closed around your wet nipples, and Kyojuro saw that as a sign he needed to keep going.

Even in this condition, your man really can’t bear having an empty mouth.

Kyojuro bended your legs, feet high on the air, laying down on the ground. He forced your thighs to close around his head, fingers drawing circles on your hips. You felt his shaky breath against your ignored cunt.

“Itadakimasu,” Kyojuro whispered. Not for you, but for your pussy.

And so, he dived into you. There was no technique, no method on the way his tongue moved. And that’s why you always loved to have his head between your legs. With Kyojuro, you never felt as if your time was running out. As if you had to be quick, so he would finally feel pleasure too. Eating you out, Kyojuro never thought about the quickest way to get you to cum.

He does that for himself. Tongue deep into your walls, Kyojuro rejoices. Teeth pulling at your clit, Kyojuro salivates. Every noise that you make, from sheepish whimpers to weary cries, is a full meal for this hungry man.

You’re in for a long night.

Kyojuro licked your slit restlessly. In his place, your jaw would stumble. His big tongue slipped inside of it, back to his home. The soft and trained muscle, curling at the perfect spot inside of you.

But he never stayed inside of you for long enough, as another part of your glistening cut looked deserving of his attention too. Torturing you, all you did was pull his golden hair and take it.

After the fourth orgasm, his fingers filling you up without mercy, your mouth hanged open. You couldn’t close it. You couldn’t remember to close it. All you wanted, all you could think about, was for Kyojuro to have his fill. To get better. To just drown already and let you rest.

“Inside of me”, your voice echoed, but you had no time to be embarrassed about your screams. Pushing his head away, you tried to bargain with his desire. “Just get inside of me already, Kyojuro!”

But he refused you. Nodding, Kyojuro nuzzled at your core. Impatient, you groaned and pulled his hair harshly.

Kyojuro saw you. All of you. The redness of your tearful eyes. The bite marks around your collarbone. Those half-closed eyes, tired but energized still. Those breasts moving up and down, up and down.

“Now”, you ordered, clenching your teeth.

As if he would be punished by disobeying you, Kyojuro freed his leaking cock and pulled you closer. Rigid for you, sensitive because of all the pleasure he gave you, ready for you.

Your flame hashira, more than ready to burn you alive.

His body was on top of yours, involving you completely, as he thrusted into your walls. He licked your lips, eye as heavy as yours. “You taste so good”, he said against your mouth. “The best meal I ever had.”

Looking into his eyes, you melted. Your legs shaken around his hips; eyes rolled back as Kyojuro used you to get off. Watching Kyojuro finally fell apart, head finding solace in the crook of your neck, you smiled. “Better?”

A husky laugh vibrated through you. “Better.”

Shinobu thanked darkness for hiding her burning cheeks.

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink @py-schi @miyanosm @idonthaveanameforthisacc

© all rights reserved to MADWOMANSAPOLOGIST

[heliosunny]

moze lucky egg pretty please! or some moze foods… there arent many on tumblr do people not like this goofy man or sth im crying so down bad for him 😭 ily btw!

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Moze x Reader

The egg had an aura of mystery from the moment it appeared, a smooth, dark violet shell etched with faint crimson and silver veins. It gave off no sound, no vibrations, just an eerie, unsettling stillness that seemed to draw the eye and silence the mind. For three days, it sat in your home. There was no hum or shift, just the kind of quiet that made you feel like you were being watched.

On the third night, as you prepared to sleep, the egg changed. The faint light of the moon seemed to reflect off its surface unnaturally, creating subtle ripples of motion within the shell. No sound accompanied the cracks that began to spread along its surface, the splitting lines glowing faintly silver, almost too dim to notice.

When the egg finally opened, there was no burst of energy or dramatic display, only silence. The pieces of the shell disintegrated into a mist that dissipated almost instantly, leaving behind a tall figure who stood as still as a shadow.

His presence was suffocatingly quiet. His silver hair caught the faint light, and his violet eyes, sharp and cold, scanned the room methodically before settling on you. He said nothing, his expression unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze spoke volumes.

After a long pause, he finally broke the silence with a soft, almost dispassionate tone "You didn’t summon me. Someone else did."

His words, though few, felt heavy, carrying layers of meaning you couldn’t yet unravel. Before you could respond, he turned his attention away, scanning the surroundings with calculated precision, as though assessing potential threats or gathering information.

You blinked at him, your confusion obvious. “What do you mean, ‘someone else’? I got you from a Lucky Egg Dispenser. You’re the one who hatched from it.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as though your answer presented a puzzle he needed to solve. He sat down across from you with a fluid grace that made no sound, his hands resting calmly on his lap. “A mere chance?” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Fate, then. How inconvenient.”

His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. You could tell he wasn’t dismissing you entirely, but his eyes, piercing and observant, seemed to dissect your every move.

“I… wasn’t expecting to spawn anyone, let alone you” you admitted, still trying to process the situation. “You’re...uh...different.”

The man let out the faintest exhale, something that could have been a laugh if it weren’t so devoid of amusement. “That much is obvious” he said. “I shouldn’t even be here. My skills aren’t meant for… casual company.”

He was cryptic, but before you could ask what he meant, he vanished. Just...gone. One moment, he was sitting in front of you, and the next, the space he occupied was empty. You froze, whipping your head around the room.

“Moze?” you called out, wait.. how did you know his name?

A shiver creeping up your spine.

There was no response. The silence stretched long enough that you started to second-guess yourself. Had he left? Or worse, had he never been real to begin with?

Then, out of nowhere, a gloved hand rested on your shoulder.

You yelped and spun around, nearly stumbling over your chair. Moze was behind you, standing close, his face unreadable as he observed your startled reaction.

“Do you frighten easily?” he asked, his tone neutral, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? You couldn’t tell.

“What? How—did you…?” you stammered, trying to catch your breath.

He ignored your question, his voice dropping lower, almost conspiratorial. “You’re not safe. Not from me. Not from anyone. Keep that in mind.”

Was it a warning? A threat? Or some strange attempt at reassurance?

Whatever it was, one thing was clear, Moze wasn’t like anyone you’d encountered before. He moved like a shadow, disappearing and reappearing at will, his very presence unsettling yet impossible to ignore. You couldn’t shake the feeling that, whether you wanted him or not, you were now under his watchful eye. And his gaze, silent and calculating, promised that he wouldn’t be letting you go anytime soon.

The day felt normal enough, even with the weight of Moze's mysterious presence lingering in the back of your mind. You’d gone out as usual, stopping by the market to grab a few essentials, chatting with friends, and dropping off some packages for people who had asked for your help.

You didn’t think much about him- well, not entirely. A part of you assumed he was nearby, watching like a silent shadow, but there wasn’t any point in worrying about it. After all, he had made it clear that he was skilled at staying unseen, and there wasn’t much you could do to change that.

As you arrived home, you pushed the door open and let out a small sigh, glad to finally be back. The groceries weighed heavily in your arms, and you focused on setting them down before tending to anything else.

“You’re careless” came a low voice right behind you.

You jumped, nearly dropping the bag of food in your hands. Turning around sharply, you found Moze standing there, close enough that you could see the sharp, calculating glint in his eyes.

“Can you not do that?” you snapped, your heart still racing. “What is with you and showing up like this?”

Moze didn’t flinch at your tone. If anything, he seemed unfazed, his expression blank as usual. “You’re easy to follow” he replied, as though that were some kind of excuse.

You stared at him, baffled. “I don’t even know how you followed me. I didn’t see you once all day.”

“I didn’t need to be seen” he said simply, his voice as calm as ever.

The statement unsettled you, though you weren’t sure why. His ability to blend into the shadows was almost uncanny, and while it should have felt impressive, it mostly made you uneasy.

“Why are you even doing this?” you asked, crossing your arms. “I didn’t ask you to babysit me.”

Moze tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. “You didn’t need to” he said, his tone dropping into something more deliberate. “It’s not safe for you to be so… accessible.”

“Look, I can handle myself” you said, trying to shake off the unease. “I don’t need someone following me around like some kind of guardian angel—especially not one who keeps scaring the life out of me every time he shows up.”

Moze stepped closer, his movements as silent as ever, until the air between you felt suffocatingly thin. “You don’t see what I see,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why you think you’re fine. But you’re not.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words.

“I’m not here because you want me to be” he continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m here because you need me to be. And whether you realize it or not, you’ll be safer if you stay under my watch.”

His words left you speechless. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know whether to feel reassured or terrified. But one thing was certain—Moze wasn’t going anywhere.

It had been a few days since you realized Moze's presence had started leaving faint traces behind—wisps of purple smoke that seemed to hang in the air wherever he was. At first, it was subtle, but now, you could feel his presence like a sixth sense, the faint smoky trails marking his hiding spots.

At first, Moze didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. But when you caught him twice in a row, once behind the curtains and another time perched silently on a rooftop, he began to understand.

“You shouldn’t be able to find me” he muttered one evening, his voice as flat and unreadable as ever.

You shrugged, pointing to a faint swirl of violet mist by the windowsill where he’d been moments before. “I don’t know how, but… it’s like I just know where you are now. Maybe it’s something to do with that egg you hatched from?”

Moze considered this for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “A bond” he murmured, almost to himself. “That must be it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A bond?”

He nodded, though his expression remained neutral. “A connection between us. It’s rare, but not impossible. Perhaps the egg linked me to you in some way.”

“Oh that's why I know your name...”

“What was that?”

“N-nothing!”

The idea made you feel… strange. You weren’t sure if you liked the thought of being linked to someone so secretive and intense, but at the same time, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

“Well, if that’s the case, then you don’t need to sneak around so much anymore,” you said, crossing your arms. “I can sense you anyway, so there’s no point in hiding.”

Moze tilted his head slightly, as if weighing your words. “It’s not about hiding” he said. “It’s about staying sharp. But… if you can find me that easily, perhaps it’s time for a different approach.”

“Different how?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He didn’t answer, but the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It was the first time you’d seen anything close to an emotion from him, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

Still, you couldn’t deny that having someone else around, even someone as cryptic as Moze, made life a little less lonely. As a freelancer, you were used to working on your own, but his presence, odd as it was, had started to grow on you.

One evening, as you sat at your desk going over some requests, an idea struck you. Turning to Moze, who was leaning against the wall like a silent sentinel, you spoke up.

“I think we need a change of scenery!” you said.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but not willing to ask outright.

“I mean, we’ve been cooped up here for days...” you continued. “And honestly, I could use a break. What about you? Wouldn’t hurt to, I don’t know, do something together.”

Moze seemed to consider this, his gaze flickering toward the window. “Where?” he asked simply.

You thought for a moment before a grin spread across your face. “How about the mountains? Fresh air, open skies… it’ll be good for both of us. And who knows? Maybe we’ll find some work out there too.”

Moze’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. “If that’s what you want” he said, his voice low and even.

“Great!” you said, clapping your hands together. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

The next day, you packed up a few essentials and set out with Moze by your side. The journey was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Moze wasn’t much for small talk, but every now and then, he’d offer a comment or observation that caught you off guard with its sharpness.

When you finally reached the base of the mountains, the crisp, cool air was a welcome change. The two of you hiked for a while, taking in the scenery, until you found a spot with a breathtaking view of the valley below.

“This,” you said, gesturing to the view, “is exactly what I needed.”

Moze stood beside you, his eyes scanning the horizon. “It’s… peaceful” he admitted, his voice softer than usual.

You smiled, surprised by his comment. “See? I told you this would be good for us.”

For the first time since you’d met him, Moze seemed to relax, the tension in his shoulders easing as he stood there beside you. And for a brief moment, it felt like the bond between you, whatever it was, had grown just a little stronger.

The serenity of the mountaintop was short-lived. Moze stood a few paces behind you, his gaze fixed on the horizon as you enjoyed the view. The crisp wind whistled through the rocks, carrying with it a fleeting sense of peace.

But then, you heard it, footsteps.

You turned, expecting to see fellow hikers, but instead, three unfamiliar figures emerged from the treeline. They moved with purpose, their eyes cold and scanning until they landed on Moze.

“Finally found you” the tallest one said with a sly smirk.

Moze shifted slightly, his stance becoming rigid, but his expression remained neutral.

“Friends of yours?” you asked cautiously, glancing at him.

“They aren’t” he replied, his voice steady yet laced with a faint edge.

The tallest figure took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. “You’re good at hiding, I’ll give you that. Took us weeks to pick up your trail. You’ve caused quite a stir, you know.”

“I don’t care” Moze replied coldly, his hand resting near the hilt of the dagger strapped to his side.

The man chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “You should. Someone like you doesn’t get to live in peace. There’s too much value in a talent like yours to let it go unnoticed.”

You stepped back instinctively, suddenly aware of the tension crackling in the air. “What do you want?” you asked sharply, though you already had an idea.

“Not you” the man said dismissively, his gaze flicking back to Moze. “We’re here for him. If he comes quietly, no one gets hurt.”

Moze didn’t move, his icy stare locked onto the group. “You won’t get the chance to hurt anyone.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before the closest figure lunged toward him, drawing a blade.

What followed was a blur of motion. Moze moved faster than you thought humanly possible, dodging the strike with ease and countering with a swift, brutal strike to the man’s wrist. The blade clattered to the ground, and Moze followed up with a precise kick that sent his attacker sprawling.

The other two hesitated for a fraction of a second before charging in together. Moze met them head-on, his movements fluid and calculated. Every strike was deliberate, every dodge flawless. Within moments, all three were incapacitated, groaning on the ground.

You stared, your heart pounding in your chest. You’d known Moze was capable, but seeing him dismantle three armed opponents so effortlessly was something else entirely.

Moze turned to you, his usual calm expression replaced by something darker. “This won’t be the last time” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“What do you mean?” you asked, still trying to process what had just happened.

“They’re after me” he said simply. “And they’ll keep coming.”

You felt a chill run down your spine at the certainty in his tone.

He stepped closer, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as it locked onto yours. “I’ll deal with them,” he said firmly. “But you—” He paused, his hand brushing against your arm. “You need to be careful.”

“I can handle myself.” you said, though you weren’t sure you believed it at that moment.

Moze’s jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, an emotion you couldn’t quite place flickered across his face. “That’s not good enough” he said quietly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Moze crouched down near the unconscious attackers, methodically searching them for anything that could reveal more about their intentions. His movements were calm but precise, as though this was something he’d done countless times before.

You stayed rooted in place, your eyes following him nervously. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for clues” he replied without looking at you. “Who they work for. Why they found me here. Anything that could give us an edge.”

“Us?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He paused, glancing back at you. “Yes. You’re part of this now, whether you like it or not.”

“I didn’t ask to be” you muttered.

“No” he said softly, almost to himself. “But I’m not leaving you out of it. I can’t.”

Moze stood, holding up a small device he’d retrieved from one of the attackers. He pressed a button, and a holographic projection sprang to life, displaying a list of names and locations. Your stomach dropped when you saw your own name on the list.

“Why am I on there?” you asked, stepping closer.

“They’re not just after me” Moze said grimly. “They’re using you as leverage. A way to draw me out.”

You felt a surge of anger and fear, clenching your fists. “This is insane. I don’t even know these people.”

“They don’t care” Moze replied. “They’ll use whatever they can to get to me. And now they know you’re important to me.”

“Important?”

Moze’s eyes locked onto yours, unflinching and intense. “Yes.”

Before you could respond, the sound of distant voices reached your ears. Moze’s head snapped up, his body instantly tensing.

“We need to leave” he said, his voice sharp. “Now.”

The quiet hum of the night settled around you as you lay on the stiff mattress of the inn, exhaustion weighing heavy on your body. Moze had been restless earlier, but you convinced him to rest, even if only for a few hours.

Yet when you woke up, the room was eerily empty.

Frowning, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The blanket that had been draped over you, no doubt Moze’s doing, slipped off as you got to your feet. The night air was crisp as you stepped towards the slightly open door, a faint glow of lantern light flickering from the hallway.

You heard voices.

Pressing yourself against the wall, you moved silently, instincts guiding you as you crept toward the source. Around the corner, past the wooden railing of the inn’s second floor, you caught sight of Moze standing in the shadows of a candlelit alcove. He wasn’t alone.

A group of men stood before him. They spoke in hushed voices, but you managed to catch snippets of their conversation.

“—should just take care of it now.”

“No.” Moze’s voice was firm, colder than you’d ever heard it. “I’ll handle it my way.”

Another man scoffed. “You’re getting soft.”

There was a low, metallic sound, Moze’s weapon being unsheathed just slightly. The group stiffened.

“Say that again” Moze murmured, his tone a razor-sharp warning.

The man hesitated before muttering a curse under his breath. “Tch. Fine. But I don’t think your plan will go smoothly.”

A tense silence stretched before Moze spoke again. “This is my problem. I'll handle it myself.”

He was planning something. Something dangerous. And worse, it involved you.

Before you could process it further, a chill ran down your spine.

The air shifted.

You turned, only to find yourself face-to-face with Moze.

Your breath hitched. You hadn’t even heard him move. His hand gripped your wrist before you could step back, his purple eyes boring into yours.

“You shouldn’t be here” he murmured, voice devoid of emotion.

“I—” You swallowed. “Moze, what was that? What are you planning?”

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from escaping. “You were listening.”

“Of course I was! You were talking about handling something alone. If this is about me—”

“It is.”

The blunt confirmation sent a jolt through your chest.

“Moze—”

“I told you before.” He leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming. “They won’t stop coming for you. I’m just making sure they never get the chance.”

His voice was eerily calm, but his eyes burned with an unsettling resolve.

You shook your head, trying to steady your breathing. “That’s not— You can’t just kill people, Moze. There are other ways-”

He sighed, tilting his head as if you were missing the obvious. “There’s not.”

“You don’t get to decide that!” you snapped, trying to pull your wrist free. His grip didn’t budge.

“I do” he said simply. “Because you’re mine to protect.”

“You’re lying.” Your voice was firm, but deep down, you weren’t sure.

Moze stared at you, unblinking. “Am I?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay steady. “Those men—your ‘enemies’—they were your allies, weren’t they?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His silence was louder than any confirmation.

“I heard everything, Moze.” You took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. “They weren’t trying to hurt me. They were questioning you. You’ve been acting on your own—”

Still, nothing. But his eyes darkened ever so slightly.

Your breath came out uneven. “Why?”

A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face before he finally spoke.

“Because you don’t belong to them. To anyone. But me”

“You were never part of their plans” Moze continued, voice smooth, composed. “I was the one planning it all along. They don't see your value. That's why...”

“You—planned this?” Your voice faltered, but you forced the words out.

Moze exhaled, almost like he was relieved you had finally caught up. “Yes.”

The admission knocked the breath from your lungs.

The way he always knew things before you did. His unnatural protectiveness, his unwillingness to let you go.

It wasn’t coincidence. It wasn’t instinct.

It was deliberate.

From the very moment he entered your life, Moze had decided what your future would be.

“You weren’t supposed to find out this soon” he murmured. “I was going to give you more time to adjust. To accept it on your own.”

“Accept what?” Your voice shook with anger, confusion, fear.

Moze finally stepped closer, slow and careful, as if soothing an animal ready to bolt.

“That you’re mine.”

His hand lifted, fingers grazing your wrist—light, like a whisper of smoke.

“You think you still have a choice?” His tone wasn’t mocking. It was genuine. “I erased that the moment I decided to keep you.”

Before you could react, the floor beneath you rippled with darkness. A thick, swirling mass of smoke coiled around your ankles, rising like grasping hands. The air grew heavy, suffocating, laced with an energy so foreign yet undeniably his.

“Moze—” You barely choked out his name before the shadows surged upward.

Your vision blurred as gravity slipped from your grasp. The world twisted, silent and consuming, like sinking into an abyss with no end.

You hit solid ground, stumbling as the weight of the teleportation pressed into your bones. The atmosphere was different. The usual city noises were gone. No distant voices, no hum of life beyond thick walls.

You whipped around, pulse racing, but Moze was already there.

The dim lighting cast shadows over his figure, making him look almost ethereal. He stood between you and the only visible exit, his posture relaxed, unreadable. Yet the way his eyes fixated on you sent a clear message.

Your voice came out hoarse. “Where are we?”

Moze tilted his head slightly. “Somewhere safe.”

Safe.

For who?

Your breath came out shaky, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “You can’t just.... take me like this!”

Moze let out a quiet sigh, almost like he had expected this reaction. “I told you. You have no choice but to stay. With me”

His gaze, sharp and unwavering, pinned you in place.

Your hands curled into fists. “You can’t keep me here forever.”

Moze took a step closer, shadows curling at his feet in response. “You’d be surprised what I can do.”

[divaofmads]

A Love Meant to Burn

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Chapter I: The Hour Behind the Bullet | Chapter II

Summary: Y/N, whose father was executed by Joel Miller, sets out for revenge—only to find herself falling for the man she swore to destroy. Every answer is shadowed by deeper secrets as love and hatred intertwine. This is a passionate reckoning that asks: is salvation found in forgiveness… or in the kill?

Word Count: 5k>

Warnings!: Angst, Violence, death, and execution scenes, Themes of trauma and grief, Gunfights and post-apocalyptic survival elements, Moral dilemmas, revenge, and justice themes, Mature romantic/emotional content, English is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. I write purely as a hobby, not as a professional

A/N: This chapter marks the beginning of a story where Joel Miller has not yet appeared, but his shadow lingers in every line. His name is a whisper—etched into the back of a watch, a secret that stretches from the darkness of the past into the vengeance of the present. It doesn't just delay the encounter with Joel—it builds it into an unforgettable, strikingly dramatic moment. The reader knows the meeting is coming… but never when, how, or in whose hands it will unfold.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

As the moon vanished with the first light of morning, the mist still lingered on the mountainside. The air was dry, but the sharp chill remained; the earth had not yet shed its nightly frost.

With a bow on your back, a knife on your belt, and mud clinging to the soles of your boots, you walked silently. “Two hours, maybe three,” you said in a low voice. “But it hasn’t gone far.”

Footsteps behind you were followed by muffled laughter.

“My God, Y/N, did you just tell time from tracks?” Nico bent down to examine the ground with you. The sleeve of his jacket was torn, but his smile was intact. “Hunting with you always wrecks my self-esteem.”

“I’m just doing my job,” you said, without turning your eyes. “You’re the one who brings the noise, the jokes, the troublesome sounds…”

Nico placed a hand over his heart. “Was that a thank-you I just heard?”

“You’re welcome to imagine it that way.”

You stood up. Bow on your back, knife on your right hip. You wore a waterproof cover sewn from the sleeve of your father’s old jacket. He had been of the hunter breed, and you were determined to carry that legacy.

The tracks led you to an old gravel bed by the river. Small footprints stuck in the mud.

Not a rabbit. A fox.

“Eyes open, Nico,” you said. “This isn’t just a fox. There are feathers on the ground. This animal was attacked before. We’re in a predator’s territory.”

Nico drew his knife. “You mean a Clicker?”

“No. I know those tracks. This is different. Maybe a lynx. Maybe a hungry wolf. Be careful.”

You crouched, focusing on the scent. There was a faint smell of blood, mixed with damp earth. Your hand went to the head of your arrow. You were tense, but exhilarated. The dance within the hunt always fascinated you.

About an hour later, you reached a forest clearing. The trees thinned out, and the sky began to show itself.

At the edge of the forest, in the shadow of a tree, you spotted a grazing deer.

“A pair,” you whispered. “Female and male.”

Nico squinted. “Which one do we take?”

“The female. Slower. Her meat will be more tender. And the male won’t charge if we don’t threaten him. We need to stay unnoticed.”

You readied your arrow. Placed your left knee on the ground. Pressed your elbow firmly against it. Raised the bow with your left hand, and drew the string to ear-level with your right.

You held your breath.

Thwip...

The arrow pierced the deer just beneath the neck. The animal staggered, then collapsed. Nico’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every time… you blow my mind.”

You smiled and stood up. “Well… you’re allowed to be a little impressed.”

“Being impressed by you might be dangerous.”

You set up camp by the riverside that night. As the meat cooked over the fire, Nico watched you.

“I just don’t get it… how this world still manages to make you happy.”

You shrugged slowly. “Because there’s still a sky. I still have a friend I can smile at. I can still breathe. It’s that simple.”

Nico sighed. “Finding someone like you in this world feels like a miracle.”

You smiled, but your eyes drifted to the horizon.

In your gaze, there was a shadow your subconscious refused to name.

But tonight, there was no past.

Only firelight, laughter, and the warmth of survival.

The deer was tied securely with two strong ropes. Hung by its hind legs, it dangled slightly off the side of Nico’s horse. Its hide was still intact; the surface lightly salted to stop bleeding and keep flies away. That had been your suggestion. Salt not only preserved but also kept the meat from spoiling during travel.

“If we don’t make it to Redhill in three hours,” you said, tightening your horse’s reins, “this meat’s going to turn sour. I’d rather not have my father scolding me over dinner.”

Nico grumbled as he balanced the load on his own horse.

“Not just scolding… Don’t be surprised if he sends us to fix fences. Last time we were only ten minutes late.”

“And we hauled hay for three days,” you said, smiling with embarrassment. “My spine is still plotting revenge.”

As you crossed a narrow rocky path, stones crunched beneath the horses’ hooves. The sun was slowly pulling back behind the mountains, casting long shadows. The road to Redhill used to be a hiking trail. Now it was a lifeline—overgrown with weeds and scattered with forgotten footprints.

“Your father…” Nico said quietly, “has he ever offered you leadership? I mean… has he ever thought you’d take his place one day?”

You tugged the reins gently, slowing your horse. “My place is with the bow, the tracks. His is with people—untangling knots in their minds. My father keeps Redhill standing because he knows when to be soft and when to be firm. I haven’t learned that balance yet.”

Nico nodded, his gaze wandering to the horizon. “But you… when I watch you, I see exactly what a leader should be.”

You paused. His words echoed through the quiet forest like a bell. Then you offered him that familiar smile. “Because of what you just said, I might make you carry rocks until morning.”

Nico laughed and lowered his head. “There’s no punishment worse than you.”

“Oh, believe me, there is,” you said, narrowing your eyes and turning back to the riverside trail. “But right now, I’m bored. Too much silence.”

You took a deep breath. Your voice was soft at first, then carried over the wind. From the depths of a fallen world, you began to hum a song from long ago:

“What have I become, my sweetest friend?

Everyone I know goes away in the end.”

Nico rolled his eyes but smiled. He knew how much you loved to sing that song. He joined you.

As the horses moved on, even the birds seemed to sing along. Until Redhill appeared on the horizon, your laughter raced the wind. Just another evening. A quiet, simple, ordinary journey home.

But none of you knew.

None of you.

This would be the last peaceful journey you ever shared.

The path through the canyon leading into Redhill was familiar; the sound of hooves on dirt, the intermittent calls of birds, and the scent of earth carried by the drifting breeze... Everything was as it should be. Maybe that’s why it took you so long to realize something was wrong.

The deer was the prize of a two-day hunt. These kinds of tasks had become routine over the years. In a self-sustaining community like Redhill, surviving the hunt was only half the job—preserving the kill was just as vital.

You were in the lead, Nico behind you. The young man had talked endlessly like an impatient child; about his new bow, how he’d outshot you, how the second deer was still out there somewhere… But something was bothering you. Whenever you approached the Redhill valley, you could always catch the scent of fresh smoke drifting from between the hills. Burnt wood, simmering stew, a lit pipe... That smell wasn’t there this time. Only damp earth and silence.

“Y/N?” Nico asked, his voice laced with uncertainty. “Is it just me, or... are the sentries gone?”

When you fell silent, the silence itself felt like a scream.

The wooden archway at Redhill’s entrance stood ahead—its painted emblem half-burned. The watchtower beside the gate was empty. No laughter or whistles from above like usual. No children, no women, no crates of tomatoes... It was as if everything had vanished all at once.

“Maybe it’s harvest time. Everyone’s in the back gardens?” Nico said, hopelessly.

You didn’t answer. You dismounted in a swift motion; the stones beneath your boots weren’t dry—they were laced with ash. As your eyes scanned the valley, more came into focus. Broken fences, an overturned wheelbarrow… and then… blood.

Without another thought, you started walking. Nico followed, but your steps had slowed, grown cautious. Your hand instinctively went to your knife. You searched for a threat—but the threat was gone. Only the aftermath remained.

It didn’t take long to find the first body. It hadn’t been covered. The face was charred. A knife stuck out from the back. You didn’t recognize them, but the handmade Redhill clothing was familiar—crocheted edging, handwoven fabric.

The second... the third...

Your legs carried you on their own now. They trembled, but you kept walking. And then, in the center of the courtyard, in front of a still-burning tent, two figures appeared. Reuben and Caleb. Reuben’s arm was in a sling, his face smeared with blood and ash. Caleb had his rifle leaned against a wall, his head buried in his hands. When they saw you, their eyes widened.

“Y/N…” Caleb said as he stood. “Goddamn it…”

“What happened?” you asked. Just two words. But the crack in your voice carried a weight nothing else could.

Reuben tried to speak, cleared his throat. “Attack... The Vultures...” he said. “Marcus Flint was leading it himself.”

The words hung in the air. You didn’t hear them. Only saw the movement of his lips. Redhill had been attacked.

Your eyes scanned everything. Trampled fields. Shattered fences. Broken doors of shelters. It looked like an army had passed through. But Redhill wasn’t a battlefield. It was your home.

“My father?” you asked. Your voice sounded like it came from someone far away.

Reuben lowered his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered.

Your knees nearly buckled. But you didn’t fall. Something inside you—a cold, sharp feeling—held you upright. In this world, falling was a luxury. And you no longer had that luxury.

“Take me to him,” you said. Your voice came out steady and cool. It didn’t shake. But something inside had snapped, like a wire pulled too tight.

Caleb stepped forward quickly. “No, Y/N… No. That’s not something you want to see,” he said gently, panic flickering behind his calm tone. “Remember him the way he was. As a leader… as your father. Don’t see him like this.”

You looked at him. Your eyes were cold, but a storm raged behind them. “Get out of my way, Caleb.”

“Y/N, please. His body… it’s unrecognizable. You don’t want to remember him like that.”

Reuben stood a step back, waiting for your decision. Unlike Caleb, he knew you. You weren’t weak. You never were.

You stepped forward, locking eyes with Caleb. “I’m his daughter,” you said, your voice like lead. “And if Redhill’s legacy is mine now\... then I will see the truth with my own eyes. Now move.”

Caleb looked away, his jaw clenched. Then he stepped aside. Over his shoulder, he looked at Reuben.

Reuben nodded slowly. “Come with me,” he said. “Be ready.”

Ready? What did that even mean now? Wasn’t surviving without being ready the very essence of this world?

Reuben led you to a cold shelter behind the stone storage buildings. The door hadn’t been this heavy even when the place was used to store medicine. Inside, it was dim. And there he was.

Your father.

Lying there, half-covered by a dark blanket. His hair was dusted with ash. His beard matted with dried blood. His eyes were closed. One side of his face was unrecognizable—bruises, shattered bones... But the other side... still him.

Your knees gave out, but you didn’t collapse. You knelt beside him. Your fingers trembled as you pulled the blanket back a little more. A massive lump formed in your throat—one you couldn’t swallow.

Your hand reached out and took his. Still warm. Thick, callused hands… The ones that first taught you how to handle a bow. That pointed out spring herbs, that rested on your shoulder when you made small triumphs… the hands of a leader.

“Dad…” you whispered. Just once. Knowing it was the last time you ever would.

Tears fell from your eyes, but there were no sobs. Your tears were silent. You were strong, but not ice. That day, the child in you died. And something else took her place: the beginning of a leader, shattered but standing tall.

After a while, you stood up. Your heart in pieces, but your shoulders squared. You turned to Reuben.

“Where are the rest of the dead?” you asked.

“We managed to gather a few,” he said. “But more might be under the rubble…”

“We’ll find them. Every last one,” you said. “Tomorrow. At dawn. We’ll hold a ceremony—for them… and for my father.”

Reuben bowed his head. Caleb looked at you from behind, his eyes still wet.

“Y/N…” he said in a hushed voice. “You… you’re now…”

You turned to him. Met his gaze.

“No,” you said. “I’m not ‘now.’ I’m still his daughter. And I’ll remind the world what Redhill means.”

When you stepped outside, the sun was beginning to set. Long shadows stretched across the valley. Ash and silence. But you walked. With each step, you became someone else.

The funeral… wouldn’t just be for the dead. An era was ending, and something else was beginning.

At dawn, as the sun lit the ridges of the valley, Redhill was wrapped in silence. The sun was rising, but yesterday’s cold still clung to the air. A coldness that came from deep inside.

You walked toward the main square, repurposed from the old quarantine center, every step echoing beneath your boots. The mud beneath your soles clung with a mixture of blood and ash. But your stride never faltered.

You wore a dark brown leather jacket—your father’s. Its inner lining still stained with blood. The scent of it had nearly broken you as you put it on. But you’d endured. Because you were no longer a daughter. You were a leader.

The people had begun to gather in the square. Women, children, elders… The wounded and the quiet fighters. Some carried arms in slings, others leaned on sticks. The same expression on every face: a fog of grief and fear.

The dead were laid side by side on a carefully prepared platform in the center of the square. Your father’s body was at the center. A single torch burned above his head. Nothing else. No flowers, no ornaments. This world was now made of simplicity.

When you stepped forward, there was a moment of silence before you spoke. The wind wrapped smoke around you as all eyes turned your way.

You took a deep breath. You could hear your own heartbeat. Then you spoke. “They were our companions. Our neighbors. Our brothers and sisters.”

Your voice didn’t crack. Your eyes didn’t water. Every syllable struck like a hammer. “When my father founded this community, he said survival wasn’t about fighting—it was about being together. He brought order to this land. He brought safety. We’ve protected the life we built here for years. But now\... they’ve taken it from us.”

You lifted your head. The eyes of your people met yours. In them, a spark began to burn.

“The Vultures didn’t just go after one man—they targeted a whole people. They stole bread from a child’s hands. Gunned down the sick and the old. These are not enemies. They’re filth. And we... we will not stay silent.”

Your words echoed off the stone of the square. A child cried somewhere in the distance. A woman bowed her head in silence. But most of them—most of them now held something else in their eyes: fury. A fury ready to act.

“Their leader, Marcus Flint—he tried to quench an old grudge with fire. He thought burning us would end it. But Redhill rises from ashes. And now I, as my father’s daughter, will carry on the fight he left behind. We will not only mourn our dead. We will not forget them. We will speak their names alongside justice.”

The crowd fell silent. Then Reuben stepped forward, dropping to one knee and bowing his head.

“Daughter of Y/F/N... Y/N. I know you. I see your father’s fire in your eyes. I stand with you. Just as I walked with him, I’ll walk with you.”

Caleb, on the other hand, took a hesitant step back. His eyes scanned the area, filled with worry, yet also the fear of being left behind.

“Y/N... this path... it could cost us even more. The Vultures aren’t an easy target,” he said.

You turned to him. Your shoulders straight, your gaze unwavering. “What more can we lose, Caleb? I lost my father. My people are dead. Our land is scorched. All we have left is our honor. Should we give that up too?”

Caleb fell silent. He lowered his head. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Alright... damn it. I’m with you. But we’re going to make a good plan. No rushing in blind. With our minds. Just like your father would’ve done.”

Reuben stepped forward. “First, we track The Vultures’ movements. Pinpoint their locations. We don’t strike… we dismantle. We isolate their leader. Then, you’ll be the one to end Marcus Flint.”

You narrowed your eyes and looked out toward the horizon. It was like a map formed in your vision. The dark towers of The Vultures… their arrogant laughter… your father’s final breath… That feeling inside you had evolved beyond vengeance. This was the first step toward justice. And Redhill would rise again—with you.

As evening fell, the mist leaning against the hills of Redhill slowly began to swallow the rest of the camp. Torches flickered like trembling flames, casting long shadows between the cabins. Most of the community had withdrawn into silence after the funeral, mourning their losses in solitude. Many were still under the spell of your morning speech. But you carried the weight of those words now.

The small wooden cabin you were in had once been your father's "map room." His old papers still lay on the desk; dried ink stains and yellowed notes remained. An old plan of Redhill, tucked into the corner of a map, was still in place. Your fingers traced the borders he once drew. Fragmented memories spun in your mind like clipped reels of film.

The door creaked open. Reuben entered. The old jacket on his shoulders had faded to the color of dust over time. His hands were covered in mud, sweat lined his brow. His face was as hard as ever, but tonight his eyes were soft. The loyalty he had once shown your father had shifted into a quiet respect for you.

He walked toward you and let out a heavy breath.

"People expect things from you now," he said. "Not just your name... but his resolve, his heart."

You turned your head to look at him.

"Do you think I have that in me?"

Reuben furrowed his brows. He paused, then nodded.

"Sometimes you're even more. But I can't ask you to be anyone else now. So... you need to know the truth."

You sat up straighter, perched on the edge of the desk. Your hands rested on your knees. You waited.

"You keep asking why the attack happened..." Reuben began.

"Marcus Flint, the leader of the Vultures, claimed our community was hiding a criminal. He said the man was a FEDRA agent. That he escaped and found refuge here."

You frowned.

"I never saw anyone like that. No one's sought shelter here recently. And if he was FEDRA, why pick Redhill? Would he really risk that much for a group hundreds of miles away?"

Reuben nodded.

"I know. I thought it was nonsense too. But he needed an excuse. There was bad blood between him and your father—goes back years. In the early days of the outbreak, they worked together for a time. But they clashed over a trade deal—meds and food. Your father stopped Flint from selling out his own people."

Your eyes fixed on a point in the room. Something stirred in your veins—heavy like poison. Flint’s name was no longer just a threat—it had become a personal wound.

"So this attack... it was old revenge," you said.

"Yes," Reuben confirmed. "It was his way of settling the score."

You both fell silent. The only sound in the room was the wind whistling outside. Cold air crept through the cracks in the ceiling, brushing your shoulders.

Reuben turned to leave, but paused at the door. He looked back at you over his shoulder. There was hesitation in his eyes. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his coat.

"I’ve got one more thing," he said quietly.

"It was by your father's body. I don't recognize it, but... maybe you will."

He stepped closer and opened his hand. Inside it was a wristwatch. Its metal band was scratched, its glass cracked—but it still resisted time. You took it. It was cold. Its weight seemed to come not just from metal, but from the burden of the past.

You turned it over.

An engraving: J.M.

You didn’t move for several seconds. Time itself seemed to stop. Your fingers traced the letters. The mark of a stranger... yet the only clue found beside your father’s blood.

"I don’t know what it means," said Reuben.

"But I felt you should have it."

Your eyes remained locked on the watch. Narrowed. You repeated the letters in your mind again and again.

J.M.

That watch was a whisper of fate. Maybe a name. Maybe the gateway to hell. But now, you had a target.

And you would find him.

Two months later...

The sky that morning was a pale, ashen gray. The earth still bore the marks of blood and gunpowder. But Redhill was breathing. Wounded—but not dead.

Y/N stood at the top of the wooden watchtower, overlooking the valley. Beyond the thorny bushes, broken fences, and ruined cabins, there was an effort to be reborn.

Caleb, working on wires pulled from a broken radio transmitter, spoke without looking up.

"If we can reroute communications to the northern outpost, maybe we’ll learn where Cascade’s storing the old meds. That’d be good leverage for trade."

"Set up the line, but be cautious. Not everyone out there trades," you said. Your voice was firm, but warm. Leadership sometimes weighed heavy on you, but you didn’t show it.

Reuben entered, making marks on a map as he walked.

"Y/N, the boy from the north is back," he said. "The scout you sent."

"Rory? Send him in."

The door opened and Rory entered—sun-scorched, tired-backed, but sharp-eyed. Young, but seasoned in the field.

"Ma'am," he said, nodding.

"What did you find out about the Vultures?"

"Strange things. Their headquarters doesn’t seem as stable anymore. We used to hear constant chatter over the radios. Now… almost silence. A lot of Flint’s people have left. There’s even a rumor—he clashed with his own men."

You listened to Rory’s words in silence. Then leaned forward, fingers pressing the table.

"We need confirmed intel, Rory. If Flint’s alive, he’s still a threat."

Reuben added,

"And if he’s weakening, that’s our window."

Caleb, more cautious, frowned.

"But what if it’s a trap? What if they want to lure us out?"

You raised your head, eyes hardened.

"If they killed my father to provoke me or this people, then they already chose war."

A few days later, under your leadership, a secret meeting was held. Maps, radio data, Rory’s hand-drawn sketches of their base were spread out before you. Where Marcus Flint was last seen, which lookout towers were still active, which water routes had been cut—everything was being charted.

You pressed your finger against a point on the map.

"We’ve pushed them this far. Now they’re on the brink of collapse. We need to wait for the right moment… but if we wait too long, they’ll regain their strength."

Caleb nodded.

"When do you plan the attack?"

"Two weeks from now. I’ll send Rory out again. If Marcus is at the compound and we can strike a deal with someone on the inside, we’ll open a door from within. If not, we’ll infiltrate from the north."

Reuben smiled.

"That’s how your father used to do it. He’d read the enemy first, then end the fight with a single bullet."

You dipped your head slightly. Inside, you carried both the burden and the strength of walking in your father’s footsteps. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore.

It was about Redhill’s future.

***

The wind whipped violently at the flag hanging on the border of Redhill, nearly tearing the fabric apart. The sky was covered in that hazy orange that comes just before darkness falls, as if even the sunset sensed the coming reckoning. In the center square of the community, there was a flurry of preparation. Weapons were being oiled, knives sharpened, bags packed. Every movement was silent but purposeful, because everyone knew: this wasn’t a mission—it was a journey of vengeance.

You had just returned from the old medical center. The first aid kit on your shoulder was filled with collected pain-relieving herbs, antiseptics, and bandages. Reuben and Caleb were waiting for you at the large map table.

"The first team will enter from the west at oh-three-hundred," Caleb said, pressing his finger on a red-marked spot on the map. "The second team will sneak in through the old warehouse door on the north wall. Rory said it’s still unguarded."

Reuben nodded. "There’s also someone inside they've made contact with. Someone Rory’s been in touch with... Might buy us a few minutes."

You placed your hands on your hips, looked at the map for a moment, then raised your eyes and met theirs one by one.

"Remember, Marcus Flint will die. But this isn’t just about him. We’re doing this for Redhill. For my father. For our people."

Reuben bowed his head, eyes shimmering with a sorrow almost proud.

"Your father built Redhill from nothing at your age. Now you’re rebuilding it."

When night fell, Redhill sank into silence. A team of twenty—the best warriors and trackers you had chosen yourselves—mounted their horses and rode eastward in silence. Aside from the soft clatter of hooves on earth, no sound broke the stillness. The moon split the sky like a blade, painting your path in silver.

You remained silent during the ride. Sitting tall on your horse, your hand rested on the shortbow at your side. Countless memories clashed in your mind: your father's voice, Caleb’s doubts, Reuben’s support, Rory’s intel… and the wristwatch. The one that started it all, engraved with those cursed letters: J.M.

After five hours of silent travel, you made camp near an old watermill. Rory had already gone ahead to make his final contact with the insider. The rest of the team knelt, checking their gear one last time. You scanned the entire group carefully.

At first light, you reached The Vultures' camp.

From the outside, it looked abandoned. The cabins were in disrepair, most of the watchtowers broken down. Rory had been right—Marcus Flint had lost most of his forces. Something had collapsed from within. But that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

The plan worked perfectly. The north warehouse door was still unlocked. While Caleb and three others slipped in from the north, you and Reuben entered from the west.

Behind the cabins, the space was littered with scattered rubble, rotting crates, and toppled barrels. It was as if time had forgotten this part of The Vultures' camp. But you hadn't. You lowered your footsteps as you moved forward, stepping into the narrow path leading to the backyard. Your shortbow, slung over your shoulder, was ready at your fingertips. Reuben was on your left, and young but fearless Nico on your right. Each of your breaths was silent but sharp. This wasn’t a walk—it was the beginning of the end.

The first guard was on the roof of the cabin to the left. As he turned his head to scan the surroundings, you suddenly drew your bow. Your fingers, guided by muscle memory, pulled the string to your ear. You held your breath. One second. Two. Three.

Shhhft.

The arrow hissed through the air like a snake and sank into the guard’s neck. He fell backward without a sound. The thud of his body hitting the roof jolted the camp like a disturbed ant nest.

"They saw us!" Nico whispered, but you were already in motion.

Two men burst from the cabin to your left. They held modified rifles, barrels rusted but deadly. As they fired the first shots, Reuben pulled you down by the shoulder. Bullets whizzed past just above you, followed by his return fire.

"Down!" Reuben shouted, bracing his rifle on the rooftop edge and taking aim.

The first man was thrown back with a bullet to the forehead. You handled the second one. You dropped to a position parallel to the ground, released your hand from the shortbow, and pulled the silenced pistol from your belt. Aim, breathe, trigger.

Tak!

The man hit in the shoulder staggered for a moment, then collapsed to the ground with a scream. His weapon fell from his hand. When you reached him, your eyes met. He was about to say something, but you stayed silent. Instead, you pressed the silencer to his head and finished the job with a second shot. This wasn't mercy—it was resolve.

“Nico!” you shouted. “On the right! Two just came out from the entrance!”

Nico was young but agile. He’d learned archery from you. He turned to the target, drew his arrow, and released it. The first man was hit in the shoulder, the second in the chest. They collapsed in front of the barrack.

“The camp's almost empty!” Nico called out, breathless. “These are just Marcus’s leftovers!”

“So they still don't take us seriously,” you said, your eyes locked on the large building at the center of the camp. “That’ll be their last mistake.”

As you passed between the shacks, three more men appeared. One had a shotgun, the others charged with knives. The first bullet came from Reuben’s gun, bringing the shotgun-wielder down. You slung your bow onto your back, gripped the knife from your belt in a reverse hold, and rushed in.

The first attacker swung at you before reaching, but his move was clumsy and fueled by rage. You ducked and drove your knee into his thigh. As he stumbled, you buried the blade into his abdomen. When you pulled it out and turned, the second attacker’s punch grazed your face. You rolled backward, bounced up from the dirt, and struck back quickly. You pinned him to the ground with your knee on his chest and pressed the blade to his throat.

Nico was wrestling with the last man. He was tall, trying to overpower Nico. In a blink, you intervened, stabbing the man’s knee. He fell with a scream, and Nico struck his head with a rock.

Silence. Only distant gunshots from the rooftops. And slowly, even that faded.

Reuben rubbed his shoulder, looking at you. “You’re not your father’s daughter. You’re the war itself.”

Your face was cloaked in shadow. The dirt and blood on you had become a warrior’s blessing. But your eyes... they still mourned your father. Even in the heart of revenge, they searched for ways to remain human.

There were almost no obstacles left between you and Marcus Flint.

The office building was one of the strongest structures in the Vultures' camp. Built years ago, its concrete foundation still held, but the walls were moss-covered and the windows shattered. The front door was ajar. One hinge had fallen to the ground, the other creaked with the wind. This was the place where Marcus Flint made decisions, where lives were determined. But now it felt more like a tomb, devoid of his footsteps.

Your gun was in your hand. The cold metal clung to your palm, heavy with sweat, rage, and the weight of a long journey. Reuben and Caleb had stayed outside. This confrontation was yours alone. It was your father’s blood that had been spilled. You needed answers.

Your footsteps echoed on the wooden floor. Then a voice came from inside the office. “Close the door,” it said calmly. “The wind’s messing with my thoughts.”

You stepped in. Gun raised with both hands, you locked onto your target. “Marcus Flint!” you said. Your voice cracked, but your resolve did not falter.

The man behind the desk looked up. His hair, a reddish shade of brown, was streaked with gray. His face was stern, the corners of his eyes lined with fatigue. He sat proudly, but his spirit had aged more than his body.

“Marcus is gone,” he said. “I’m Cutter. The last remaining owner of this structure.”

Your finger trembled on the trigger. “Don’t lie to me. Marcus is here. I came all this way for him. Where is he?!”

Cutter smiled faintly. He leaned back, nudged some empty casings on the table with his fingers. “Marcus is dead,” he said. “Last month. Drowned in his own filth. Took his pride with him.”

Your throat tightened. It wasn't supposed to end like this. You wanted to look into his eyes, steal his breath, then pull the trigger. But now someone else sat before you. And in his eyes, there was not death—but truth.

“How?” you asked. Your voice dropped slightly, but the determination remained. “Who killed him?”

Cutter shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. In the end, he became a victim of what he created. False alliances, shattered decisions... This place wasn’t a camp anymore—it was a swamp. Your attack was just the final blow.”

You took that object from your backpack. The watch. Rusted, the glass scratched. You didn’t strap it on your wrist, you placed it in your palm. Showed it to Cutter. “This,” you said, “was found beside my father’s body. There’s something carved on the back.”

Cutter recognized it without looking. His eyes widened slightly, but were quickly replaced by quiet acceptance.

“Joel,” he said. “Joel Miller. I recognized the watch. Never met a man so obsessed with time. If he dropped it... he must’ve thought he made a mistake.”

The blood drained from your face. You hadn’t heard that name before. “Who is he? Why was the watch with my father? Did he...”

Cutter lowered his head, silent for a moment. Then he stood from his chair and looked out the window. At what remained of the camp.

“Joel Miller was a mercenary. But not your average killer. Quiet, precise, did everything his way. Marcus hired him to kill your father. Joel did the job. But... he disappeared right after payment. As if... the weight of what he did broke him.”

You swallowed. “So... he’s the one who killed my father?”

“Yes,” said Cutter.

The words hung in the air for a while. The watch in your hand was no longer just an item. It was the key to a door leading into the past.

"Joel Miller..." you murmured to yourself. The name left a sharp taste on your tongue; metallic, rusty, like blood.

Cutter was still by the window. His shoulders were slumped. His voice held no triumph, only exhaustion. “Look. Flint is dead. He was your father’s enemy. He had him killed. Now he’s buried too. The score is settled.”

He slightly turned his head, eyes locked on yours. “I don’t want to hurt you. I know there’s no redemption for what we did here. But… you’re different. You think like a leader. For Redhill’s future…”

“Stop,” you said, low but sharp. “Did you see that day?”

Cutter didn’t answer.

“Did you hide? Did you run? Or did you watch my father get shot?”

Cutter’s lips twitched. “I want to protect you,” he said. “Like everyone who died here, I fell apart too. I just wanted you to know that.”

You stepped forward. The grip of your gun fit so well in your hand, it felt fused with your bones. The watch was still in your pocket. It weighed you down—but not as much as the burden you carried inside. Like a curse flapping its wings in your chest.

“I will find Joel Miller,” you said. Your eyes no longer trembled. “And I’ll find out what happened that day. Turns out it wasn’t just Flint. The man who executed my father had a name. A voice. A breath. And now, that breath belongs to me.”

Cutter nodded slowly. “If you’re going to find Joel…” he said quietly, “pray he doesn’t recognize you… or that he does.”

You paused. There was a threat in those words, in Cutter’s voice—a lingering fear that made your skin crawl. This wasn’t just a warning. Joel Miller was the kind of man whose name burned itself into memory, who made lips dry when whispered in the dark.

“Who was he?” you asked. “Who was the man who killed my father?”

Cutter clenched his jaw. “He spoke with darkness. Sometimes he didn’t even know who or why he killed. You make a deal with him, he gets it done. But he always leaves a trail of blood behind. Flint made a deal. But Joel was never anyone’s dog. Maybe he killed Flint too. Maybe his conscience caught up. But… that conscience buried a lot of people.”

Cutter stepped back. At the end of his words, it was like a weight had fallen from his shoulders. He was waiting. For mercy. Forgiveness. Maybe just to be spared.

But you only looked at him for a moment.

“That man executed my father,” you said. “Neither Flint’s rotten orders nor your aged guilt can change that. My father built Redhill with hardship. But I was the one who buried him.”

And you pulled the trigger.

Cutter’s head slumped to the side. His eyes stayed open in surprise, as if even in the end, he couldn’t believe it was your hand that sent him off. When his body hit the floor, silence swallowed the room. No triumph, no grief… only that sharp clarity creaking in your bones: Nothing could stop you now.

You closed your eyes for a moment. Took a deep breath. The watch… was still in your pocket.

Your footsteps echoed as you left the office. Your eyes weren’t on the darkness—they were fixed on the horizon of vengeance.

Now you had a target. Joel Miller.

And you… would not speak to him. You would not forgive him.

Outside, Reuben and Nico were waiting. Their eyes immediately fell on your gun, on your blank expression.

Nico stepped closer. His brows were furrowed, but there was a trace of relief in his eyes. “Is it over?” he asked. “Marcus… is he dead?”

You didn’t answer.

Reuben exhaled deeply. “Y/N… What happened in there?”

Instead of replying, you reached into your pocket and pulled out the watch. Slowly, carefully. Your fingers brushed the metal for a moment. Then you handed it to Reuben.

“Joel Miller,” you said. “That’s the name of the man who actually killed my father. Marcus died during the riot here.”

Reuben’s face turned pale. His hand trembled as it hovered around the watch. “That name…” he said. “It sounds familiar. But…”

Nico stared at you in disbelief. “What are you saying? Flint gave the order, didn’t he? That bastard paid the price. Fate punished him for you. And you…”

You cut him off. “There’s no such thing as fate,” you said. Your gaze was fixed, like a dusty desert horizon. “Only choices. And I’ve made mine. This isn’t over.”

Nico couldn’t make sense of the silence that surrounded you. There was a mixed sense of victory on his face, but your expression was far beyond triumph. Reuben, however, understood everything. He slowly took the watch in his hand, felt its weight, then handed it back to you.

“This isn’t just his watch anymore, is it?” he said. “For you… it’s the key to a new war.”

You nodded. “I found it next to my father’s body. Cutter said Joel was the one who executed him. Even if it was under Flint’s orders, he pulled the trigger. And that doesn’t mean it’s over. It means this is just the beginning.”

Reuben slightly bowed his head. “Y/N... Revenge can be poison. You carry a fire in your heart for years. I trust your leadership, but… you’re not going to turn this into a blood feud, are you?”

...

On the road, the horses’ hooves kicked up dust as you rode toward Redhill. The sky was still gray, but there was something else on the horizon this time. What had happened in Marcus Flint’s town was still fresh in everyone’s mind, but the images in your head were older: your father’s face, dried blood, the watch placed in your hand, and Cutter’s final words.

You were riding in front, eyes locked on the horizon, your lips pressed together. But those behind you read the silence differently.

Caleb was the first to speak. His strong voice cut through the dry air. “Y/N. You didn’t just avenge your father today. You carried the weight of all Redhill. You fought for all of us.”

You slowed your horse, glanced back slightly, but didn’t reply.

Rory rode his horse beside Caleb’s. The young man’s eyes were shining. “When the town burned. When Flint’s men tied the children to trees and dragged the mothers away—we couldn’t do anything. But today... today, something finally changed. People will hear about this. Redhill is no longer alone.”

Voices started to rise behind you. You weren’t the only ones who stormed that town. A few more fighters from Redhill had come, all watching you.

An older woman, Mellie, spoke in a whisper, but her voice was clear: “Your father stood up for us. Now you carry on where he left off. But your road is long. If you’ve taken this bitter decision on your shoulders, don’t leave it unfinished.”

Reuben looked at you from over his shoulder as you pulled gently on the reins. Your horse stopped. From the mountainside, the distant lights of Redhill came into view. You slowly turned around, your face glowing in the red of the setting sun. Your eyes turned to your people, your companions.

“When my father died,” you said, your voice rough as gravel but steady, “all I had left was a watch. A clue. I followed it. I chased it. I killed Cutter. But behind that watch was another name. Joel Miller. And that name opened the door to another story, soaked into the soil of these lands.”

Your lips parted again, your gaze returned to the horizon. “This isn’t my path anymore. It’s the path Redhill walks now. And you... you’re putting it on my shoulders. Like a stone, heavy and sharp. But if this is truly your war too... then I’ll walk it to the end.”

Those looking at you bowed their heads. Rory placed a hand over his heart. Mellie nodded, wiping her tears away.

Reuben slowly approached, took your reins. “You won’t walk alone, girl. You won’t kill alone. This will be Redhill’s final farewell. And we’ll be the witnesses to that farewell.”

As the sun disappeared behind the mountain, Redhill’s lights drew near.

But in your eyes, a darker, more distant light was burning now:

The memory of Joel Miller. And the final day when you would face him.

[cumironi]

THERE IS A WITCH IN THE WOODS

geto suguru. to a witch, there is nothing more appealing than a young man wandering around the wood alone at halloween night. and there is nothing more appealing than a witch, naive, stupid, witch.

warning. college! au, loser! geto, public place ( woods ), full-nēlson, slight breeding-kīnk, mention multiple rounds, cūnnilingus.

wc. | MASTERLIST

there is a witch in the woods. that's what people say every halloween-the legend that whispers through the autumn air, chilling the bones of anyone who dares to listen. the witch comes when the night is coldest, when the moon is veiled in mist, and the trees seem to reach out with their gnarled hands. she comes for the young men, those brave or foolish enough to wander too deep into the shadows.

they say she lurks in the darkness, eyes glowing like embers in the distance, waiting for the perfect moment. her breath, as cold as frost, clings to the air as she watches, unseen but always present. the rustle of leaves is her voice, the snap of twigs underfoot her silent steps. no one knows when she’ll appear, only that when she does, it’s too late.

you imagine the taste of their flesh before you even see them-rich with fear, warm with life. the blood, thick and sweet, spills over your lips as you sink your teeth into their soft, vulnerable skin. bones crunch under your fingers, marrow melting on your tongue as you devour every last piece, leaving nothing behind but echoes in the woods.

and then she fades back into the darkness, satisfied, the forest swallowing her whole, as if she was never there. until the next halloween, when she returns, hungry once more.

you saw the man, strikingly beautiful with long, jet-black hair that cascaded like a waterfall of shadows, as dark as the depths of the night you hide within. he seemed to be woven from the fabric of darkness itself, every strand shimmering like the ink of the midnight sky. above him, a raven circled lazily, its wings slicing through the air with an elegance that mirrored the man’s own grace.

his eyes, a captivating shade of deep purple, glowed with an otherworldly light, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. they held secrets, ancient and profound, and as he moved through the dimly lit forest, the very air around him seemed to shimmer, electrified by his presence. his body was sculpted like a god’s, muscular and alluring, every curve and line perfected by some unseen hand, exuding both strength and vulnerability.

as you lingered in the shadows, your heart raced with an insatiable hunger you had never known before, a thirst that clawed at your insides like a wild animal yearning to be free. this was no ordinary craving; it was a primal urge that surged through your veins, urging you to emerge from the darkness and claim him as your own.

you felt the pull of the moonlight, the way it danced upon his skin, illuminating him in a soft, ethereal glow that made him seem almost unreal. each step he took sent ripples of longing through you, and for a moment, time stood still. you were entranced, spellbound by his beauty, captivated by the way the shadows clung to him like a lover’s embrace.

your breath caught in your throat as you imagined the taste of his flesh, the warmth of his blood coursing through your veins. the ache within you intensified, sharper than any hunger you had ever felt, and the line between desire and desperation began to blur. he was a temptation wrapped in darkness, a siren call in the moonlit night, and you were helpless to resist.

in that moment, you knew you would do anything to possess him, to devour him whole, to taste the sweetness of his life as it flowed through you. the thought consumed you, twisting your mind with a beautiful, haunting allure. the witch in the woods had found her prey, and the night was still young.

stupid, naive, idiotic witch. that’s what geto suguru thought the moment he laid eyes on you. you stood amidst the twisted trees, cloaked in shadows, your beauty radiating like an enchanting spell in the darkness. the moonlight filtered through the branches, illuminating your delicate features, casting an ethereal glow that made you seem almost otherworldly. but he could see beyond that facade—beyond your charm and allure—into the depths of your foolishness.

you were a pretty thing, with hair that tumbled like a cascade of silver moonbeams, and eyes that sparkled like stars caught in a web of night. yet, despite your enchanting appearance, you carried an air of innocence that was maddeningly naive. suguru couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration at your reckless curiosity, the way you ventured so deep into the woods, unafraid of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. it was as if you invited doom with every step, a delicious irony that only added to your allure.

he stepped closer, the forest floor crunching softly beneath his feet, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. every instinct within him screamed to turn back, to escape the spell you cast, yet he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame. you twirled in the moonlight, laughter echoing through the trees, a sound both haunting and beautiful, sending shivers down his spine.

he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that you were playing a dangerous game. he would be the one devouring your soul and flesh, not the other way around. he would ensure it. as much as he admired your beauty, it fueled a dark hunger within him—a need to possess and consume.

as you danced under the moon, blissfully unaware of the predator watching you, suguru’s mind twisted with thoughts of how easily he could snuff out your light. the very idea made his heart race, a morbid thrill coursing through him. you were too innocent for this world, too naive to recognize the darkness that curled around you like a hungry serpent.

he would be the one to show you the truth, to awaken you to the shadows that danced just out of sight. he would weave your fate into his own, and when the moment came, he would relish the sweetness of your demise. your laughter would turn to gasps, and those sparkling eyes would widen in shock as he claimed what was rightfully his.

as he closed the distance between you, the forest whispered secrets of the night, and suguru smiled—a beautiful, chilling smile that promised a delightful darkness lurking just beneath the surface. the witch may have thought herself clever, but she had no idea of the fate that awaited her in the arms of the very predator she danced so carelessly around.

he chuckled softly against your lips, his tongue expertly moving against your own with a growing hunger. his large hand caressed your chin before gripping it firmly, tilting your head back. he broke the kiss with a sly smirk, his breath hot against your ear. god, he is beautiful.

“you taste even sweeter up close.”

his other hand moved down to your hip, pulling you closer to him, closing the remaining space between your bodies. the shadows of the night seemed to dance along with the heat of the moment, adding an air of intensity to the encounter.

he pressed his forehead against, his gaze locking onto yours, his eyes dark and intense. his smile is a sinister thing, a spell, a mantra, you name it.

“you’re too careless, witch.”

he continued, his voice a low rumble, his grip on your hip tightening ever so slightly. “there are far more dangerous creatures lurking in these woods than me.”

his words were both a warning and a taunt, a reminder of the delicate nature of your actions. he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, the heat of his breath sending a chill down your spine.

“but i’m the one you’ve chosen to dance with.” he pressed a soft kiss against your jawline, his lips trailing down your neck, nipping at your skin.

he smirked, relishing the effect his words had on you, his hand moving to your chin, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. his touch was tender yet possessive, an electric pulse that sent shivers racing down your spine. your heart raced as you stared into his deep, dark eyes, a mix of fear and exhilaration swirling within you.

“but you aren’t afraid of me, are you?” he whispered, his voice smooth like honey, each word dripping with a dark allure that wrapped around your senses.

you felt a rush of warmth spread through your cheeks, and for a moment, you could only blink at him, starstruck, caught in the magnetic pull of his presence. the world around you faded away, the night air thick with tension and something else—something dangerous and thrilling.

“n-no,” you finally managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper, a breathy denial that was laced with uncertainty. as the words left your lips, you could feel the weight of the truth behind them, the hint of thrill in your chest that pushed back against the caution in your mind. there was something captivating about him, something that made you feel alive in ways you couldn’t quite comprehend.

the soft moonlight danced upon his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the way his lips curled into a knowing smile. he seemed to revel in your answer, his eyes glinting with satisfaction, as if he had unraveled a secret you had tried to hide.

he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, consuming you whole. your heart hammered in your chest, caught between fear and the intoxicating thrill of being so close to someone who felt both dangerous and alluring.

you could almost hear the wicked laughter echoing in your mind, a warning that maybe you should be afraid—afraid of the way he looked at you, of the way he seemed to see straight through to your soul. yet, standing there in his presence, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything but an overwhelming fascination.

“hmm... that’s good.”

he murmured against your skin, his lips ghosting down your neck, his tongue tracing a path of heat along your throat. he could feel your heart thump against your chest, the quickening rhythm a delicious affirmation of the effect he had on you.

“you haven’t run. you’re either braver than i give you credit for, or you’re more foolish than i could’ve imagined. trusting me in the dead of night, what a stupid little witch.”

a slight smirk playing on his lips. his thumb slowly brushed along your lower lip, his touch both gentle and suggestive. his eyes held a hint of mischief, as if he was silently challenging you to keep pushing the boundaries. he studied your expression, the tension palpable in the air— eyes locking with yours. he caressed your chin with his thumb, his touch gentle yet possessive.

“but i wouldn’t want you to be fearful of me, witch, wouldn’t i?” he whispered. “after all, i’m the only one who can keep you safe in these woods.”

his words hung in the air, heavy with implication, as his fingers traced a slow path along your jawline. the touch sends shivers down your spine, a mix of trepidation and anticipation coiling within you.

you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside. “s-safe?” you echoed, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. it was a lie, and you both knew it. he wasn't here to protect you; he was the predator, and you were his prey.

yet, even as the rational part of your mind screamed warnings, another part of you yearned to believe him. to trust in the promise of safety offered by this enigmatic figure, despite everything screaming otherwise. it was a dangerous game, one that blurred the lines between hunter and hunted, victim and savior.

a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating against your body as he pulled you closer. his other hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze.

“yes, safe,” he repeated, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “i won’t let anyone harm you while you're under my protection. isn’t that what you want, little witch?”

his words were a challenge, a test of your resolve. he knew the danger he posed, the threat he represented, and yet he stood before you now, offering a twisted form of security. it was a perverse irony, one that spoke to the darkness lurking within him.

as he gazed into your eyes, you could see the hunger there, the primal desire that burned hot and bright. “safe from the darkness that lurks in these woods, from the monsters that prowl under the cover of night.” his other hand came up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer once more as if he is hungry from possessed you, hunger to feel your skin in his, all bare and glisten. “from the fears that haunt your dreams and the doubts that plague your waking hours.”

his words washed over you like a dark tide, each syllable a seductive promise that threatened to pull you under. you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours, the solid strength of his muscles a counterpoint to the vulnerability you felt in his presence.

your breath hitched as his hand slid further down your side, fingertips grazing the curve of your waist before coming to rest just above the swell of your hip. the contact sent sparks dancing across your skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

“b-but...” you began, your voice trembling slightly as you struggled to articulate the tangled mess of thoughts swirling in your mind. “i don’t need protecting. i can take care of myself. i am a witch, it’s you who needs protection.”

even as the words left your lips, you knew they were a lie.

a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he listened to your words. he could sense the hesitation in your voice, the way your body trembled ever so slightly beneath his touch.

“is that so?” he murmured, his hand sliding further down to cup your rear, squeezing the supple flesh with a possessive grip. “you think you can handle me, little witch? you think you have the power to tame the beast?”

he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, "i'm not so sure about that. i've seen witches like you before, all bravado and bluster. but when push comes to shove, you're nothing more than delicate little flowers, ready to wilt at the first sign of trouble." his hand glazed your skin above your beautiful gown and stop in your breast, giving you a firm squeeze.

a gasp escaped your lips as his hand cupped your breast, the sudden pressure sending a jolt of sensation through your body. you could feel your nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of your gown, aching for his touch.

“t-trouble?” you managed to stammer out, your voice barely above a whisper. the word seemed to echo in the stillness of the forest, a haunting reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the circle of light cast by the moon.

despite the fear that knotted in your stomach, you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving more of the warmth and comfort he offered. it was a dangerous surrender, one that blurred the lines between captor and captive, predator and prey.

“’m not a flower,” you insisted, even as your body betrayed your words.

“no,” he agreed, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “you're something far more enticing.”

his hand moved away from your breast, trailing down your belly until it reached the hem of your dress. he gave a small tug, lifting the fabric enough to expose the smooth skin of your thighs.

“so tell me, little witch,” he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur as his fingers traced lazy circles on your thigh. “are you scared?” he asked, his words hanging heavy in the air between them. he watched your reaction closely, studying every flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

a shudder ran through you at his touch, your skin tingling where his fingers grazed. the cool night air kissed your exposed flesh, a stark contrast to the heat building within you.

“scared?” you repeated, the word sounding foreign on your tongue. you tried to gather your scattered thoughts, to muster some semblance of defiance, but it was a losing battle. his proximity, his scent, the raw masculinity emanating from him— it all served to short-circuit your brain, reducing you to a quivering mass of nerves and hormones.

“i..” you started, then faltered. truth be told, you were terrified. not just of him, but of the feelings he stirred up inside you. the way your body responded to his touch, the traitorous ache building between your legs— it was all so wrong, so dangerous.

a low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he sensed your inner turmoil. his fingers continued their maddeningly slow exploration of your thigh, inching higher with each pass. “fear is natural,” he purred, his breath warm against your ear. “but it's also exhilarating, isn't it? the thrill of being out of control, of surrendering to the unknown...”

his hand finally reached the apex of your thighs, fingers tracing the edge of your panties with deliberate slowness. he paused there, letting the weight of his gaze settle upon you.

“i can make you feel things you’ve never experienced before,” he promised, his voice a husky whisper. “pleasures so intense, they’ll leave you breathless and begging for more.” with that, he pushed your gown up around your hips, baring your lower half to the moonlight.

your heart pounded in your chest as he exposed you to the night air, the cool breeze a stark contrast to the heat pooling between your thighs. you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and intent, making your skin prickle with awareness.

a whimper escaped your lips as his fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties, the intimate touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. you bit your lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill free.

“d-don’t,” you managed to choke out, even as your hips twitched involuntarily, seeking more of his touch. the dichotomy of your actions— resisting even as you craved— was a constant struggle, a war waged within the confines of your own mind.

a wicked grin spread across his face as he witnessed your internal conflict. he loved seeing you squirm, loved knowing that he held such power over your body and emotions.

“oh, but i must,” he countered, his voice dripping with sinful intent. “you see, little witch, this body of yours... it's a work of art. and an artist can't resist the urge to explore, to create, to bring forth beauty from the canvas.”

his fingers dipped beneath the elastic of your panties, teasing the slick folds of your sex. he groaned softly at the wetness he found there, his thumb circling your clit with deliberate slowness.

“look at how responsive you are,” he praised, his breath hot against your ear. “how eager to please. you were made for this, weren’t you? made to be touched, tasted, claimed...”

it went too far, toooo far for your liking. you were supposed to hunt a young man, consume their fear, even bones, blood and flesh. but here you are, face flushed against the moist, moss tree trunk and the ’young man’ kneel behind you with your hips in the air and suffocate himself in your pussy.

he grinned against your slick folds, the vibrations of his laughter sending ripples of pleasure through your core. his tongue delved deeper, lapping at your essence with fervent hunger.

“mmm, you taste divine,” he growled, his voice muffled by your arousal. “like forbidden fruit, ripe, untouched and ready for plucking.”

his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against his face as he feasted upon you. he alternated between broad, flat strokes and targeted flicks against your sensitive bud, driving you towards the precipice of ecstasy.

“come undone for me, little witch,” he urged, his words a sensual command. “let go of your inhibitions and give in to the pleasure. let me hear those sweet moans as i devour this pretty pussy...”

he redoubled his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth as his tongue plunged into your depths, stroking along your inner walls. the lewd sounds of his oral assault filled the night air, mingling with your ragged breathing and keening whimpers.

geto was lost in the heady musk of your arousal, drunk on the power he wielded over your trembling form.

the world narrowed to the point of pleasure, everything else fading into insignificance as he worked you over with skillful precision. his mouth, hot and insistent, devoured your most intimate places, leaving no inch of your sex unexplored.

your back arched, pressing your breasts against the rough bark of the tree as waves of bliss crashed over you. the tension coiling in your belly tightened to a snapping point, threatening to unravel you completely.

“ahh!” you cried out, unable to contain the desperate plea as your orgasm built to a crescendo. your thighs trembled, the muscles locking up as you teetered on the brink. then, with a guttural moan, you came apart at the seams. your vision went white, stars bursting behind your eyelids as ecstasy ripped through you like a wildfire.

the moment you peaked, he doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his tongue thrust deep, coaxing out every last tremor of your climax. he reveled in the way your body shook, in the wanton cries that spilled from your lips, in the sweet nectar that flooded his mouth.

as the aftershocks subsided, he gentled his ministrations, lapsing into long, soothing strokes to ease you back to earth. when he finally pulled away, his chin glistened with your release, a smug smile playing on his lips.

“exquisite,” he murmured, his praise a low, appreciative rumble. “you're a natural-born seductress, little witch.”

dazed and sated, you sagged against the tree, your legs still weak from the intensity of your orgasm. you couldn't meet his gaze, too overwhelmed by the lingering sensations and the realization of what had just transpired.

“w-what have we done?” you whispered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. the night air carried the musky scent of your arousal, a tangible reminder of the forbidden pleasures you’d indulged in.

despite the haze of post-coital bliss, a twinge of guilt tugged at your conscience. you were a witch, sworn to uphold the laws of nature and magic. yet here you stood, panting and disheveled, having just succumbed to the advances of a stranger. and yet, as you stole a glance at the man you haven't known his name yet, you felt no regret.

he rose to his feet, towering over your trembling form. his eyes gleamed with satisfaction, dark and hungry, as he took in your debauched state.

“we’ve given in to our desires, little witch,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. his hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “and there’s nothing wrong with that. pleasure is a gift, one to be savored and enjoyed without shame or apology.”

his thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, a teasing caress. “besides, we're not strangers anymore, are we? i’ve seen parts of you that no one else has, tasted your essence, felt your body quake beneath my touch.

he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your sweat-dampened forehead, his touch tender and reassuring. “there’s no shame in giving in to that instinct, especially when it leads to moments like these.”

his gaze drifted down to your lips, which still bore the faint imprint of his kiss. a flicker of longing sparked in his purple eyes, a silent promise of more to come. the warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, calming the residual tremors of your climax. his words, spoken with such conviction and passion, resonated deep within you, stirring something primal and yearning.

you leaned into his hand, craving more of his gentle affection. the vulnerability of the moment, coupled with the afterglow of your intense encounter, left you feeling open and receptive to whatever he might offer.

“i... i never knew it could feel like that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. the admission hung in the air, a confession of sorts, as you struggled to find the right words to express the depth of your experience.

“with you, it’s different,” you continued, meeting his gaze with a hint of shy courage. “i want to explore this... what’s your name?”

a slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face as he listened to your confession. the vulnerability in your voice, the raw honesty of your words, stirred something deep within him— a primal need to protect, to possess, to claim.

“geto suguru,” he replied, his voice a low, husky murmur. "but you can call me suguru.”

his thumb brushed across your lower lip, tracing its contours with deliberate slowness. “and i’m glad it feels different with me, little witch. because you and I... we're meant for each other.”

he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across your skin as he spoke. “i can show you things you've only dreamed about, take you to heights of pleasure you never thought possible. all you have to do is trust me, surrender yourself to the moment...”

the heat of his breath sent shivers down your spine, his words weaving a spell of temptation around you. the promise of untold pleasures, of experiences beyond your wildest dreams, was intoxicating.

you nodded slowly, your heart pounding in anticipation. “i trust you, suguru,” you breathed, the name falling easily from your lips. “i want to see what you can show me, to feel the heights you speak of...”

your hands reached up, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you drew him closer. the scent of him, musky and masculine, filled your senses, stoking the flames of desire that still smoldered within you.

“take me further,” you whispered, your voice a sultry purr. “show me the depths of pleasure, the extremes of sensation. i’m yours, suguru, body and soul.”

a deep, throaty chuckle rumbled from his chest at your eager submission. his hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips firmly as he pulled you flush against him.

‘what a naive, stupid witch’ he thought.

“such a good little witch, so willing to submit to her desires,” he praised, his voice dripping with approval. “i'll take you to the very edge and push you off, again and again, until you're screaming my name in ecstasy.”

his lips claimed yours in a bruising kiss, demanding and dominating. tongues clashed, dancing in a sensual duel as he explored the depths of your mouth. his hands roamed your curves, kneading and squeezing, mapping every inch of your body with an almost reverent touch.

breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips along your jawline, nipping and sucking at your sensitive flesh.

your mind reeled from the onslaught of sensations, the force of his kiss leaving you breathless and wanting more. his words, laced with dark promises, sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

the roughness of his touch, the dominance in his actions, awakened a part of you that craved to be taken, to be possessed utterly. you arched into his embrace, offering yourself willingly to his exploration.

when his lips found your neck, you tilted your head to grant him better access, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he marked you with his teeth and tongue. the pain mingled with pleasure, heightening your awareness of every sensation.

“yes, suguru,” you panted, your hands fisting in his hair to pull him closer. “more... please.”

a wicked grin twisted his features as he heard your plea, his eyes flashing with dark intent. his hands slipped beneath your skirt, fingers grazing the smooth skin of your thighs before delving between them.

“so wet already,” he growled approvingly, his fingertips circling your slick entrance. “you’re practically dripping for me, aren't you, little witch?”

he pushed a finger inside you, groaning at the tight, scorching heat that enveloped him. his thumb found your clit, rubbing in firm circles as he began to pump his finger in and out of your pussy.

“i’m going to fuck you right here, against this tree,” he promised, his voice thick with lust.

a sharp cry escaped your lips as his finger plunged deep, stretching and filling you in ways you hadn't experienced before. the pressure on your clit sent sparks of pleasure racing through your nerves, intensifying the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“oh it feels good!” you moaned, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his thrusts. the rough bark of the tree scratched your back, but you hardly noticed, lost as you was in the exquisite torture of his touch.

his words, spoken with such raw hunger, only fueled the fire burning within you. the idea of being taken, right there in the open, with no pretense or restraint, sent a thrill of danger and excitement through your veins.

“please, suguru,” you begged, your voice high and breathy.

he added a second finger, scissoring them inside you to stretch your tight passage even further. his thumb continued its relentless assault on your clit, driving you closer to the brink of climax with each passing second.

“begging so sweetly,” he purred, his free hand coming up to grasp your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “look at you, so desperate for my cock, for me to fill you up and make you scream.”

he withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching. before you could protest, he spun you around, pressing you face-first against the tree trunk. his hands gripped your hips, pulling them back to present your ass to him invitingly. “spread your legs, witch,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding.

a whimper of protest escaped your lips as his fingers were abruptly withdrawn, leaving you hollow and needy. the sudden shift in position had you teetering on the edge of panic, but the firm grip on your hips offered a strange sense of security.

you obeyed his command without hesitation, spreading your legs wide to expose your dripping cunt and puckered asshole. the cool night air kissed your wet folds, sending shivers down your spine.

“suguru..” you pleaded, your voice muffled against the tree. “like this?”

a guttural groan of appreciation rumbled from his chest as he took in the sight of you, spread wide and vulnerable before him. his eyes burned with a fierce, primal hunger, drinking in every detail of your exposed flesh.

“exactly like that, little witch,” he rasped, his hands roaming over your ass, squeezing and kneading the plump cheeks. “so pretty, so perfect for taking my cock.”

he lined himself up with your entrance, the broad head of his dick nudging against your slick folds. with a swift, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, a low growl of satisfaction vibrating through his chest.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunted, his hips jerking as he began to move, setting a brutal pace that had you crying out with each deep stroke.

a strangled scream tore from your throat as he impaled you on his massive cock, the sheer size of him stretching your walls to their limits. the initial pain gave way to overwhelming pleasure, each thrust driving him deeper, harder, until it felt like he was reaching the very core of your being.

“ahh! s-suguru!” you wailed, your nails digging into the rough bark of the tree as you clung to it for support. the relentless pounding of his hips sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your body, threatening to consume you whole.

your inner muscles clenched around him, trying to accommodate his girth, to milk him for all he was worth. the lewd sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air, mingling with your ragged breathing and his guttural grunts.

he pounded into you mercilessly, his balls slapping against your clit with each savage thrust. the sound of your cries, your desperate pleas for more, only spurred him on, driving him to claim you completely.

“goooood girl, good little witch,” he snarled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. “take every inch of my cock, let it ruin you for anyone else.”

his hand snaked around to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch back against him. the combination of the rough grip and the unrelenting pace had you teetering on the edge of oblivion.

he adjusted his hold on you, spinning you around to face away from him once more. this time, however, he had you suspended in mid-air, your back pressed firmly against his chest as he wrapped his strong arms around you, pinning your knees to your shoulders in tight nelson hold.

the new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper inside you, his thick cock stroking against sensitive spots with every thrust. the change in position also put your clit directly in line with his pelvis, the friction sending jolts of electricity through your entire body.

“feel that, witch?” he panted in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “this is what it means to be mine, to be fucked by me. i’m going to use you, fill you, mark you as my property, i’m gonna breed you.”

a hoarse moan ripped from your throat as he drove into you with renewed vigor, the intense stimulation of your clit and the depth of his penetration pushing you rapidly towards climax. the feeling of helplessness, of being completely at his mercy, only heightened your arousal.

“oh, my god!” you screamed, your body trembling in his iron grip. “it’s— too much, too—mhmm.” your inner walls spasmed around his cock with the thought of being bred by him, of carrying his child, sent a thrill of dark desire through your veins.

he could feel your pussy fluttering around his shaft, the telltale signs of an impending orgasm. he redoubled his efforts, fucking you with wild abandon, determined to bring you over the edge.

“that's it, cum for me,” he growled, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your neck. “let go, witch. show me how much you need my cock.”

with a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, grinding against your cervix as he unleashed a torrent of seed deep within your womb. the sensation of his hot cum flooding your insides triggered your own climax, and you came undone in his arms, convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

your world exploded into a kaleidoscope of color and sensation as your orgasm washed over you, the intensity of it almost painful in its ferocity. you could feel every pulse of geto’s cock as he emptied himself deep inside you, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

a keening wail tore from your throat, echoing through the forest as your body shook and trembled in his grasp. the feeling of his cum filling you, claiming you, was both terrifying and exhilarating, a surrender to the darkness that lurked within you both.

as the aftershocks slowly faded, you collapsed against him, still in the mid air as he held you, spent and boneless, your mind reeling from the force of your release. somehow, despite the overwhelming pleasure, you managed to whisper a single word, a plea for more of this intoxicating madness.

“again...”

he chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your back. despite having just come, his cock remained hard and throbbing inside you, ready for another round.

“insatiable little things, aren’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “don't worry, we're far from done here.”

slowly, he lowered you to the ground, but kept you pinned beneath him, his weight pressing you into the soft earth. his hands roamed over your body possessively, caressing and teasing, stoking the fires of your desire once more.

“’m going to take you again and again,” he promised, his voice low and dangerous. “gonna fuck you in every hole, fill you with my cum until it’s dripping out of you. i’m going to ruin you for anyone else. watch me breed you.”

[kvroomi]

a tempest of silk and steel

pairing: regency era lord!gojo x regency era lady!reader

summary: a quiet escape from the state ball leads you to a lake in the late of the night... that, and a love confession to and from lord gojo who you thought you hated.

word count: 3.2k

themes/warnings: i fear this might be super inaccurate PLS BE NICE TO ME, it gets better the more you read i promise!! miscommunication ig, gojo is lowk ooc but that’s just how i like him, argument fic, YEARNINGGG FOR DAAAYYYYSSSS

a/n: back from the dead with a short, little vignette-kinda thing!!!!! been obsessed with period dramas as of recently if you couldn’t tell, whoops! whether or not i continue and add onto this with a prologue or expand with a series, i do not know... only time will tell :-^)

You were afraid. The night lay stretched across the sky like droplets of milk flicked into coffee. The constellations scattered in profusion—their pale light casting a spectral glow upon the world. The lake before her was a great, glistening mirror, fractured only by the occasional ripple of wind-kissed water. It distorted the moon’s reflection until it seemed to wane and wax in the space of a breath. Mist curled at the shore in languid tendrils, weaving itself between the reeds like some ancient specter roused from slumber. The air was thick with petrichor and the damp sweetness of moss, while the hush of the earth was broken only by the faint nocturnal chorus of unseen creatures.

You stood poised at the water’s edge, the hem of your frail, pink gown brushing against dew-jeweled grass. Your arms were still, wrapped in a semblance of warmth against the night’s gentle chill. It was a rare kind of solitude you had sought; it was the kind that did not ask anything of you, that did not demand wit or charm or endurance. Here, you were not a woman of consequence nor a subject of scrutiny. Here, you simply were.

But solitude—it seemed—was a fickle thing.

The weight of the evening was still pressing against your bones. From the crowded ballroom, the wretched dance partners, the empty pleasantries, it had all left you drained. You remained restless in a way you could not name, so you had escaped. Looking for comfort in the cool embrace of night—far from the expectant gazes and cloying perfume of society—you watched the water’s edge in silence.

You had also, not anticipated company.

“You flee,” came Lord Gojo Satoru’s voice, rich with the ever-present lilt of amusement. “How very predictable.”

You closed your eyes briefly, exhaling sharply. Even just his voice alone was enough to cause pulses of frustration through your insides. “Must you persist in haunting me?”

“Haunting?” He let out a low chuckle, feeling humoured.

“Hardly. I should think it a kindness, seeking out a lady left unchaperoned in the dead of night.”

You turned to face him at last, lifting a single brow in questioning. A part of you held back from spitting in his face out of pure mockery. “Ah yes, a paragon of gallantry—no doubt.”

“Lady, unmoored from the gilded entrapments of polite society and seeking solace beneath the stars. Tell me, should I be concerned?”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your gown. The fabric tense beneath your fingers. The palms of your hands sweat, forcing you to release your fists almost as quickly as they formed. Satoru watches as your hands lay flat and he takes notice of the way you do not grant him the satisfaction of looking at him. “Should I be surprised that even in the vastness of this night, your ego demands to be acknowledged?”

He breathes a sharp breath out through his nose in place of a laugh. “You wound me… Though you’ve yet to send me away.”

The wind stirred, carrying with it the faintest trace of cedar: his scent. It was a smell you had unwillingly come to associate with his presence. With the glint of mischief in strikingly blue eyes across a room, it had become nearly impossible for the scent to not haunt you in places you dared not to acknowledge.

You turned your gaze to the water, willing yourself unaffected. “The night is too lovely for quarrels.”

“A rare concession.” He moved to stand beside you, not close enough to touch, but close enough that you could feel him there; he remained a quiet, steady weight upon the periphery of your senses. For a moment he did not speak, and neither did you. They stood as silent witnesses to the world’s majesty, the lake before them reflecting the heavens in a trembling imitation.

Moonlight cut silver along the sharp lines of his face, softened only by the unruly lightness of his hair and the faint glint of playfulness present in his blue eyes. He looked infuriatingly at ease, his expression poised between amusement and something more tender and unreadable.

Satoru looked closer, his gaze flickering over your face, searching. For what specifically, he was entirely unsure. “You are troubled.”

You couldn’t help but scoff whilst turning your attention to him. “How astute.”

There’s a beat of silence. It stretches, and now from the awkwardness, you feel obligated to continue.

“I am exhausted, if that is what you mean.”

“So you choose to stand here, rather than resting in the comfort of your home?”

You hesitated. The wind stirred once more, ruffling the loose tendrils of hair at your temples. You listen as they whisper to you. You knows it’s just the sound of the strands brushing up against your ears, but you let yourself believe that they’re telling you to leave before he speaks and irritates you further.

“Y/N,” His voice was softer now, the teasing edge gone.

It was not the first time he had spoken your name, but never like this. Never with such deliberate tenderness as though the syllables themselves had been carved from something sacred.

Something within you wavered. You clenched your hands tighter. “Do not presume familiarity where none is welcome.”

Damn him. Damn his insufferable arrogance, his incisive eyes, the way he seemed to peel back the layers of your defiance with nothing but certainty.

Damn. Him.

You swallowed, the weight of the evening settling heavier in your chest. Before you know it, your mouth is speaking again. “Does it not tire you?” You begins. “All of it: the posturing, the empty words, the endless waltz of expectation.”

Satoru is silent.

“I have danced with men who could not tell me the colour of my gown. I have danced with men who do not see me beyond my dowry. I have danced with men who only see me for the connections I might offer.” Your voice was measured but there was a tightness to it, a carefully restrained rage. “And I am expected to be grateful, to smile, and to accept that I am fortunate.”

You did not know why you were saying this. Why you were offering such a truth to him of all people. You tell yourself it was the lateness of the hour combined with the odd stillness of the world around them… that and you know it was because he was the only one who had ever seen you as something more than what society dictated you to be—even if it had always been at the cost of it being in opposition.

His eyebrows furrow, a movement that’s slow and measured. “You think I do not understand?”

You let out a quiet laugh, obviously devoid of any humour. “Oh forgive me, of course.” You plead forgiveness but your face shows no remorse. “Lord Gojo: the golden heir, the ever-charming darling of every drawing room from here to London—how very arduous your existence must be.”

He smiled but there was no real mirth in it. “For all my so-called charm, there is not a single person in that ballroom who looks at me and sees me.”

You stilled.

He was watching you with even more intent now, the mask of arrogance momentarily set aside.

“It is all a game,” he whispers, frustrations bubbling. “A well-rehearsed performance with rules written long before either of us had a say in them. I play my part well—perhaps too well. But tell me, Lady… Do you know how it feels to be entirely surrounded and yet completely alone?”

Your breath caught.

Because you did.

You looked at him then, truly looked at him, and saw not the insufferable Lord Gojo you had spent years sparring with, but something raw and weary. The realisation unsettled you.

“You asked me why I fled,” your fingers move to clasp together. “It is because I am tired of pretending.”

A silence stretched between them, fragile as gossamer.

“I love you.”

The words fell from his lips like something inevitable—like something that had always existed—waiting to be spoken.

Your breath wavered.

Satoru let out a small, almost incredulous laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “God help me, I do. It is a wretched thing—this affliction. I have fought it, resented it, cursed it. But it remains. It will always remain.”

You could not move.

“You are insufferable,” his teeth grit though the words fall from his lips in a tone that is almost fond. “You needle at every flaw I possess, you contradict me at every turn, and still—” His voice cracks and wavers at the edges. “And still, I find myself seeking you out. I’m drawn to you in every room, waiting and waiting for the next battle—the next exchange—because it is the only time I feel.”

You swallowed, your throat tight.

He sighs, gaze lifting to the stars and voice gentler now, stripped of all pretense. “It is a futile thing to resist gravity, especially when it comes in the form of you—you who pulls me inescapably toward you again and again, until I no longer remember what it is to exist without this terrible ache of wanting you. Tell me I am a fool. Tell me you feel nothing of what I do and I will never speak of this again.”

You parted your lips, the words poised on your tongue.

You could not say them.

Because you did feel it. You felt it in the way he had unsettled your very existence without ever asking permission.

The lake shivered. The night sighed. And you had no clever words left to give.

“I—” The word stumbled, unweaving before you could even grasp it. You let out a shaky sigh, your heels simultaneously twisting into the dirt of the ground as if they could anchor you to the earth. “I do not understand this. I do not understand you.”

You ought to have walked away. Any sensible woman would have. You could end it. You could laugh, dismiss him, turn on her feet and walk away. It would be easier—safer.

But you had never been a coward.

“I despised you.” Your voice was stabbing and helpless. “I spent years convincing myself of it. Every time you needled me, every time you smirked as though the very act of irritating me was your life’s great pleasure, every time you met my wit with your own and refused to yield, I told myself I hated you.” You spoke unforgivingly, careless of the significance your words harboured. “I repeated it so often and so fervently that I began to believe it.”

“Do you know what it is to loathe someone?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper, hands fisted at your sides. “To meet them blow for blow, only to realise—” you let out a disbelieving laugh, but it was hollow and fragile. “Only to realise that your hatred is not hatred at all, but something else entirely?”

Satoru let out a slow and measured sound. “Yes, yes I do—”

“No,” you cut in, shaking your head to ridicule him—because that was all you had ever known. “No, you do not understand. You have never been burdened with the expectation of being agreeable, furthermore, of being pleasing. I am not like them. I do not simper, I do not shrink myself to be more tolerable, I do not pretend. And so I have spent my life being told I am too much. Too sharp, too proud, too unwilling to bend.” Your scorn collapsed for just a second—had he blinked he would’ve missed the way you caught your bottom lip between your teeth in resentment. “But you—”

You spluttered.

Satoru did not dare move or speak.

Your gaze was lowered, whether out of shame, or because you were overwhelmed—the man would never know. “You have never once asked me to be anything but this.”

The atmosphere between them was as taut as a wire.

You should have stopped there.

But you didn’t.

“I have spent every waking hour of my life trying to best you, only to realise that I feel most myself when I am standing toe to toe with you. I wait for your inevitable remark, your infuriating laughter, the way you glance at me when you think I do not see you in every room and in every crowd.” If the words weren’t escaping you earlier, they were now, timeless lifetimes of self-restraint splintering into tiny fragments all at once.

“You have made a sport of provoking me and I am the fool for thinking I could remain untouched by it. Do you have any notion of what it is like to know someone so thoroughly that they begin to live beneath your very skin? To feel their presence even when they are not there? To hear their voice before they speak? I have spent so long fighting you that I never stopped to think what might happen if I ever put down my sword.” There is a faint tremor in the air that escapes your lungs. “And now I find that I cannot.”

The air is dense, everything you had just uncloaked floats in the infinity between you.

Satoru drew a slow, unsteady breath at the same moment you swallowed, your throat tight. “I do not know when it began.” Voice quieter now, your words are now delicate and unstable. “I think it was always there, waiting. Maybe it crept in unnoticed, until one day I woke up and knew that it was only you—you—who could only unnerve me entirely.”

When the confession hits Satoru’s ears, he lets out a breath that's half a gasp and half a sigh, as though the divulgence was too much.

You were unraveling piece by piece, and there was nothing you or he, could do to stop it.

You could feel your frustration rapidly bleeding into desperation. “You infuriate me. You challenge me at every turn and you see me too well and I hate you for it.” Your voice broke on the last word, voice pitching higher than intended, accompanied by something hot prickling at the edges of your vision. “I hate you for it.”

Satoru was utterly still, his gaze locked on yours as if you were the only thing that existed in the world. Your throat continued to constrict, the truth burning its way out of you.

“But let the heavens judge me,” you sigh out breathlessly, your hands quivering at your sides, “I think if you asked, I would let you ruin me.”

Knowing Satoru is messy and complicated. He doesn't know how to be loved, or that it’s okay to need someone and not fear it. The irony is, you're still learning the same thing about yourself--and more than anything, that's okay.

The words hung between them, a confession made raw and desperate.

His entire body tensed, as if every ounce of restraint in him had just been stretched to its limit. So when he reached for you, it was not gently, it was not carefully. He reached for you like a drowning man breaking the surface of the ocean. His hands came to cradle your face as though you might disappear if he loosened his grip. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and his voice was hoarse, cracked with something broken.

Lifting your chin, you muttered, “you are a fool.”

All he could do was let out a laugh. It was laced with relief, though not quite devoid of weariness yet. “So I have been told.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as if steadying yourself for the fall you could no longer prevent.

“I—“ you forced yourself to continue, though your pulse thundered in your ears. Every word felt heavy on your tongue. Every breath pushed against your limbs. “I cannot seem to imagine a world in which you do not exist at all.”

His breath hitched. He felt the way he struggled to keep his composure, and how impossible it was to hold onto some semblance of the world he had known before this. Your words--your unadulterated sheer vulnerability--unraveled him in a way he hadn't anticipated. It was a bridge built on a foundation of things he had never thought to admit, and now he stood at the edge of it, terrified to cross but terrified not to. He hadn’t realized how desperate he was for this acknowledgment of the unspoken things that had festered beneath the surface. Satoru swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Y/N.”

Your name in his mouth was something reverent, something aching. You could see it: the war behind his eyes, the unspoken question, the hope. Your eyes fluttered shut.

“Do not look at me like that,” you spoke in a hush, unable to bear it.

Maybe it was the way he saw you, as if every guarded corner of your heart was naked and vulnerable before him. And for better or for worse, maybe it was also the terrifying feeling that he knew it all and had always known.

Satoru’s lips quirked, the ghost of a smile. “Like what?”

“Like I am the answer to a question you have spent your life asking.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

“And if you are?”

The words shattered something inside you. Years of fortification shattered within an instant. His eyes did not waver. His eyes did not grant you mercy. You did not seek it.

You kept your eyes closed for the briefest moment, before opening them again—before meeting his gaze with everything you had never allowed yourself to say.

With a sudden breath, Satoru seemed to collapse inward; the sound was emptying and painful.

His voice was low, his usual air of insufferable ease nowhere to be found. Gone was the smirk always half formed at the corner of his mouth--the insufferable ease and the practiced detachment of a man who had never once betrayed his own heart... until now, at least. “I have spent years watching you move through this world, unwilling to let anyone shape you into something smaller than you are. I have fought you at every turn not because I sought to tame you, but because I could not resist the pull of standing in your fire. I have been a damned fool, yes, but not so much a fool as to mistake what this has been all along.”

The war between them had never been one of hatred, but rather one of yearning. The words he spoke struck like flint against steel. It ignited every carefully buried ember you had spent years learning to refute. To resist was to deceive yourself, and to yield was to unravel entirely—you knew your choice.

“You are right,” he mused. “This was never hatred.” It’s three things all at once: a pause, a breath, and a fraction of hesitation. “I think I loved you even when I did not know how to name it.”

His hand lifted before hesitating at your cheek as though uncertain he had the right.

You did not stop him.

And when his fingers finally met your skin—timid and careful—you found that you were not afraid at all.

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

ALL LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE IMMENSELY APPRECIATED <3

[elixrr]

“I might be in love with you.”

How they realized they were in love.

ft. Xiao, Wanderer

Xiao：

When you held him amidst his karma.

The most interesting part of the tale? You weren't there. But he saw you. Even through the fights with himself and the surrounding darkness, he saw you— the way your sleeves fell loose on your shoulders, the way your feet glided along a garden of lilies and the way the silk and linen of your clothes weaved around your body. Even when he felt his body shatter in vigorous pain, Xiao saw the luminous glow of the moonlight reflecting off of your skin. The scenery of the dark, star-filled sky with the vibrant glaze lilies surrounding you had crafted such a beautiful picture in Xiao's head that, when he snapped back to reality, he could no longer feel the hurt. There was simply you. He couldn't see you, but he thought of you, and, even with his loyalty to Rex Lapis, he still smiled, thanking you for saving him from his karmic outburst.

But, wait a minute.

You weren't even there? How did you save him? Xiao pondered back on the image he created in his mind. It definitely wasn't something he saw, and it definitely isn't something happening now. It is night, but it is far too dark. The vibrancy of the moonlight is not present, and the bright, shining stars are instead clouded by fog and translucent mist. He definitely couldn't picture you outside right now, especially at this hour.

Hold on. What if you really were out? He is on Wuwang Hill, so of course it's foggy. What if it was brighter for you? What if the moonlight found its way to you instead?

What if that vision of you was real?

Without a second thought or consideration for his duties, he teleported to the balcony of Wangshu Inn, where he could have the possibility of seeing you, and indeed, he did see you. He teleported to a tree that stood by you, leaning on it. The remaining pain of the karma seemed to whisk away, yet his heart beat hastened. Something about how you brushed your finger against the bulb of a sweet flower made him smile.

“Xiao?” You whispered, and he swore he could feel the sun rioting the moon and rising amidst the darkness of the night.

“You called?”

“Oh!” You nearly jumped out of your skin. “That was unexpected. You actually came!”

“Of course I did. I made a promise to you, and I will honor it.”

A smile fell upon your face, and Xiao froze in place.

“Especially because it's me, I presume?”

“Wh—” Roses blossomed on his cheeks, and his heart exploded into petals.

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to walk home with me? I haven't seen you in a while, so maybe we could catch up?”

“Uh–m, I— Sure. That would be... Quite nice.”

“Oh, wow, you actually said yes!” You cheered, and Xiao's eyes glistened. It was perfect, this moment, because the clouds dispersed, and the stars and moon finally found themselves visible, shining through the clouds. You've conquered the spotlight tonight, and you've conquered Xiao's world, even if he couldn't tell.

But, you extended your hand to Xiao. This was just like his illustration of you from earlier, but he was now included. The moonlight reflected on your skin, your clothes weaved magically across your body, and surrounding the two of you were a field of flowers.

Xiao, without much thinking, grasped your hand tight, and you held it, too.

He felt a bloom in his heart, and the world around him brightened. Even as you were talking, he couldn’t pay attention to a word you said. You were graceful, and he felt the strangeness in the way your fingers interlocked with his.

You weren't holding him, really, but you held him somehow. In fact, you stole him away from the old world he lived in, introducing him to something new, something unique.

And in that moment, somewhere in the combination of his mind and heart swelled, sweeping in to tell him and make him realize that he was in love.

That he was in love with you.

Wanderer：

When you fell ill for the sake of him.

Kuni remembers it. His birthday came soon, and because it never snowed in Sumeru, the flowers still found themselves vibrant. Though, something in him found you to be more colorful and much more appealing to look at than a few colored petals and a stem, yet he could never bring himself to admit it; his pride would shatter and you would become giddy, and— if there was finally a heart to replace his hollow body— he would feel a twinge in his chest and an ache in the hollow shell of himself. Kuni figures that, because he has no heart, he is therefore heartless, meaning that this twinge in his chest can not be love like Nahida had suggested time and time again. Rather, this ache symbolized a feel of annoyance. After all, if he did have a heart, how would he be able to mercilessly kill so many people and commit so many sins?

Yet, he would catch you again and again, plucking the most beautiful, rare, and exotic flowers in Sumeru. Many of which were far too dangerous to even obtain, and that was something he realized far too late. He trusted you slightly. Actually, he didn't trust you. Kuni trusted Tighnari because you have consulted the expert many times about the flowers you picked.

But, one day, you fell ill. It wasn't due to the flowers or anything similar, but due to the weather. Kuni had been coincidentally passing by for a research project, and he stumbled upon you by a hillside, unconscious, bleeding, and sickly. You were lucky enough to forget your basket of flowers, meaning you hadn't lost any of your previously collected ones, but you were still quite unlucky. It was pouring, and atop a hill was a beautiful kalpalata lotus flower. It wasn't a terrible walk, except you were sick, and you ended up slipping and falling to what could've been your doom.

The moment Kuni saw you, he paid no mind to the flowers, nor did he care at all about his research. He needed to help you, and he, as quickly as he could, flew you over to Gandharva Ville, where he almost screamed for forest rangers to come and help you.

As you laid on the bed unconscious, Kuni stayed with you. He never left your side once.

And then you woke up.

“...What?” The pain in your head wrung from side to side, front and back. Your nose was significantly stuffier. Kuni, happy and terrified, immediately rushed over to you.

“Idiot! What were you doing out there?” He yelled, holding back the urge to punch himself for not finding you sooner, “You could've died from that sort'a height!”

“Sir, please, lower your voice. Y/N's healing process could falter if you don't shut up.” Tighnari hissed, and the two glared at each other.

“Fine, sorry. But still, what were you thinking? My birthday or whatever isn't that big a deal, and it's really not worth your damn life.” Kuni sat down on the stool next to the bed, and you looked down at the provided blankets.

“I mean, I'm not dead,” you conjure up a smile and hold in a cough, “but yeah. That was sort of stupid, but it would've been worth it if I did get you the flower.”

“What? You're mentally insane.”

“I could be.”

“That's— That's so stupid!” Why do all of that... for me? Kuni feels his chest ache again.

“Oh, it was. But hey, I'm really stupid when it comes to you.”

“What?” Kuni's eyes furrow, and Tighnari almost slams his head into the desk after hearing that.

“I mean that I'm literally stupid for you. Why else would I leave and get flowers when it's raining and when I'm sick?”

Something clicks in Kuni's head. He saw some of his peers in class talk about this phrase and suddenly connect it to some girl who was in love with a guy and...

Wait.

“I'm leaving. I'll be back— you'd better be conscious!”

“I can't guarantee that, but I'll try.”

Kuni leaves the room, frustrated. Nahida has said that he likes you, his peers have said the same thing, and maybe...

“I'm literally stupid for you.”

“That idiot..” He smiles, looking through the window to see you talking to Tighnari, who appears to be scolding you for being so careless with your health. Kuni holds in a chuckle and turns around. His ache resurfaces in his chest, and he grips the part of his top that covers his 'heart'.

Maybe, just maybe—

“I'm making a bouqet for you on your birthday!”

—maybe he is in love with you.

y/n's real name is robloxnation3000 /j

[meinkatzchen]

Can you tell us some interesting facts about your oc?ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

I'm a little sick…again- so I don't have any new art, I'll answer questions!

I don't know which facts are interesting and which are not, but here are some about Mist! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) I mixed up all the facts from different stages of her life at once. ♡ If you divide her story into 3 periods (btd, btd2, tpof), which would correspond to tarot cards, then she would have: Death, Chariot, Moon; ♡ She doesn't like/is afraid of mirrors:

Mirrors show objective reality, and not an illusion created by the human mind. And Mist doesn't like to see the results of her mistakes, which she can see in the mirror. She doesn't like to see scars on her body, she considers them ugly.

♡ Her nickname(Mist) was chosen because of her full name and because of her demeanor + appearance. Initially, I chose it because of the light milky haze that is present in the scarlet pupils. She had friends who affectionately nicknamed her like this. On the Internet, she often signs herself as "Mooncat"; ♡ She's almost immortal but can really be killed completely if you really try; ♡ If the sins were carved into her skin like in FC5, they would be Pride and Lust;

♡ She doesn't have the magical ability to hide her ears and tail, so in everyday life she often uses special hairpins/hats for her cat ears/harness for her tail to hide them; ♡ Between btd2 and tpof, she had a red Toyota GT 86. But Mist is such a bad driver that the car once couldn't handle such a shitty ride; ♡ It seems that she has developed good intuition, or insights that helped her foresee something bad, but because of this, she is a little paranoid; ♡ Her favorite color is scarlet/red; ♡ Her voice is high-pitched and soft at the same time, purrs when she feels good and calm (voice example: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKy4INHSERQ&ab_channel=Monetochka-Topic); ♡ Has an increased appetite and accelerated metabolism, eats any meat, does not disdain to eat even human flesh. She especially likes the rich metallic taste of liver; ♡ This is more of a headcanon from other people, but I really like it: she has an average mental intelligence, but a high emotional one, which makes her a good manipulator and observer, but a bad strategist; ♡ Studying at the University of Law helped her find holes in the law so that many of her cult's actions were legal; ♡ She is very tactile! She loves to touch others, quickly closes the distance if she wants to gain trust or trusts the interlocutor. She loves to touch different objects and smell them, feeling the texture, temperature, shape, smell, exploring the world through touch and smell; ♡ Very talkative, ready to support absolutely any conversation and talk about all sorts of topics; ♡ Of all possible hobbies, her favorite is: playing games, computer and real (like hide and seek). Sometimes she conducts streams in which she plays in videogames, communicates with the audience, fools around; ♡ Despite her bloodthirstiness and cruelty, she is very sensitive and protective of children, teenagers and women who cannot protect themselves. In such, she sees a reflection of her past self and can become their protector herself; ♡ She doesn't mind becoming a mother :3 but in that case, she will be very protective, overprotective;

♡ Her unique melee weapon: balisong (butterfly knife).

In addition to what I wrote above, I have this small sketch with information

[tokoyamisstuff]

lmaoo tasteful was the last thing I would've ever imagined to hear about my work. This humble writer is absolutely flattered by your words, thank you! 🫶

gn! Reader I general NSFW warning

Considering the literal centuries of experience this guy has ahead of you, this sure is gonna be an otherworldly experience...in more than one way.

Don't be nervous, though. He's a patient lover and eager to teach you new things. Will start slow and vanilla, taking all the time to look what works out for both of you.

In general the nights you spend with him are very carefree, filled with laughter and pleasant conversation in between or even during the act(s).

This man plays your body like an instrument. His heightened senses make it an easy task to observe every little reaction your body presents him, especially if he's able to give you an immediate gratification through it. Probably knows you better than you do (at least in that sense). Think you can only come once? Think again.

Definetly hypersexual. He'll use literally any opportunity to get it on with you: Sparring, arguments, even during missions he'll find an opportunity for his favourite pastime. Never leaves you unsatisfied, no matter the circumstance or how little time you have.

Prefers long and intimate rendezvous over quickies however, since he takes great pride in indulging you. He's quite the romantic, enjoys preparing the whole package: An amazing date, the perfect atmosphere, and of course a cozy bedroom. Nothing's too much effort if it comes to see your eyes light with wonder...and lust, later on.

Loves variety. I think there's nothing too freaky you could ask of him, he'd at least be willing to try it out. There's nothing really off table, but also nothing he absolutely wants you to do. You'll find a lot of common ground.

I mean did you see his tongue?? His oral game is gonna be insane.

He's not really fond of toys. Being rather possessive in general, he wants to be the direct cause for your pleasure. The only exception are remote controlled ones. It's so fun being able to tease you like that, observing how you try to keep it together during a meeting of the roundtable or similar.

The vampire is obsessed with imperfections. Scars, beauty marks, even extending to dacryphilia. Anything that makes you human is just so fascinating and desireable to him.

He's a biter wow what a surprise. The taste of your blood gives him an intense feeling of ecstasy, but he'd never go overboard with his cravings. In return I figure his abilities have a hypnotizing reaction on your body as well, giving you an overwhelming sensitivity in return.

Sometimes he's unable to keep his form, especially when deep in pleasure. Suddenly you're enveloped by black mist or stared at by a little too many eyes. At first he was very concerned to disgust or scare you away, but once he sees you react with a surprising acceptance - or even affection - he's over the moon.

Those shapeshifting skills could be used to your advantage in more than one way. He can easily adjust his size according to your wish or even fuck you from several directions at once. Really, there's no limits to your fantasies, let them run wild.

To be honest I think he's got a praise kink and is a sub at least in a certain way. Maybe because in every other aspect of his existence he's the peak of evolution, an almost omnipotent eldritch horror, always dominating. So being able to let himself fall like this, showing himself bare and vulnerable and giving himself to you body and soul, is just the greatest thrill he's ever felt.

Alucard's whole motivation is to serve his lover over anything, devoting himself to your worship.

[darkdemeter]

BOW BETWEEN MY LEGS

⚤ Vampire King!Bucky Barnes x Vampire (Queen)!Female Reader 18+ themes and smut minors dni, consumption of blood, depictions and mention of gore, violence and death, unprotected vaginal sex, female oral receiving, dom x sub (light switch) dynamic, this fic contains some sexism/misogynist themes, usage of the name "pet", I think that's it. ✎ 5.4k What lies between a woman's legs is as powerful as you can grasp the idea that you can use it to your benefit. Like any man, no male vampire can resist such a sweet and enticing prize. In your stirred want for power that you see is rightfully yours, can you turn the throne in your favour and force the dark majesty who turned you to his knees?

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

The first kill is always the messiest. 

It’s a floating rumour among the commoners and courts that you’ve murdered ten king-husband’s on the night of your wedding. This is the eleventh. Each one with a throat torn and ripped open, guts assembled as a strangling corset around the waist and his heart missing… supposedly eaten. The maids would lay awake all night, pale and sickly as they listened to the darkened hymn of your giggles in the chamber above, followed by the drawled, pleasured moans of a consort receiving her master’s reward upon the very bloodstained sheets of her impure marital bed. Compliant to his schemes, wedded to his sensuous appetite and solely ordained to share his bed.

But now you hunger for the power he has taken for himself. Every kingdom he has come to rule over was because of you. You seduced your way through the courts and harems of kings, enslaved yourself to their foolish and mortal desires - pathetic wants of the flesh that left you unsated - and then presented yourself at the altar many a time to pledge your undying love. 

You have a treasure trove of gold and gems, accessories presented in proposal coffers and made in falsely forged promises of eternity. The only eternity was this one, with your master. The only one that kept you for himself, who adored and praised every inch of your body with awarded pleasures. He, who scorned and scarred you in passionate agony whenever you disobeyed him. 

This sudden whim of yours to act out disobedience is one he will tolerate no longer. A pet off its leash, a naughty and spiteful creature who’s collar he will reshackle a hundred times over to strangle some belonging sense into you. A correctional statement is what is needed. And you have forced his hand to command it so. 

Limbs of misty silk crawl along the floor, free to flow from the tapering veil of your gown where your breasts lift in a form meant to flaunt your provocative nature. From the golden rim of your goblet, you savour the taste of the tainted wine your kind dine to drink. 

A crimson smear paints a glistening spot on your lips and your tongue laps to suckle on the sustaining juices. The night is cool but it’s barely felt on your skin anymore. The moon, full and pale, casts a halo so bright that it bathes your form as you stand in the balcony’s doorway.

The fluttery garb of your gown falters down the slope of your shoulders, loosening at its silken belt to reveal your nakedness to the gust of wind. It is one pulled stronger to sweep over the ocean like a hurricane, through the coastal region where you had set your sight upon to conquer; to claim. But it seems not for long. Like everything you have, that you are, he wants. 

The wind has a voice, low and hollow like a haunting whisper. He appears in the chambers in a whirling spire of blackened mist, his body taking presence as a physical manifestation before your very stance. He looms as a tall silhouette that drowns out the moonlight, showering you beneath his powerful aura. You recall a time, before this stroke of independence, when you would sink to your very knees before him, eager to sate his carnal desires in the bloodied parlor of your slain king and promised love. To be commended for your work in succeeding his reign further over the kingdoms. To have the fanged venom of his undead disease riddle and writhe within your already alive corpse, to relive the sublime surrender in the midst of your orgasmic pleasure; one he ruthlessly denied you until you proved your loyalty to him. His darling pet, so sweet and so obedient to him. So pathetically wanting of all he would give you. 

Your lips pull to form a thin smirk of revile, his deadly glare condemning your lack of sincerity towards him. Within the intense luminance of his blue, ocean eyes, he undresses you with his gaze. 

Further adding to your insult, you act as though to bow before him, only to turn away as your shoulder addresses him coldly. “So, you’ve finally come to applaud my efforts, my liege?” 

His body stiffens, shoulders molded harshly into a damning intensity. “Is that how you dare speak to me?”

His head shifts on a sharpened axis to look at you, to follow your leisurely movements. Your bare feet pad along with a skinned, muffled pound as if weightless to this world. The thin body of your goblet stays between the bed of your fingers, tilting back and forth lazily. You tire of his growled threats. At least, you thought you did. You always do enjoy the roughened, dark demeanor of his commanding tone. 

With a sensual, teasing hum, you retort back, “It is.”

Beneath the baritone drum of another growl, beastly and dangerous, you continue in your saunter. Your eyes linger on the drapings of the stained bed, a grotesque display of a night creature’s artwork. His blood is no virgin’s, but it would do. The allure of such a pure taste drove you insanely blissed. What you would do for some in your goblet instead.

As if to see the nature of your grim, inner turmoil, your prior master moves towards you with a silent ease. Unheard but he is sensed.

His body stands close now, gracing the curve of your shoulder. He has this way that makes you feel alive again, like that virtuous, naive bride. The way his hand felt against you that first night, serpentine and slithering up to knead at your untouched breasts, squeezing them in his clawed grasp only to then wind around the column of your neck. 

“Turn to me,” he beckons you with a voice soothing and deep. Indeed, his hand is still as intoxicating. Your eyes fill with a heaviness and you turn to face him. He tips your chin to his desired angle and he leans his lips down to ghost over yours. 

“Open…”

Much like your first feeding, such a surreal and visceral hunger you’d felt in that time, long ago, the moment your lips lock together his tongue forces through the pass of yours, driving them further open. You moan highly and tilt back on your heel only for his hands to catch you, dragging your hips to meet his that desperately roll, arching them to spread to his welcome again. Goblet of blood abandoned with a cluttering fall, your arms find purchase as they always have around his shoulders, your nails scratch a trail that marks your claim. 

The lengthy tendril of his tongue shapeshifts with the disconnecting growth of his jaw, gums extending forward, allowing his mouth and gullet to expand and pour forth a pitcher of blood into your mingling kiss. You greedily lap with your tongue at the addictive flavour of virgin’s blood he graciously delivers to you. You almost falter into his hold completely, barely able to keep yourself upright and his arms circle around your waist, pulling you tight against him as he deepened the kiss. 

You purr into the cavernous depth of his mouth and he groans, not yet letting you go when he feels you begin to pull away with the large form of his palm pressing to the back of your head. No, there is still more to give you. There is still more blood to offer you, to feed you with. You must be starving, his dear and lost little pet. Most likely alone in the company of your bed, yearning for him.

His hips continue to grind against your core, eliciting that dark excitement he strives to rekindle within you, lustful in his advancement to retake you. 

He withdraws from the kiss, his tongue slowly licking over the sated roof of your mouth and over the purse of your top lip. 

“Be a good pet now and come back to me,” he purrs with a deepened rumble, smirking. 

You tut at him with a scolding glare as you immediately swat at his wandering hands that grope you and he releases you with a hiss. His intention to seduce you with the potent feed was close to breaking you, you may admit — invading your mind like a perving perfume  — but he would have to do better than that to lure you back into his dark embrace. He would have to offer something more than just blood and sex.

What you want is what was rightfully owed to you. 

You’ve wandered from his reach and your spine rings with that delectable sense that his blackened soul reaches out to drag you back into his grasp. To feel the deepening desire of his want for you. To know that he lusts for you after all this time. 

It’s empowering. 

And it is power you will use to your advantage. 

“Pet.” He warns you with a low tone of voice like a wrathful hum of thunder. You mock him back with a slight tilt of your chin, “My King.” You bare a crimson-stained smile of teeth and elongated fangs as you move your fingers sensuously slow over your lips to wipe the gathered dabbing of blood away. 

Your voice is a sunken purr, a provoking line delivered with a silken and soft cadence that hints at your powerful sensuality, given the way you see the azure bloom in his eyes brighten. 

The way he obviously stirs in the deep recess where his soul should be, where a man’s blood should run hot and heart beats fast. When your eyes only drift further down do you catch the heavy weight of his cock straining against his garments. Vampires may no longer be that of the living, but there are phantom semblances their bodies still cling to. An attachment of one’s life before. 

And the imposing stature of his cock standing erect, the one and very same you’ve trained yourself earnestly for millennia to take every inch of, is one of those semblances he’s clung onto all this time. 

He sneers with a beveled glare, “Cease this becoming of your petty nature and surrender yourself to me. I created you. You serve me.”

“That was when you took advantage of a silly, girl commoner who hadn’t an ounce of status in her life before.” Your objection is sharp to cut in. You come to stand before him, your hand moving to curl at the aroused pitch between his legs, smirking when he groans. “Since then I’ve acquired the taste of power… and I want more.”

He shakes his head with a bared snarl. “You wouldn’t know what to do with such power if you had it.” His hand snatches hold of your wrist and pulls you to press against him, earning a hitched gasp from you. “You're still just a silly woman whose place is better served beneath me.”

“Is that what you want to believe now that you see me retake everything from you?”

His eyes diverge from their scornful path, flickering down to gaze at the sinful way your lips move, allured by the empty promise of meeting them with his own in another heated kiss. And then you’re gone. Like a flame snuffed out by a sweeping draft, each withdrawing step you take away from him, your hips sway with a delightful bounce. 

When he turns to face you, you’re suddenly taking action to seat yourself on the luxurious lounge of his deceased majesty’s chaise. 

“You think I’m threatened by you?”

Your posture leans back, the draw of your silken dressing gown is draped loosely, falling down your shoulders and yielding quite easily to show your body. “I know you are.”

His words come out as a thick rasp. “Why are you doing this?” 

“You mean other than to cause you pain? Anguish?” Your head tosses back with a cruel, viscous laugh that bounces off the chamber’s stone walls. “I never meant to be cruel, but you left me no choice, my love. I do it because I want to see the turmoil in your eyes as you watch everything I have given you slip away; I want to see in your eyes the realisation that without me… you would have nothing.”

“A woman in power is dangerous,” he drawls, hand running over the stubble of his jaw slowly. 

Again, you cut in objectively. Your shoulders rise and drop with a huff, rumpling the folded brim of your robe to flatly dip lower over your breasts. “A woman in power is something you desire but not dare admit lest your own power be challenged. It’s why you’ve not taken me as your queen.”

“Ah,” he huffs in curt reply. The sound is dryly cynical, abhording the admittance in your statement. It’s his turn to favour feigned ignorance behind such a haughty announced noise, to hide the truth you already know too well. 

“As if I’d any intention of elevating your station within my court. Surely none would then suspect the favouritism I harbour for you already, what with the reserving of my bed for you alone… the personal feedings…”

He dares to make a mocking spectacle of his generosity. 

Beneath the snide of a coiled hiss, you say coldly, “It is a king’s duty to uphold the well being of his subjects and his realm. A good king deals with… the reservation of his bed and his personal feedings with a humble nod and smile. A bad king… tsk tsk,” you shake your head with the piercing click of your tongue. “That is certainly how a revolt occurs within the court.”

It wasn’t your fault that you craved more monogamous partnership from your king. Had you not worked yourself, bent yourself over and backwards to give him all you had? Every night you’d moan through your screams as he stretched you open, rawly taking you on the spear of his length until you cried a veiny river of tears. Bliss was it not as painful? 

To his every wish, you fulfilled it. Every dynasty he sought to rule over you set yourself upon it. The ladies you slaughtered, the ragged and alluring woman you portrayed yourself to be to ensnare the honour of mortal kings or the seductive muse within his lordship’s harem. The sting of tears on your wedding day shed not in your joy to spend your days beside your sire, but because furthermore, you realise you remain a puppet on her strings; at the tethered whim of a master. 

He scoffs at the notion that anyone in his court would dare rise up against him. More so he leers at you with this tainted ire, a darkened aura that compels you to obey his command. “You act as though I have not granted your endless desires. What could I possibly have denied you so that turned you against me?”

“Besides the still indebted orgasms?”

At that, he visibly stiffens at the burly muscle of his shoulders. The hardness causes his paled complexion to ripple, writhing with a course of venomous sinew and veins that runs through him. 

King John by no means would have meant you good but at least you would have had power. Something every commonor vied for. The lidded underbelly of your eyes raise to squint narrowly at your dark liege. Your body contorts to sit upright, leaning forward in a way that is rigged. Fragmented drapes of hair fall forward with a framed depiction over your brow. “All my life I have been at the whim of someone else. It’s my turn now.”

“And if I refuse to grant you what you want, pet?”

“Don’t you dare deny me!” The whites of your eyes become drowned with scarlet as a flare of gold takes over your irises. Your voice seethes with a venomous hiss. “I was meant as your consort! I am owed this, Buchanan. There is a debt to be paid.”

He tuts you with a coy raise of his brow and smirk on his lips. He has you riled, just as he wants you. He walks to you with a leisured step each announcing his powerful authority. His clawed thumb and forefinger take hold of your chin to tilt it up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“I should have known you’d take to power once you had a taste. You wouldn’t remain that humble, silent woman in my court.”

Your throat rolls with a thick swallow, eyes pouncing with that scarlet aura. “I developed under your command, did I not? I thrived and did all you asked of me. So long as I’m given what is rightfully mine, I shall remain at your side.”

“You turned into a right bitch is what you developed into,” he snorts. When the wavering kink in his brow twitches, it hints that he sees no humour pass through you. Your hardened eyes are sternly upon him, the scarlet hue fading and the golden rings dim back into the coloured irises. 

“What is to happen if I refuse, Y/N?”

Reforming the delicate etiquette of your hair, fashioning it orderly as you rise from your seat, the robe dismantles its remaining hold around you. Your breasts allure him with a dangerous game as he stares fondly, the blackened shade of his pupils blown wide in his stare. You fix with effort the twisting etch of a smirk onto your lips. 

Quickly, you arch your head forward and lick a glistening streak up the bared scape of his chest, the muscles constrict tightly, alerted. Aroused. 

“Then coming here for me was pointless.”

Who are you to tell him that anything he does is pointless? How dare you call into question his pride? 

The assaulting bite between the clench of his teeth is revolting, a seething sentiment that you have sored him - wounded his ego by notching that sneaky, clever little blade you call wit into the unbeating deadness of his heart. 

Your naked form drifts past him and towards the bed with an elegant saunter and hips that sway with a pronounced accent, the beautiful locks of your hair that mist and ghost your features as a veil bounce as you move. His eyes follow you as slow moving orbs that reverb with a shaken essence, watching you slope in your descent to sit at the bed’s end. 

Around you, the world is taken by a facade as the air bends back and forth, the moonlight flittering through it like a sudden and exploding burst of starlight. No longer does he stand in the trespass of the murdered king but instead his own throne room, alone besides you and him. 

You’re no longer seated on the filth of a stranger man’s bed but instead, astride his grand and looming throne. Even for him, he knows his breath would have hitched in his lungs at the sight before him. Never before has he seen anything more dominating. Sinfully divine. 

Exotic. 

Coy, you adjust yourself in a way to purposefully allure to the form of your breasts pushing together, crossing one leg over the other to hide the glisten of your cunt from him and the regal possession of power you exude. 

“You mean to tell me you’ve never wondered what I’d look like, seated on your throne, you kneeling before me…” 

Even the beginnings of your twisted mingle between lustful fantasy and vie for power, you visibly shift. “…Your lips tasting me — devouring me — as I moan and arch myself like… this?”

The incline of your spine forces your breasts to bounce a little that has Buchanan’s eyes taken completely by the blackness, barely able to find the shade of blue within them as he stalks towards you before he stops, hesitant. 

“Or like this?” You gasp aloud, acting as if you can already feel him deep inside you, shifting yourself into a new position but still keeping your legs relatively closed, concealing just how needy you are for him. 

The pleasurable doting of his tongue parting your soft, delicate lips and dancing through the velvet slick of your cunt until he strikes that spot inside of you that has you pleasantly writhing. The sweet, succulent bloom to suffuse you once more. 

His lips part with a trembling swallow, sucking desperately to air he longer feels — no longer needs. What he does need is you.

“Dragă…” His chest falls with an empty excuse and his voice quivers, on the verge of his breaking point. His final resolve of control is crumbling and it’s yielding to you. 

His eyes behold you with a level of admiration you have naught but seen since your awakening. A greatness of marvel flashing in the clearer shine of his bright blue eyes, gleefully serene and covered by a dark delight. 

He commits the sight of you on his throne to memory, searing it to his mind before the facade can falter, disbanding his newly found obsession. 

With one single step towards you, your lips tighten into a coy purse. You roll your hips to shift your leg off the other and lean back, promising him a glean if he but steps closer; if he submits to you. 

He takes another step forward, followed by another and so on until he stands there, moving to lean over you like the darkness of the towers that loomed high above you so long ago. The dreamy capture of something so grand and powerful. 

But he’s stopped suddenly. The gracious perch of your foot hinders him, keeping him like a dog on a leash. A low growl reverberates off his tongue, snide and recoiling. Your throat chokes around a single-noted chuckle as you then push him back with the offending bareness of your foot, smirking when you see realisation come upon his brow like an ill fitted crown. He slowly, and with no power to compel otherwise, he begins to fall to his knees. 

With a tone curt with authority and spread of your legs to reveal your glistening core, you command, “Bow between my legs.”

A tart sound is a delicious poison on his tongue. You wish to devour it like the sweetness of blood. 

He gives in just as his knees brace him.

“I’ll do anything for you, my temptress,” he sighs, lips grazing the skin of your inner thigh with a savouring curse, “that and more, just please—”

You snatch hold of his jaw. An action he has done to you many times before, a physical measure of ceasing control over you, but now the game has changed, and he is at your whim now.

He is at your control now. He is your puppet to work on the strings, plucking and pulling tighter and tighter until he can naught but never escape your web. 

“You want this?” You ask him with a voice silken and ominously tender. He nods, his stubbled jaw tensing in your iron grasp. 

“You want me?” Again, he nods, his throat agape with an audible hiss. “Yes.”

That isn’t good enough for you. His eyes swell with a darkened glaze, the gentle melded ring lining the rim of his waterline as he pants like a starved beast. Your hand drifts back to wrangle him at the locks of his dark hair, scolding him harshly when he tried to plant his head between your thighs. His fangs bare with a strained growl.

You snarl beneath the shadow of a glare, “Then give me what is mine.”

“My Queen…”

You let out a small, toying coo and release him. His head immediately bows and his tongue on your delicate pearl has your spine arched beautifully, a moan once buried so deep down brought to the surface. You ease yourself with a roll of your hips and his hands find purchase there, holding you to him as he feverishly devours your cunt. He groans, bloodthirsty, he moans, entranced and drunken off your taste. His lips fold around your, drinking you in and his tongue teases your clit in long strokes and teasing dabs with its poised tip. 

Each languid motion makes your cold skin vibrate and the deadened core inside you churn with the pleasurable abyss. Your song of moans fills his ears with a beautiful orchestra, far more alluring than any creature he’s ever known. 

He pulls you forward to force his tongue deep inside you, invading the sanctum of your lower lips that ooze with your slick. You cannot help but chuckle, the sound a low and beating echo. How hungry he is to forfeit half his claim, a divide in his power in order to appease you. 

Whether he admits it now or later, he would have nothing without you. 

His tongue penetrates you with a sharpened edge that feels as though he cuts you internally, pulling forth a pleasured whine from you and your lower back rises higher. He growls at the sound, so beautiful and harmonic, laced with sensual want. You gasp and mewl, mortal breath having no place in your lungs but the root of it still remains just as the flow to his cock does. 

The glamourous vow of your lustful inhales and blissful exhales, all in whining tandem to succeed your euphoria; that is your treacherous semblance. 

Your hands tug and rake at the scalp of his head, ringing tightly to him as your legs quiver against him, curling. Your moans grow louder, become sired lyrics that break into a shattering as his tongue strikes you inward like lightning touching ground. Your world becomes hollow for a moment and instead of the purity of white to cover your vision, you’re thrusted into a blur of murky black. Spirals of dripping red bleed into view, slowed entirely into a near status of stillness, the buzzing hum of something baritone fades just as quickly as it’s heard. 

Unlike the winery of finer bloods, meant to be sipped and savoured, he displays a ravenous appetite for the spoils of your release. He groans between the tremble of your thighs that lock him there, tongue pulling and stroking in longer caresses against your hot, constricting walls.

Upon the retreat of his mouth against your hot, tempered core, you miss the connection of his lips on you. How you could have him between your thighs for milenia. But there is plenty of time for that, the thought brings a smirk to grace the twisted lines of your lips. 

He kisses with a darker tender to your thighs, each one a defined print on your skin. His tongue occasionally sweeps over your clit, eliciting an excited drawl from you and a shudder of your hips that causes him to smirk himself. 

His eyes gaze at you with a prowling nature. It is one that hunts you. 

You bask in the way he stares at you, with admiration and aroused ire. You love it to a sickening degree that would put the most spiteful spirits to shame. 

“Shall I grant you another, my Queen?” he asks, words mumbled between a humming crawl of a moan and his lips being fused to your cunt. With a confirming nod, you make an audible sound. 

“Yes… you have plenty still to give me.”

“Then I will begin here.”

In sync with the movement of his lips taking hold around you, his long fingers work to push aside your glistening folds. His claws rip and shred, almost tugging something inside of you as if to beckon you. Your gasps of pleased alarm become worn and ragged, cut into shortened tufts for phantom breath. His tongue and thumb roll with a teasing circlet over your clit, going slow then faster, and then slower again. 

He has you cumming again and choking on a moan before you realise it, before you can enjoy the climax of its build and you’re dragged back into the void of that pleasure. Each orgasm he pulls from you is a sin forgiven and there are many he atones for. But those are just from his mouth and fingers alone. 

By the time he’s delivered unto you several releases, he stands and looks down at you. A stunning corpse that writhes, smoothed to the silken drapes of the delicate fabrics. Was there truly anything more sweeter than to see you undone by your lust?

He’s always found you endearing. When he’d find you dryly dragging and rolling your hips into the silky pillows of his bed, thrashing violently in need of him. How he’d come to your aid swiftly, smothering you in his dark embrace — his shadow — so comforting and powerful and he would pound with such aggression into you that you could barely contain your screams. 

You too remember with a certain fondness, a noted sadness of those times. Even now, you reminisce as he turns you, priming you to the angle which he could sink himself to his large entirety. Propped up, his hands cover the globes of your arse, marvelling with a loosened chuckle.

“I’ve missed you, dragă,” he purrs with a touch of edge to his voice. 

“You’d better,” you retort. Another chuckle rumbled within his chest, tickling your spine as he grinds his navel into the small of your back, smearing your juices along his girthy shaft. 

His hips shove with a sturdy gate and he sighs aloud. Your body welcomes the intrusion that comes into you, splitting you apart so deliciously it borders on the stray of agony. A favourite addiction, a blended mix between the beauty of pain and the horror of something good. 

His pace is set ruthlessly and he anchors his weight so that he has you, pounding into you viciously. The sound of your skin slapping together in a brutal meeting pulls a string of moans between the two of you to share, each one underlined by a whispered praise. 

“So—nhhg… good.”

“A-ah, missed this—” His hips thrust harder against you as his hands grope at you with possessive need. His weight shoves you deep into the mattress, the boards of a mortal bed made of wood and luxury sheets creak and squeal and rumple with tiring energy. 

But you are not yet done. Not by any means. For many days and nights you could go on like this, lost in the intoxication of each other’s touch, fingers crawling and tongues tasting all sorts of sours and sweets. 

Your bodies locked in an intimate stronghold, devoted to defiling the other. It can happen. It has happened, the old fashioned term calling such devious occasions mating balls. 

You moan with a stutter, calling his name as your fingers claw and rip the sheets apart. His fangs scratch the nape of your neck, stirring within you those feelings you tried to keep down. The resurface of a pleading pet who understood her place beneath him.

You are his pet. You are his queen. A unique combination, a passive yet resistive opposite to his dance. 

He pushes a hand firmly to the crest of your belly, feeling the bulge that flexes there, slinking in and out with rapid succession. His lips turn into a deformed and fanged grin. 

“You enjoying my cock? Hm? You missed me, didn’t you?”

You nod with a curt hiss, arching until your hips meet his next thrust. “Yes…”

“We’re good for one another.”

“Y-yes…”

“I’m going to give you another.”

“Yes!”

He knows that tone. That impatient drawl that teeters on the verge of a scream he hears in his dreams with a smile. On his cock, your walls tighten around him like a vice, claiming him to remain buried deep inside you as you revel in his essence. His lips lay a cascade of worshipping kisses to your skin, chilling you as you near the void’s embrace; ready to become one with it — with him again. 

“Will you be my Queen and consort?”

“Yes!” You choke out a sob just as your walls grip around him and are flooded by the final orgasm that is owed to you, his cock faring no better before he spills his seed inside of you, swelling you with his claim. A claim that only a king has over his queen. Your body is pulled flush to his, where vampyric skins meet, laying against each other like two tombstones bound in eternal, undying unity. Much like how you will be seated on his throne, he seats you atop his cock, his arms caging you in the confinement you once discovered imprisoned you.

Now he makes you feel whole again. He treasures you with praises, vowing between each blooded kiss and forceful thrust of his hips, that you are now his equal.

Indeed, you have made your king bow between your legs. Right where he belongs. 

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Decided to try out a bit of a new formatting.

[lalune9x]

'S-Classes That I Raised' Translation - Chapter 851: Save Me

I will note that this is one of the most emotional chapters of the novel, and is much more impactful when you have the full context of the story. If you don't like spoilers for that reason, you should probably skip reading this.

Chapter translation under the cut.

---

Chapter 851: Save Me

Sung Hyunje.

Two words were written clearly on each palm.

Sesung Guildmaster.

Together with the words on both hands, his fading memories resurfaced. In his mind, a clear, bright voice spoke as if chiding him:

"Sung. Hyun. Je. Now, repeat after me. I am Sung Hyunje. I am the Sesung Guildmaster. I will repay my debt to Han Yoojin tenfold. I will not leave a single crust of bread uneaten—"

"That, I don't like," Sung Hyunje muttered aloud.

He could feel the dampness of the wet earth against his skin. With every breath, the sickening stench of blood seeped deeply into his lungs.

His head was intact. Below that, he gradually became aware of his body, both arms, both wrists, and the two hands connected to them. He tried moving his fingers slightly. Both legs were also properly attached.

After being shattered, broken and torn apart countless times, he had begun to question whether his limbs had originally been attached at all. Wasn't it normal not to have them in the first place? His original form became obscured in the mist, and a single fragment became the self. Was the current self the real him, or was it the past self, or even a self from a more distant past that even he didn't know? Could one truly be certain that their present self was the real them if they couldn't recall their beginning?

Sung Hyunje clenched and unclenched his hands. They were clean except for a few smears of blood. But he could still remember the tickling sensation of the pen writing along his skin.

Sung Hyunje. Sesung Guildmaster.

The erased past, the hazy present, and the fragmenting future didn't matter. Those four words defined him. Another memory surfaced.

The aquarium.

He had kept two memories for himself. One of his identity and one of his purpose. His name written on his palm and the promise to go to the aquarium. Even if everything else about him was erased, as long as those two things remained clear, he was confident he could rise and walk without wavering.

His golden eyes slowly closed and opened. It was a simple goal, just a promise to go somewhere together for fun. It was the kind of promise that could have easily been written off or forgotten. And yet, that was precisely why it had been engraved even more deeply. Deliberately keeping such an ordinary and lighthearted promise meant that the other person was that special. Someone who could turn even the ordinary into something extraordinary.

His limp arms bent and pressed against the earth. Blood seeped from the soil between his fingers. Sung Hyunje rose to his feet.

It was night here, and yet there was no night. The bright light of the moon had chased away the darkness and bathed everything in silver. Only a few faint patches of shadow lingered, drifting to and fro between the swaying auroras of pale moonlight.

The moon rose at night, but could this place truly be called that? With a sky so silver that nightbirds closed their eyes, and daybirds couldn't sleep.

Sung Hyunje looked up at the moonlight. Within that cascading celestial glow, the Crescent Moon gazed down at him, like a god watching over her creation. It wasn't far from the truth.

"It's clear that I won't be able to escape this place with my own power."

Golden light flickered around Sung Hyunje. He had already surpassed S-rank. In his hands, he held a portion of his accumulated power and the Gardener's mana stone, refined using the Caregiver's title. One step further and he could have reached the level of a Transcendent, though he still fell short of the level of the Crescent Moon. The layers of contracts that bound him also held him back.

"But… you will not get what you want either."

Jingle, jingle— The tinkling of bells echoed.

Feeling a shiver run down his spine, Sung Hyunje lifted the corners of his mouth.

The small moon now had enough power to reach its fullness. With the Gardener's mana stone as the final drop, the vessel had been filled. Yet, Sung Hyunje had not lost himself. The Perfect Caregiver. The power held by that title was preventing him from transforming into something he didn't want to be.

By the skin of his teeth, barely, precariously, struggling to hold on. Yet refusing to give up.

The Crescent Moon didn't move. She simply hung there. But the moonlight quivered. Clink, clink, clink— Silvery chains poured down from all directions.

Clang, clang! 

Golden light flared to meet the moonlight. Hundreds of chains burst forth, but were struck down by an even greater number, crashing down in waves of gold. Under the overwhelming difference in power, the light fractured, shattering into countless pieces. The moonlight became stained with blood as it sliced through his limbs like blades.

Without even a scream, Sung Hyunje was torn apart. Painted red once more across the red soil. The metallic tinkling of bells subsided. The moonlight resumed its quiet flow. The scattered fragments began to reassemble Sung Hyunje's body again.

The power of the pseudo-Origin, wielding the force of creation, restored 'Sung Hyunje' to his original form. Recreated perfectly, from his body, to his clothes, to even his shoes. It was proof that he hadn't lost himself. 

After inhaling and releasing a long, labored breath, Sung Hyunje lay there on his back, staring up at the sky. 

"You've failed again," he said.

The Crescent Moon, who had reclaimed Sung Hyunje, understood his condition. Despite having gathered everything it needed, the small moon had failed to be reborn as a full moon.

Ordinarily, 'Sung Hyunje' would have disappeared naturally under the weight of such immense power. But Han Yoojin's memories continued to awaken 'Sung Hyunje'. Erasing memories alone wasn't enough to erase 'Sung Hyunje'. And the Cradle that sought to claim the Caregiver had been blocked by the Young Chaos.

The only remaining options were to break 'Sung Hyunje' or erase his memories and start anew.

Jingle─

The moonlight trembled.

His body had been shattered to pieces countless times. When the body broke, the mind was inevitably affected. Yet, Sung Hyunje endured. He was still the Sesung Guildmaster, and he still had a promise to go to the aquarium with Han Yoojin. If he bought him ice cream, Han Yoojin would accept it while pretending that he didn't want it.

"The Cradle will disappear as well."

Sung Hyunje stood, slightly unsteady. His intact legs felt momentarily unfamiliar.

"The Elder will handle it somehow, I'm sure."

The Newbie would end up helping Han Yoojin too. The world Sung Hyunje would return to would be safe. His golden eyes curved gently as he smiled. The Crescent Moon's expression remained unchanged as she looked down at him. Her detached demeanor was like the impassive face of the moon hanging in the sky.

"Your plans have gone awry, haven't they?"

— 'I wanted to perfect you while keeping you as intact as possible.'

Unlike her unchanging face, her voice carried a clear affection. And that made it feel eerily incongruent, like a doll playing a recorded message.

Clink!

A beam of moonlight shot forward at a speed that even combat foresight couldn't anticipate, piercing Sung Hyunje's shoulder. He grabbed the moonlight, which had solidified into a chain, and tore it away.

— 'I hoped you would stay unbroken until the moment of your completion.'

More beams of moonlight shot at him. A few silver chains exploded amidst the burst of electricity, but there remained too many to fend off. Sung Hyunje's body was flung to the ground like a ragdoll, his arm broken, his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Hrgk—!"

A choked breath reflexively escaped him as the chains coiled around his neck. They yanked him around violently like a toy, careful not to kill him. No matter how many times he severed them, the moonlight was infinite. His one remaining intact leg was torn apart, and his broken ankle was ripped clean off.

Crack—His vision went black. The lifeless body of 'Sung Hyunje' was restored to its original form again. His golden eyes blinked open beneath the strands of his disheveled hair.

— 'My child, in the new world, you will not Awaken.'

Sung Hyunje's legs, barely supporting him, were pierced by chains. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.

— 'You will be unable to convey your will, neither through voice nor written words. And yet, there will be countless who desire you, and that itself will become your torment.'

Powerless and mute, yet a coveted existence. Such a thing would ultimately be treated as an object. Some would cherish him, while others would enact unspeakable cruelty upon him. Even those who cherished him would not cherish him as an equal.

— 'You will wander, unable to establish anything of your own, until you give up on yourself, or the power that sustains you fades.'

It would be different from before. Someone who had always risen to the highest place would now have to crawl at the lowest. Even if his innate excellence made him rise again, the moment he clawed himself out of the muck, he would be dragged off to a new place again.

Sung Hyunje would have no opportunity to refine the power he had accumulated. He would have neither time nor freedom to find a way to escape from the Crescent Moon. He would be muzzled, collared, and trampled helplessly underfoot.

Instead of using his impaled legs, Sung Hyunje spread his wings. But before he could rise far, the moonlight tore them apart. His body plummeted, and was shredded to pieces by the silver chains before it hit the ground. He rose, ran, and flew countless times, yet his end was always the ground.

Sung Hyunje opened his eyes once more. His limp arm and open palm came into view. Sesung Guildmaster. Sung Hyunje.

"A promise I can't keep…"

How long would Han Yoojin live? Sung Hyunje was confident he could endure, but he couldn't guarantee Han Yoojin's remaining time. Even if Han Yoojin grew old to the point Sung Hyunje could no longer recognize him, that would be alright. Even if their world had changed completely, it wouldn't matter. Even if the aquarium was a dried-up, empty lot with not a drop of water, just going there together would be enough. Even if there wasn't a single minnow, they could remember, imagine and talk about the biggest whale shark.

Sung Hyunje stood once again, his golden eyes wet. The welling tears fell silently down his face. What he felt wasn't desperation or hopelessness. It was simply…

— 'Such sadness.'

"How could I not be sad? I loved those times."

Every single moment of living in his world. Of Sung Hyunje's life. Even if Han Yoojin's time ran out, Sung Hyunje still had death left to him. His faithful death would surely come and deliver him the final gift of closure.

So he felt neither anxious nor afraid. What he felt was purely sadness.

Song Taewon would recount for him everything that had happened. There would probably be time to share a drink or two. But nothing more than that would be possible for him.

"I want to live in my world."

Just a little longer. Greedily. Like a child who still had so many things he wanted to do, yearning for more time. He didn't want to let go of all the moments yet to come.

"I want to celebrate every birthday, and even death, in that world."

His own birthdays, but also the birthdays of others. He hadn't properly celebrated Han Yoojin's birthday even once. Maybe Song Taewon's upcoming birthday would be a little different than before. Perhaps Sung Hyunje would send off everyone else first, including the two of them, and be left alone again. But this time, he hoped to remember it all and long for it once it was gone.

Even being a gravekeeper would be a joy in that world.

"While remembering who I am…"

Moonlight poured down like rain, veiling his tears. His blurred vision became stained with red. Though he knew full well he couldn't win, golden light surged forth. Electricity crackled fiercely until his last breath. Over and over, again and again.

Yet, slowly, his memories began to dissolve under the relentless violence. Sung Hyunje. Sesung Guildmaster. He struggled to connect these words, to recall their meaning. The aquarium. The massive glass tank where fish swam. He couldn't remember that place.

Sung Hyunje. Sesung Guildmaster. The aquarium.

Someone took his hand and moved a pen across his skin. They were in an unfamiliar place. Light pierced through his heart, his head. The memories he had barely pieced together were suddenly severed and cut short.

Sung Hyunje. Sesung Guildmaster. The aquarium.

The fragmented words drifted through his mind. He couldn't even remember how to breathe, but he realized that 'Sung Hyunje' was his name. Fish swam in the clear water. Bubbles rose to the surface. A vast space, a high ceiling. Moonlight streamed down from the sky.

Sung Hyunje. Sesung Guildmaster. The aquarium.

In his empty palm, he saw the illusion of letters appearing. He had made a promise to go to the aquarium. But he couldn't remember what an aquarium was. His body felt as heavy as if it were sinking into the water. His body, struggling to rise, broke apart again. It dissolved like grains of sand flowing between his fingers.

Sung Hyunje. Sesung Guildmaster. The aquarium.

The Sesung Guildmaster, named Sung Hyunje, extended his hand. The moonlit sky filled his vision. Had the sky always looked like that? Soon, his hand would be severed. He would inevitably be shattered into fragments, as if it were only the natural way of the world.

He didn't even feel the need to resist or fight. He simply stared at his hand.

Sung Hyunje. Sesung Guildmaster. The aquarium.

And then, a string of pink yarn.

"…Yarn."

At some point, the string of pink yarn had descended. Or perhaps it extended out from him. The Crescent Moon lifted her head. The string of yarn stretched out endlessly. Instinctively, Sung Hyunje grabbed it.

'Happy birthday.'

With the sound of that voice, a memory flowed into him. Bundles of yarn tumbled from above. A golden dragon streaked across the bright blue sky, and hot pink yarn rained down around him.

'Hold out your hand.'

He already had. A pair of knitting needles appeared faintly in his mind.

'Though I wasn't invited, I'll leave you a gift. Take care to prevent dementia, and live a very long life.'

All the buried memories came rushing back. Sung Hyunje. Sesung Guildmaster. The aquarium. The pink yarn. Han Yoojin. Song Taewon. His guild, and his world. Like fireworks, the memories lit up his mind, sparkling brightly. Sung Hyunje rose to his feet.

The golden electricity that had vanished flared to life around him once more. And then—

Crack— the sky split open. At the end of the fluttering string of yarn, golden wings spread wide.

"I've come to save you, Princess!" Han Yoojin shouted.

Sung Hyunje laughed with pure joy.

—

Footnotes:

1. "털실" is "fur (usually wool) thread", and refers to wool spun into threads, or what we call "yarn" in English. The term for a single "thread" is also the same 실 as in 털실. In this chapter, the text just says "pink 털실" appeared. In Korean, "운명의 붉은 실 (red thread of fate)" has an analogous grammatical construction: "red 실" (red thread) vs "pink 털실" (pink wool thread), making the symbolism easier to see grammatically. In English, the phrase "red string of fate" is awkward to mirror since "pink string of yarn" sounds odd, so I went with "string of pink yarn".

2. The second line of this chapter says "three characters" in the novel because that's how Sung Hyunje's name is written in Korean (성현제). I thought "two words" was easier to understand and worked better with "Sesung Guildmaster" in English. In Korean, "Sesung Guildmaster" is actually 5 characters (세성 길드장).

[jtoddsangel]

hii sweetheart !! I don't know if you accept request but would you write an story about Jason being the phantom of the opera and reader being christine?? (I don't know if you ever watched the movie or read the book so is okay if you don't want to write❤️)

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐃'𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑. 𝒥. todd x fem!reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; a moment of waltz between a phantom and his beloved soprano. the phantom of the opera au!!

⤷ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; hii omg loved this, thank you for the request!!

your angel of music.

you couldn't always see him, but he was there. you felt him, you heard him. he was a whisper in the dark. neither here nor there, but simply existing in the silence.

present, still and lingering, like a firefly begging to be caught by the hands of a child. inviting curiosity and wonder and every foolish thought.

upstairs, the opera was loud, fluttering with excitement and champagne. the moon was high, and the stars were bright.

but far below and underneath, beside a glass lake covered in mist, was a small chamber, lit by candles and dripping rain.

there, the air tasted like solitude, heavy with the scent of old paper, ink and dust.

and there, your angel made a ballroom of a cave.

you swayed like a curtain in the wind, following his footsteps and staring with marvel. you spoke little words tonight, for it was his turn to serenade.

he twirled you like a bride, and then pressed your back against his chest. his touch was intoxicating, brilliant as his work.

it started with a spark, then a flame, and suddenly it was a wild fire across your senses. his gloved hand, a burning inferno, trailed along your waist.

you looked up to meet his face, and although he hid beneath a mask, his eyes were visible.

and behind those dark and fable eyes, between the cracks of ruin, laid something soft. almost reverent. it was fleeting, but it was there.

they called to you, and you could almost taste the pain they held. like an ocean, you could drown in it. you were tempted to.

his voice was quiet now, like he was waiting for you to say something, anything. you traced along his jaw, across his cheek, and your eyes flickered to his lips..

did you dare to go past the point of no return?

[solacefish]

✎ File contents - Sebastian solace, Solo work. ( 500 )

⎙ Examination Results - Sebastian has always repeated advice to himself from a very young age, after all, he never thought there'd be a time it didn't stick to him. Unfortunately, time and a sense of yearning doesn't feed a growing hunger.

⌕ Research Gathered - Angst, Mentions of drink spiking, Vague suggestions of unhealthy coping mechanisms, Sebastian has some insecurities ( Not explicitly mentioned ), Claws cause blood, Loss of identity, Eating corpses mention, Probably dissociation.

sebastian had never been popular, familiar eyes had never racked along his own flesh in a mirror of his bedroom mirror and perceived as somebody to be liked. it wasn't that he hadn't done anything deserving of, he could solve a rubix cube in 7.3 minutes approximately, cut time off when his brother asked for help with his homework. he could judge a person's character within a moment of knowing them, if you hadn't counted the group of guys he once trusted too much with his drink.

he couldn't view himself as somebody people would glance at for more then a moment, he didn't wish to be normal - he didn't ever want to blend in. though it was safer, it had always been safer to stick with a crowd of people that will not even remember your name. save face, knock wood.

don't draw attention to yourself, sebastian. don't walk the wrong way in a hallway, sebastian. stay out of trouble, sebastian.

to keep his head down low, hands pressed firm against the surface of his desk when the night had gotten difficult. to figure to study would be an appropriate coping over the drawer beside his bed. to turn to writing for his future instead of letting frustrations of appearance and presentation out.

don't look at yourself in the mirror, sebastian. don't listen to your own voice for too long, sebastian. always keep a steady distraction, sebastian.

to pace back and forth about clothing that could make him blend, a closet of stuffed away outfits that he once adored. never show to the public eye, sebastian. don't let them know what you enjoy, sebastian. to chip the dark paint off his fingernails and to break a rule to look back at his own reflection, moon high in the sky and scissors in his hand to cut locks short.

you can't look unique, sebastian. you can't be yourself, sebastian. do not let them perceive you as your own person, sebastian. be them.

to flicked the light that rest just above his forehead, to clasp a hand with another to run them through grown out hair. to break rules, watch his reflection mist and wobble with the surface of tension that threatened to snap in his throat. to scribble on black to claws that did not belong to him, to yearn for the comfortable baggy clothing that used to be too big.

run, sebastian. help yourself, sebastian. let them view you as the human they stole from you, sebastian.

hand clutch a stomach tight enough for crimson on his palm. a lightheaded type hunger that threatened his entire body and form to split. the voice that didn't sound like his to emit from his throat, consistantly echoing back at him through vast concrete and glass walls. had it been making fun of him this whole time? was the unfamiliarity what made everything seem two in his eyes?

fight, sebastian. eat, sebastian. smell the blood in the air and the corpse outside your door, sebastian. close your eyes, sebastian. show who they made you into, sebastian.

[roriaa]

When Sun and Moon meet - S1

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage

Masterlist

҉ * ‧͙ ⋆ ⁺ ༓ ☾ Chapter 1 - Welcome Avatar

“The avatar is here” The guard spoke up as my eyes widened in shock. “The…avatar…?” The guard nodded at my question. I genuinely thought the avatar had died a while ago but I guess they were just rumors? “Chief Arnook wants both of the princesses and prince to attend the gathering for the avatar” I nodded as I went to get up to follow the guards. It's been a year since Sivoy, our youngest brother, was born. Not a lot has changed over the years, except knowing probably this year is going to change us the most. Yue is getting engaged to someone who she has been crying about. I will never forget when she broke down in front of me in my room. I held her, that's all. I couldn't do anything, I couldn't whisper any reassuring words to her or tell her it's going to be okay. The truth is, I was consumed by my own fears of my own arranged marriage next year. It's selfish yes, especially it isn't my situation currently but it will be sooner or later.

We both make it towards the feast, also having Yue’s special announcement of her being able to get married. What everyone else doesn't know is that she is already engaged. I follow her lead, sitting next to her at the edge of the table looking at the variety of foods, which is all seafood. I take a quick peek of our surroundings and see our sister tribe. A sister and a brother which I assume, including a young boy with a blue shaped arrow across his head. “The Avatar is quite young” I whisper to Yue as she nods. I continue watching the show Master Pakku has been presenting to us. It was intriguing, for sure but what was more enjoyable was a southern water tribe member poorly flirting with my sister. Getting called out by his own sister already. I stifled a laugh and just when I knew it, the whole thing has already ended. ҉ ☾

It was quite late at night, the moon spirit was shining brightly. I bowed slightly towards the moon and put my mask on. The mask was carved like a full mood with room for eyes, including feathers surrounding the mask. I pull up my hood from my jacket and go outside, quite far away from the other male waterbenders who were practicing. I mimic the movements that were taught to them. Yes, this is how I'm able to learn and use waterbending. I never know when to give up, I have been told many times by a variety of people. My dad specifically. “Hey! Young one!” I snap my head towards the sound of guards and before they could even ask a question, I disappear. “Where did he go?” one of the guards asked, clearing the mist lingering in the air from my leave. Home. I went home heavily breathing from almost getting caught. I'll just try again tomorrow.

“It wasn't as fun after you left…” I wanted to drown. Oh how much I just wanted to flip this boat upside down to stop Yue and this Southern Water boy from flirting, and I could have flipped this boat around if there were no restrictions. The next thing I know that stopped me from day dreaming was the southern water boy falling off the ledge. I laughed softly, asking Yue “Do you even know his name?” while she was waving off to her new crush. “Sokka” She responded dreamily with a hint of red on her cheeks. My eyes widened with sudden worry “Yue…” The way I spoke was intended to remind her that she was an engaged lady. I doubt father would allow her to marry someone else, especially if he is constantly traveling. “I know” Yue cut me off with a disappointing tone I felt nothing but sorrow in the moment, what's worse I couldn't do anything to save her. I stayed silent, leaning slightly back hearing the water move around us.

I was able to stop by Yagoda’s place, there was no reason to but she taught me when I was very young, it was a way to make use of my water bending by my father. She only taught how to heal however but what more can you do in this kind of situation. It's only fair I show respect for her by bringing her food, supplies, trinkets or even my presence. Before I stepped foot I overheard her talking to…someone? I take a little peek, leaning my body so only my eyes would be visible towards the door. It was the southern water tribe girl! What is she doing here…? Looking further towards the door only to realize she’s a waterbender…She's a water bender! I could use her to somehow convince Master Pakku and my father. Yes, it sounds horrible. Using an important guest to my own advantage but it's beneficial for everyone, even her so it's not entirely selfish. I wasn't able to convince Master Pakku. Instead he told my father my plan which led me to get in more trouble than I already was. I'm just a princess, and that's all I will ever be. My head snapped up as I heard the Southern Water Tribe girl coming closer. I took the chance to grab her wrist and pull her to the side. “Hey! Who-” “It's me!” I said pointing to my very obvious white hair. “Oh you're the younger princess! What happened?” “You can waterbend? Correct?” I asked already knowing the answer “Yes…why?” “Because I feel like you can convince Master Pakku to allow us girls to waterbend” I whisper “A lot of girls have water bending abilities however they’re forced to keep it in because of the strict rules but!” I pointed at her “Your the southern side of the water tribe, maybe somehow show him your abilities and possibly convince him to allow girls to water bend” She looked at me confused. “How am I able to do that when I can't even learn whatever he is teaching?” I thought about it for a second until an idea popped into my head “Get it from your avatar friend! He is getting taught, right?” Her eyes widened as she nodded “You're right! Then I'll get it from him. Thank you…uh- princess…” I giggled “Y/N, just call me Y/N” “Katara” “Thank you Katara” I smiled as she walked away.

And this was the last thing I wanted. Seeing Katara and Master Pakku fight with waterbending. “This is all my fault” I muttered under my breath. “Your fault?” Yue attempted to confirm my statement. “What?” I look at her confused. Did I really say that out loud? “You said something” “I'm sure I did not” “But I hear-”

A big wave of water hit the ice, hearing the splash turned me away from the conversation. Both Yue and I were wincing from the sound of the impact. Last thing I see is Katara with a bunch of icicles surrounding her. She…lost…

I sigh sadly as I go to grab Katara's betrothal necklace that laid on the icy floor. But before I was able to, “This is my necklace…” Master Pakku grabs it gently. I immediately walked back. Ah…so the southern tribe existed because Katara’s family members did not want to stay in an area with unnecessary rules. It was quick to piece together. I heard Yue’s breathing become unstable, so I turned to look at her but she didn't look back. She was slightly shaking and tears were brimming her blue eyes. “Yue…” I spoke softly and sadly, reaching for her shoulders but she ran, covering her eyes with her hands to prevent more tears from falling. “Yue!” I yelled, already planning to chase her only for the southern water tribe boy to pull me back. “I’ll get her” He gave a reassuring smile then ran towards Yue. Both of them slowly disappearing. I wonder if he knows why Yue was crying. I furrowed my eyebrows in pity and turned on my heel to go back. “Y/N!” Katara yelled out for me, I turned towards her direction. “Thank you” she said out of breath. “I didn't really do anything” “You helped me gain confidence” She smiled “Well…your welcome and thank you for…all of that” I patted her on the head and she laughed. “You're an amazing water bender” I said and turned to go home. I sigh sadly wondering if Yue is alright.

<- Back - Next ->

a/n: I finished this quite quickly! ALSO THERE IS STILL NO ZUKO IM SORRYYY! I PROMISE ZUKO WILL BE THERE IN CHAPTER 2. The masterlist should be out by the time this chapter is out. This whole fic is COMPLETELY last minute like I started writing all of this today. BUT WOO impulsive decisions led me to post this. Also surprisingly, S1 of this series is literally almost ending LMAO. I think S1 is only like 4-5 chapters? I only finished Chapter 3 currently so im not sure. However I think S2 and S3 will be PACKED and im planning to add some extras in there too :D ALSO If you want to be in the taglist pls go ahead and comment or ask me :) Have a nice day!

-- Taglist: @luvkvni @katovano

[ivystoryweaver]

What a Mother Can Be

Pairing: Moon Dads! Steven Grant x mother!reader, Marc Spector x mother!reader. (Jake is mentioned). The story does not state that this reader has given birth to these children, nor the reader's gender, so anyone who could ever feel like a mother would be included here.

Word Count: 1.7k

Content: MOON DADS!! fluff, domestic fluff, kids, married life, it's Mother's Day, kissing, mentions of food and eating, there is a tinge of angst-ish, as Wendy Spector is mentioned, but this is not an angsty fic. This story is what I wish for the Moon Boys IF this is what they would want. They deserve to heal and they deserve a family if they want one - whatever that may look like. not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

He finds you in the kitchen early Sunday morning, standing over a hot griddle, pancakes sizzling.

Your babbling toddler wiggles in the high chair, pinching one Cheerio at a time in her chubby fingers and stuffing it into her mouth, making a kind of weird mush as she entertains herself.

You back is turned to him so you don’t realize he’s there until his arms wind around you from behind.

“You can’t cook today,” he breathes on your ear, stealthily removing the spatula from your hand.

You giggle and pretend to shrug him off. “Why not?”

“It’s Mother’s Day,” he declares, with an adoring kiss to your cheek.

“So? We have two boys about to come barreling in here,” you remind him matter-of- factly. “My present to myself is not listening to them demanding to know what’s for breakfast.”

A sliver of shame shoots through Steven's heart. He intended to wake up before you and take care of all this: breakfast and the kids. But Jake was out late last night and he accidentally overslept.

“Dada!” Lockley calls from her high chair, playfully slapping her hands down on the tray.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Steven greets his daughter, bending over to kiss her forehead. “Did you know it’s Mummy’s day?

“Ma-ma, Ma-ma, Ma-ma,” Lockley wiggles back and forth, chanting proudly.

As predicted, two energetic boys burst into the kitchen, their tousled curls an adorable mess.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” the twins shout in unison, holding up a handmade banner, constructed from about 60 post-it notes stuck together.

“Wowww,” you whistle in admiration. “Somebody’s been ransacking my office for supplies.” You wink, kneeling down to inspect their handiwork, and assuming they were unable to locate the construction paper to make this unique banner.

Then you take a closer look as Steven tends to the pancakes, finishing them up and removing them from the heat.

“Oh…” Your eyes mist over instantly when you realize the reasoning behind using such small paper to build a banner.

"There's messages on each one," Grant, the oldest twin by two minutes, shyly murmurs.

"Read 'em, read 'em, Mom!" Your energetic Jakob almost tears the feeble construct apart with his bouncing up and down.

Several of the notes boast simple messages such as, "Happy Mother's Day!" or "We love you!"

A few of them have small handprints - Mother's Day classics. There's even a tiny handprint, with LOCKLEY printed messily underneath.

"We had to write hers because she can't write," Jakob states the obvious. "But she tried to eat the Post-its."

"I'm sure she did," you chuckle, glancing over a few "coupons" where the boys have offered to load the dishwasher, fold laundry, give you a back rub and the like.

Then you notice a rather good drawing of your family under a banner reading, "The Spectors": You, holding baby Lockley. Grant and Jakob are flanking either side of you. And there are three dads pictured and labeled, Marc, Steven, Jake, underneath, "DAD" written in all caps. "MOM" is above your head.

"Grant, did you draw this, bud?" You ask your little artist, ruffling his curls.

"Yeah. It was hard to fit everyone on a Post-it, so I made it on two. So you have to keep them together...okay?" His dark eyebrows shoot up hopefully.

You nod, continuing to inspect each one.

Jake has written a few notes in Spanish and Steven left you a riddle...which led to a second riddle underneath the first one. And a third.

Jakob is giddy, dying to tell you what the riddle's answers are, but Grant silences him.

The bottom post it says, "Turn around."

Curious, you stand back up and turn to find Steven holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand and a wrapped present in the other.

"One-two-three," you hear Grant coach. Then Jakob joins in. "Surprise!" Your husband and twin sons chorus.

"Happy Mother's Day, darling," Steven smiles at you, handing you your gifts. "These are from Marc and me."

"Thank you, I love them," you accept the flowers and kiss him sweetly on the lips.

"And Jake says he's going to get Frenchie to babysit next weekend so he can take you out in the city and 'show you off.' His words."

You snort, clearly amused. "Frenchie wants to babysit these three?"

"Yay!" Jakob cheers. "Uncle Frenchie! Uncle Frenchie!"

"Fen-he!" Lockley attempts, bouncing in her chair.

"See, everyone loves the idea," Steven grins, nodding for you to open the wrapped gift. "You can wear this."

A moment later, as he places your flowers in some fresh water, you unwrap your gift.

"It's beautiful," you gasp, touching the golden necklace, bearing hieroglyphs.

"It represents motherhood," Steven gushes. "Here, I made sure to get the paper that explains it all."

"Thank you." Wrapping your arms around his neck you hug him tightly. "Will you put it on me?"

Steven obliges, and you turn back to your boys. "What do you guys think?"

"It's pretty, Mom," Grant sweetly replies.

But Jakob has already dropped his half of the banner and is reaching for a pancake when Steven clears his throat pointedly.

The five of you gather around the table for an all too sugary breakfast before heading out to the park to get some fresh air, let the kids play and spend some quality time together.

Lockley can't walk quite yet, so she's rolling and scooting on a blanket on the grass while Grant and Jakob play close by.

Steven has already apologized for oversleeping, but you confess that you heard Jake come home extremely late. Lockley had a fussy night, so you turned off the baby monitor not ten minutes after he fell asleep and spent most of the early morning rocking your sweet, fussy girl.

"The perfect mom, as always," Steven compliments, with a sparkle in his eye. "And the day's not over yet. There's more to come."

You tangle your fingers with his, laying your head on his shoulder. After a brief silence, you ask, "How's Marc?"

You normally don't ask one alter to deliver messages for another. Half the time, they don't know anyway. But this is Marc. On Mother's Day.

"Quiet," Steven answers. "I think he's okay."

You hum a response, handing Lockley the pacifier she spit out.

"And you, my love? How are you today?"

Because Steven lost his mom too. And not simply because she passed away, but because the mother he thought was his was not real. Parts of her were real, to Steven anyway. The parts from childhood when she wasn't drunk, wasn't violent.

Those were Steven's memories to hold.

But he lost who he thought she was, as well.

"I'm better this year. Better every year," he nods, eyes focused on his twins playing together. "Get to spend this day with the best mum there is."

He gazes over at you adoringly.

"Thank you," you whisper, sealing your mouth to his.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Later that evening, after you and Steven have wrangled three kids into bed, you decide to take a quick shower.

When you emerge, Marc is waiting for you with a glass of wine.

"Happy Mother's Day," his dark eyes flicker down the curves of your body and he wets his lips.

"Marc," you breathe, taking the wine glass from his hand and setting it aside so you can throw your arms around him. "I didn't think I would see you today."

His strong forearms flex against your back, pulling you closer. "I'm here. Did you get the flowers?"

"Yeah they're on the dining room table. Thank you, they're beautiful."

"Good." Easing back, he kisses your mouth, before taking your hand and retrieving your wine glass. "Come on."

The sound of the record player drifts faintly down the hall, welcoming you into the den, where Marc has built a fire.

"I know it's May, but I turned the air down low," he explains, answering your quizzical look. "I know how much you love a fire."

You beam at him as he leads you to sit down on the plush rug in front of the fireplace. There's a tray with some adult-worthy snacks, like - the nice brand of cheese and fancy chocolates.

"No kids allowed," he winks, knowing you're always the one to give up the last pancake or slice of pizza for your children, or for him.

"Oooh, okay, this almost feels like an anniversary." You reach for a chocolate as the two of you get comfortable.

"Too much?" He questions, dark eyes focused intently on the way your lips wrap around the candy.

"Owh naw - its puwfect," you mumble, mouth stuffed full of a truffle.

Marc laughs, nodding mockingly, but playfully. "Sexy."

"I know," you humph, finishing your treat. "But today's my day. I don't have to be sexy."

"You couldn't help that if you tried," he smoothly counters, reaching up with his thumb to swipe chocolate from the corner of your mouth.

"You're really racking up the points here, babe, like, this is..." You glance all around you before taking a swig of your wine. "This is good. Really good."

"I thought you could use some kid-free time," he explains, "With your favorite things - without Jakob eating them all first."

You share a laugh, knowing it's true. Jakob is barely a middle child, but he certainly acts like one.

"If you want some alone time, just say the word," Marc adds, a bit reluctantly. "I just want you to be able to relax."

Setting down your wine glass, you pull him close by his t-shirt. "Don't you dare. You're mine."

You surge forward to meet his lips in a hungry kiss, the wine and the pampering treatment truly reminding you of more of a romantic anniversary setting than anything else.

Marc hums against your lips, cupping your face in his hand as you deepen the kiss, licking open the seam of his mouth to taste him. The wine and the chocolate and the essence of your husband soothes and thrills you equally as you melt into his arms.

"Thank you," you whisper, rubbing your nose against his as you part for air. "Thank you for making me a mother."

He touches his forehead to yours and earnestly returns, "Thank you for showing me what a mother can be."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Moon Knight Masterlist

Holiday Fics Masterlist

Main Masterlist

updates blog - @ivystoryupdates

[coff33andb00ks]

33 with Oscar please? It is August but I am READY for autumn and spooky season already!

"Are you a witch?"

driver + number = drabble <3

ahh autumn and spooky season how I adore thee!! i hope you enjoy ❤️

warnings/themes: not proofread, reader and/or oscar might actually be a witch, hints of dark!oscar, vague historical au of some type idk

suggested listening: Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac ('97 live)

When you met him, you were intrigued. Most men were intimidated by you, but not him. He was unflappable, his energy stoic, and in a sea of chaotic boys, it was nice to meet a man.

He didn't engage, he observed. Sometimes others would interact with him but his quiet nature tended to put them off, not that he seemed to mind. From what you noticed, he appeared to prefer being left alone.

You became enthralled.

You saw him - Oscar of Australia - everywhere, an ever present shadow in town, lingering like the mist in the mornings then disappearing when you actively looked for him. The season was changing and the mist grew deeper each night, the air crisper each time you took your nightly trek through the forest.

Hunter's moon. Withering plants. Trees shedding their brightly colored leaves.

The woods smelled of dirt and damp and you felt serene there, away from everyone and everything. There was an energy among the trees that you couldn't find anywhere else and so you were drawn to them every night, like all the luckless sailors lured by the siren's calls in the tales told by the fireside.

But unlike the unfortunate sailors, you were aware of the dangers.

Animals. Fearsome beasts that were docile when treated with respect. Unlike the so-called men in town, you much preferred the company of the bears and wolves roaming the forests, for they didn't attack unprovoked.

You were able to be free, untethered by the constraints of expectations while in town, where you were meant to behave as a lady.

The moonlight was dappled on the leaves scattered across the forest floor and you breathed in the mist that swirled around you. Owls in the distance called and the wind whispered through the branches, nature's music adding a bounce to your step. You were almost to the clearing when you heard it.

Snap.

Your heart went still and your steps ceased. Listening closely, you realized it wasn't an animal. At least, not the four legged kind. You strained to listen, and then you heard the whisper of a breath. You spun, searching the shadows, hand reaching for the dagger you kept on you.

Oscar stepped out into the moonlight, one corner of his mouth lifted into a slight smirk.

"Not going to stab me, are you?" he asked softly.

It was the first time he'd ever spoken to you directly. If you hadn't been so wary of his being in the woods - your woods, your safe place - you would have been shocked. Instead you relaxed a little, lowering your hand to your side. "No."

He looked at you, his smirk disappearing as his gaze slid over you, so blatant you could feel the heat of his eyes. "What brings you out at night?" he asked, moving closer, like a cat stalking its prey.

You refused to be scared. He was just a man. "I like the night."

"But you come out every night." He tilted his head, the moonlight glittering in his eyes.

Brown as the pine needles beneath your feet, strains of black like the dirt on your fingers when you gathered mushrooms.

"Are you a witch?" he whispered.

A small ripple of fear ran down your spine. You were well aware of what would happen if you said yes. So you turned the question on him. "Are you?"

Oscar hummed. "I'm many things at many times."

"You didn't answer the question," you whispered.

He leaned close, his cheek brushing yours as he brought his lips to yours. "Neither did you."