#mountain sharper

[dotomuses]

sagau p3: animosity, acceptance he/they for reader, but no anatomy or dni.

random bullshit go. previous parts here and here. just wanted to properly note the doubts and thoughts on the false god's doings.

"you can hardly hold this one accountable for your unfortunate... circumstances," xianyun noted, pushing her spectacles up with a clawed finger, "the adepti were not involved in your and the archon's business at all."

(name) smiled, bringing his cup up to his lips, gingerly taking a sip of the scalding tea. "indeed... your contribution to either side of the falsehood was scarcely significant." he responded, tone so dry and disdainful xianyun had to furrow a brow.

she cleared her throat, glancing sideways at a fuming moon carver. "you must pardon me for such a hasty invitation," she spoke, addressing all those at the table, "when one was alerted of the false- ahem, returned god i believed it best suitable we speak before word got by to the archons." (name) raised an eyebrow skeptically, to which xianyun hastily added "not that any of us would've spread it out, we were of course acquainted quite closely in the early days, were we not?"

(name) hummed, "indeed we were," he looked over at her from above the rim of the teacup, "but you must tell me why the invitation was required at all. i had assumed quite early on you wanted nothing to do with me?"

xianyun and mountain sharper looked ever so slightly uneasy, but moon carver crossed his arms and spoke solemnly. "indeed we did not. and while i cannot speak for the others," he said, looking over at cloud retainer and mountain sharper as though they had done him some great betrayal, "one still does not wish to."

"however, it must be said. as adepti, our first priority is the safety of liyue and her people." (name) smiled, knowing well what the other meant to intend, "you posses a blade against that safety. a wicked one."

how he wounds me, (name) thought lazily, but said nothing at all, letting moon carver speak on.

"we demand to know of your intentions, and why, how you broke the seal of exile. such power mustn't be tampered with, and even as the others only wish for peaceful dealings, one will not hesitate to defend liyue against your previous tyranny."

mountain sharper bristled, "peace, moon carver." he turned to (name) who seemed thoroughly impressed by moon carver's words, choosing to blank out at him for a moment, before their lip twitched upwards and they looked away. "you must realise we chose for such a calm gathering due to the fact you have not yet possessed a threat to tevyat at all."

(name) nodded, "yes, no threat at all. though i find it marvelous how little words seem to shatter this land's superiority... is it truly that dangerous?" his words had no bite behind them, fangs neatly covered by grinning lips, but the others still looked weary.

"good (name)," xianyun began, "we do wish to know, as your... companions," the entire table winced at once, and (name)'s smile faded ever so slightly. his eyes lidding, "my pardon. we wish to know, as liyue's protectors, what you intend to now that you roam tevyat free again."

moon carver frowned, "let us not forget the matter of why you are free to roam tevyat as well. it is the abyss which adopted you, is it not?"

(name)'s fingers interlocked, elbows on the table, as he rested his chin on his hands, eyes shut. "i had help, but i am afraid a dear contract, one much similar to yours allows me not to speak much more of it."

"and as for the matter of what i wish to do... hm, nothing alike what i did once, i assume..."

"i've grown weary at the though of travel, and speaking seems like a chore. i greatly doubt my ability to preach anymore as i once did, so you may rest your scowls and mistrust," he opened a single eye to look at moon carver, delighting in the way the other seemed to only frown further. "i now only wish to carry out a small favour for a friend, perhaps rekindle with old acquaintances along the way." avenge. was a thought unsaid.

xianyun looked weary, mountain sharper skeptical, and moon carver frustrated. another lie from the charlatan's mouth, they thought in unison, only for the man in question to raise a hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh.

"you great beings make it so easy to understand what you think, moreso than mortals do," he commented, unlacing his fingers to hold a tea leave between his fingers, picked from a tray. "but i must indulge in your mistrust, indeed there is not a word you should believe from me, not a single one."

"but," (name) continued, placing a sheet of paper on the table, "i presumed you would only be consoled by your own means of tethering beforehand, and have prepared so."

moon carver took the paper, looking over at the text. liyuen alphabet, but written by a foreign hand, judging by the artistic but uncommon curves. but moon carver was too acquainted by the habits of his scarce companions to know it was not written by (name) himself.

"a contract?" xianyun queried, peering over at the parchment. "indeed, a blank one as well." (name) responded, tapping at the sheet, "you, my dear friends, are free to choose the terms. i shall be bound by liyue's laws, and you shall rest peacefully."

mountain sharper took the paper into his own hands, as though to examine in for any fabrication, and upon finding none commented, "a truly unexpected show of genuineness from you, lord (name)."

(name) narrowed his eyes in offense, "...right. i shall give you time to decide the terms in solitude. when you are to sign it, the affects will bear themselves on me without question." he took the tea leaf to his mouth, resting it under his tongue. "and should you find any falsehood... i need not create your pre-existing judgements."

time passed awfully quick in tevyat, (name) thought, watching the adepti privately fuss over the sheet, trying to ensure no loopholes in their terms at all. minutes seemed to play the role of hours, and hours the role of months. in merely seconds the three were done with their terms, and (name) almost giggled at the absurdity of such a stern matter, him, being settled so soon.

"the terms are simple," cloud retainer stated, "a tongue-binder. you are forbidden from spreading falsehoods to any man, child, creature, being, belief, and depleted from writing them, inking them, putting them in song, poem, prose or sharing it in any way."

moon carver looked ever so slightly smug, uncharacteristic for his regular demeanor, "judging to how your injustices to tevyat's purity stem from your lies, you shall be unallowed to lie in any shape of form. this one term single handedly covers any issue you could pose to liyue, the adepti, the archons, and tevyat herself."

(name) looked bored, chewing on the tea leaf in his mouth idly, "very well. i assume you have signed it already, since i feel a sense of foreboding just looking at you."

mountain carver scowled, shoving the piece of paper onto the table. "do with it what you must, but surely you already know, that any defamation done to the contract will not undo it's contents, unless you are you die and miraculously be brought back to life." he meant it in contempt, but xianyun still muttered under her breath "this excludes if you are to become a jiāngshī of course, though i doubt any adepti would aid you in it..."

(name) tilted his head, looking solemnly at the three, and then at the contract. "quite innovative i must say" he drawled, not meaning it at all, but it must've been a truth, "if our business here is complete, i would greatly like to take my leave. even one as idle as myself has other things to do than sit out at tea parties, esteemed hosts."

moon carver and mountain sharper turned to eachother, but cloud retainer spoke first. "indeed. we would not wish for your presence to be found, especially not in the company of the adepti, lord (name). though one must ask for the knowledge of where you plan to keep your abode, and i am afraid it is a matter of curiosity over concern."

(name) sighed, eyes wandering over to take in chenyu vale's scenery, peering down at the far-away ground from their little meeting on the trunk of a large, curved tree. "i do not know, dearest cloud retainer," he mused, resting his head on his palm, "i assume i must wander as i once did. you need not worry so." he added, a little sarcastically, knowing well, they would not worry. not anymore.

mountain sharper bowed his head, "then we must all depart, i have my duties to tend to, and i believe this matter has been settled."

"you mustn't forget yourself, (name)," mountain carver growled, "you were a great hindrance to the land, and shall you return to your unsavoury habits, we shall not hesitate to strike you down, and repent for our past mistake of not involving ourselves."

(name) smiled, standing up from his chair, brushing his robes to straighten the folds. "your tea is despicably bitter," he commented, and xianyun glowered.

💌 very late update... school just started and i've been so burnt out. i miss the fatui, might try to shove them into the next update.

[unknownhomosapien]

a living she/he god/ess

[auutumn]

so for context, i was writing in my notes what architectural designs from different cultures & eras i associate with the courts, and i concluded that i like gothic germanic for the autumn court, so it would actually be neat to emphasize the gothicism!!!

i associate the forest house with brandenburg's castles; the major cities are a more baroque, viennese style, but the countryside? wild autumn is haunted groves and ghosts roaming the village houses. fog and mist. leaves shuffling with hidden creatures, helhonds and attorcropes. the wheat fields sway with the winds, beckoning you. the vineyards pulse with mischief. the land is built on bones. you are lost in the woods. there is something in the grass, and it knows your name. there are beasts hidden between the decaying branches of the trees, skohsls and wichts. carved pumpkins whose eyes seem to trace your every move as you stalk through the endless maze of corn. critters scurrol to their dens. the scarecrows hum a foreign tune. the deer know something you do not. the birds croon a mournful, melancholic lament. autumn is in perpetual transition. everything is dying, and everything is living.

[usefulcrew]

MUSE TAGS 3/3

「 ⛏️ 」   miners’ silver ghost  » ic

「 ⛏️ 」   hear her whistle on the wind  » hc

「 ⛏️ 」   glowing red as coal in hell » vis

「 ⛏️ 」   mighty lonesome cry  » musing

「 ⛏️ 」   up and down the mountain  » interest

「 ⛏️ 」   ghost trains  » aes

「 🕷️ 」   bloodthirsty train  » ic

「 🕷️ 」   the goriest express  » hc

「 🕷️ 」   teeth sharper than a knife  » vis

「 🕷️ 」   take this off the rails  » musing

「 🕷️ 」   madness and decay  » interest

「 🕷️ 」   brace for the freight train  » aes

「 🌠 」   call me rusty if you dare  » ic

「 🌠 」   do it like a steam train  » hc

「 🌠 」   slow corroison is eroding my frame  » vis

「 🌠 」   switching and hitching  » musing

「 🌠 」   for a dead-end engine  » interest

「 🌠 」   the finishing line  » aes

[rafecameronssl4t]

Lunch with the family || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: been a hot min since I’ve posted dad!rafe and mabel

MASTERLIST (dad!Rafe au masterlist)

"The views are insane," Sarah mutters, her phone raised to capture the breathtaking scenery of Lake Como. The serene lake shimmered under the late afternoon sun, framed by the towering mountains and elegant villas scattered along the shore. "I know, it's so surreal," you respond, adjusting the sunglasses perched on your nose, the warmth of the Italiab sun gently caressing your skin.

The entire Cameron family had gathered here to celebrate Ward and Rose’s wedding anniversary—a grand affair that seemed to fit the lavish surroundings perfectly. Your gaze drifts, inevitably landing on Rafe who was sat on the table in the patio, engrossed in conversation with Ward. His fitted Ralph Lauren shirt accentuated his broad chest and sculpted biceps, clinging perfectly to his figure.

The subtle grown-out buzz cut he now sported framed his face in a way that made him look even more ruggedly handsome, and you couldn’t help but admire the way the soft breeze tousled his hair just so. There was something magnetic about him—something you couldn’t quite shake. He caught you staring, his piercing eyes meeting yours, and a smirk slowly curved onto his lips.

He winked, a playful glint in his gaze, causing your heart to flutter despite yourself. You returned the smile, warmth creeping up your neck, before quickly turning away, focusing instead on Wheezie and Mabel, who were happily playing together in the garden nearby. "Does anyone want any more pizza?" Rose’s voice suddenly cut through the peaceful scene as she stood up from the table, brushing crumbs from her dress.

"We're good, thanks, Rose—" Sarah began to reply, but her words were abruptly cut off by a high-pitched wail. The unmistakable sound of Mabel crying pierced through the air, causing everyone to turn in alarm. Your head whipped around, eyes widening as you saw Mabel sprawled on the grass, tears streaming down her tiny face. Gasps erupted around the table, chairs scraping against the stone patio Rafe, Rose, and Ward stood.

Wheezie stood frozen, her eyes wide with panic. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I looked away for just a second—" she stammered, voice shaky with guilt. You moved quickly, bending down to scoop Mabel into your arms. "It’s okay, Wheezie, don’t worry. It was just an accident," you reassured her, offering a soft smile. Gently bouncing Mabel, you inspected her for any signs of injury, "I know, baby, I know. But it’s okay," you cooed, soothing Mabel as she continued to cry softly in your arms.

Rafe was at your side in seconds, his frustration evident. "Wheezie!" he snapped, his tone sharper than intended as Mabel's cries intensified. "Rafe, it’s fine," you interjected quickly, placing a calming hand on his bicep in an attempt to soothe his agitation. He met your gaze briefly before focusing on Mabel, his expression softening as he took her from your arms, holding her protectively against his chest.

"You’re okay, baby. You’re okay," Rafe whispered, kissing Mabel’s tear-streaked cheeks while he rocked her gently. You rested a hand on her back, helping to calm her. Soon enough, Mabel’s eyelids grew heavy, her tiny body relaxing in Rafe’s arms. He continued to hold her close, his movements tender and sleepiness overtook her.

[dilftaroooo]

Not sure if your requests are closes right now sorry if they are-

But you should do Yuji fucking fem!reader or eating her out and Sukuna switching with him in the middle of it 😊

nonnie im so happy to breath the same air as u

★tags: aged up characters + afab reader + she/her pronouns + spanking + oral (f. receiving) + fingering + implied piv sex (very brief tho) + praising + sukuna bashing yuji smdh.

Your beloved boyfriend always manages to find himself emerging in the sloppy heat that rests between your thighs. Salmon fields adorned with restless digits splay across the top of his head as he licks and laps at you desperately. It's good pussy for the soul and he would hate if he would've missed this opportunity to have you sing out his name while you involuntarily send pressure to the sides of his head with your rigid thighs.

Your chest heaves and ho's at the heavy mass of passion with each inconsistent breath you take--jagged whenever Yuji coos at your hard clit, telling her how he's obsessed with her and her owner before giving her a light peck.

"I want you to fuck me already, Yu." You croak impatiently, wiggling your hips to emphasize your desires but Yuji gives you a quick slap to the side of your ass and squeezes it right after.

"Not now, baby. Let me enjoy what's in front of me first. Can I get that?" He watches you under the rise of your pelvis. His words are soft and whispered in a tone he always uses with you whenever he wants to feel you clench. Honey-glazed globes look at the feast upon him amorously. Your previously shaven hairs start to grow into stubble as it retrieves itself back to its original state; wet and coated with your juices. He buries his nose further.

A moan was a good enough answer for your boyfriend and he keeps doing what he was born to do. You continue to plead for him as he eats you out. "I'm right here, lovely. Not going anywhere." He'd respond with each fervid call.

His sucks at your cunt arouses you tenfold once you feel yourself coming to that edge at the tippy top of a mountain as gusty winds roughly kiss at the apples of your cheeks and the lids of your closed eyes. It's easy to tell you're close as Yuji hums into wet folds causing you to rattle.

"Oh fuck, Yuji. Keep going, sweet boy. 'M gonna come soon..."

Your nails cautiously dig into his scalp, not enough to hurt him severely, and your legs wrap around bulging muscle for support of your incoming orgasm. His body glistens under the light of the living room and blesses you with each defined section of muscle to pop under dark shadows.

But the devil is a conniving bastard for your reach to climax was interrupted when you flinch at the harsh bite gnaw at your clit, sending you to scurry backward away from the abrupt pain but strong arms keep your legs in place to force you into more torture. Looking down, you noticed Yuji's canines were sharper than usual. His skin was tainted in elongated markings, ones Yuji had never worn. His nails were painted in a deep violet and you think to yourself, 'Yuji couldn't have possibly put that on so fast,'.

"That sappy shit was starting to churn my stomach. How about you do that whenever I'm not possessing you? I already get nauseous knowing I'm living inside a fucking idiot." His voice was deeper too.

"Y-You're Sukuna, right? Yuji told me about you." You've never seen eyes glaringly red like his--four of them. They all watch you with a look of interest paired with a cunning smirk.

"That's right, dollface. Very good. Glad you know of me already, so we can skip the greetings." He resumes his host's previous ministrations but turns it up a notch by adding a finger or two to your drooling pussy. He teases a glossy, purple tip along the quivering hole before pushing in deep. As soon as he learns you can perfectly take one, he puts the second one in. A grin remains still on his face when hearing your moans crescendo.

"My, my. You're already soaking my fingers, dove. Guess that brat is doing something properly for once. Slobbering all over the couch, fuck, can't remember the last time I've seen pussy like this." His index and middle fingers dance across the gushy ridges in you, he moves them in ways Yuji knows you love and that feature shocks you.

He gorges on your clit and eats your pussy out like it's his last meal on earth before being sentenced to death. Saliva runs down the length of your labia, bubbles forming along the way by his boisterous lapping. Your hips can't resist gyrating against his face, ruby red remains settled on your helpless figure as you revisit that same high as before. You bathe his fingers with cum til they prune and you're too overstimulated to feel sorry.

The couch dips and you're instantly turned around on your stomach, facing the decorative pillow you believed matched the aesthetic of your living room.

"Hey, what're you-"

"You said you wanted to get fucked remember? Your cunt is still drooling cus she's hungry. Didn't give her enough." The smacks he gave your ass were harder than Yuji's and that just goes to show how rough this curse really is but you writhed nonetheless.

He was gonna fuck you good. You already figured much as hands grip around the fat at your hips and his cock carefully grinds into you.

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐋𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞

Kenji Sato x Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.3k

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Pregnant!Reader, innuendos, Kenji’s dirty thots 🙄, handjob, Sub!Ken, mentions of come eating

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Your midnight cravings turn into something more than Kenji bargained for

Kenji woke up to the soft sound of your voice as you gently shook him awake. For a moment, he felt disoriented, and his mind was still foggy from sleep. But then he turned to face you, the familiarity of your scent anchored him.

The room was dark, the late hours casting soft shadows over your features. He could just about make out your facial features, the crinkle in your brows and your mouth slightly open.

“I’m thirsty,” you said. Kenji rubbed the sleep from his eyes and let out a yawn as he tried to fully wake up. He was still out of it, but he managed to process what you said.

“Water, right?” he guessed, his voice still thick with sleep as he sat up and pushed the blanket off.

His body still craved the warmth of the blanket, but your request pulled him out of that comfort. Even half-asleep, he still couldn’t ignore you.

He let out another yawn before he ran a hand through his unruly hair— a reflexive attempt to wake himself up more.

“But I don’t want water. I want a lemon popsicle,” you replied firmly.

Kenji blinked at you, the request slowly processing in his tired brain. You couldn’t be serious. A popsicle at this time of the night?

He gave you a dumbfounded look, searching for any signs to see if you were joking. But the pout and the stern look in your eyes told you weren’t bluffing.

He sighed, realising it was one of those pregnancy cravings— unpredictable, sometimes inconvenient. But he knew not to ignore them.

He should’ve expected it with you being five months pregnant. He heard stories from others but experiencing it first hand was something else entirely.

“Why?” he asked, partly in an attempt to stall, hoping you might change your mind.

“It’s more refreshing,” Kenji rolled his eyes, though he had to admit, it was amusing hearing your reasoning. It was one of the quirks he was slowly growing into, even if it was a little exasperated sometimes.

“Can’t I just get you some lemonade,” he suggested even though he knew that it would be pointless to ask.

“No, I want a popsicle,” you repeated, leaving no room for negotiation.

Typical, he thought. Though he knew you beat him in his reasoning.

“Alright, alright. You want a popsicle? I’ll get you one.” As much as he preferred to stay in bed, he knew this would all be worth it at the end— he would do anything to keep you and the baby satisfied.

He turned to leave the room, his feet dragging slightly as he padded to the kitchen. Tiredness still seeped in his bones, making his steps feel heavier and his movements slow.

He opened the freezer, the cold air hitting his face as he squinted against the brightness. The light from the freezer felt sharper against the surrounding darkness.

He began rummaging around the drawers until, finally, he found the damn lemon popsicle. With a sense of triumph, he pulled it out and headed back to the room.

When he returned, he found you sitting up against the headboard, waiting patiently for the popsicle. Kenji carefully unwrapped the popsicle, the crinkling of the wrapper was loud against the quiet room. He handed it to you to take.

“Here…” he said softly, masking the yawn threatening to escape.

He didn’t want you to feel guilty for waking him. Though it was a little irritating that you were awake at this hour, it wasn’t good for you— or the baby— to be up when you should be sleeping.

“Ahhh, thank you.” You beamed, taking the treat from his hand.

The smile was as bright as Christmas morning. It gave him a new source of energy through his heart. He’d move mountains, even wake up in the middle of the night, just to see you smile up at him like that.

Without waiting another second, you wrapped your lips around the cold treat, savouring the taste with a contented sigh.

Kenji’s eyes locked on the popsicle in your mouth, watching you as you sucked the flavour out of it, the slight crack as your teeth grazed the surface.

He caught himself staring, his thoughts teetering on the edge of dangerous territory. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, clearing his throat to regain his composure.

“That good, huh?” he teased, though he couldn’t hide the slight strain in his voice. His eyes flickered between your blissful face and the popsicle you were feasting on.

It was hard to ignore the growing desire within him, the way his mind kept drifting to dirty thoughts. He forced himself to shift his focus to something else, hoping he could distract himself.

“Can I take your attention off the popsicle for a moment? There’s something I wanted to talk about,” he asked.

But you didn’t seem to catch what he said, eyes closed and too busy relishing the popsicle, each suck and lick sending a shiver down his spine. It was pathetic, but a small part of him actually envied the damn popsicle in your hand.

He shook his head and teared his gaze away before he took a deep breath to steady himself. He needed to stay on topic. “Can you just look at me, please? I want to ask you something…”

Finally, you look back up at him. Your lips were slightly wet from when you were liking the juice off of them.

The raw sight of you, combined with the lemon scent in the air, made his thoughts spiral. He could only imagine how sweet and zesty you would taste if he kissed you right now.

Kenji swallows thickly, pushing the thought aside. “There we go. Now, I have your undivided attention,” he managed to crack a smile at you. “You know how excited I’ve been since we found out about the baby, right? I can’t wait to be a dad. But there’s one thing that’s been on my mind.”

“What?” you asked, but before he could answer you, you shifted your gaze away and started licking the popsicle again— slow and deliberate. At least he knew you were listening— sort of.

Kenji paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he asked, “Have you thought of any baby names? We haven’t discussed it yet and I want to know what you think.”

You didn’t respond right away. Instead you sucking the melted juice that dripped down to the base of the popsicle. You seemed more interested in the frozen treat than the conversation.

Kenji gave you an incredulous look, though he couldn’t help but be a little amused.

The way your lips wrapped around it and the soft sound of your tongue sliding against the icy surface…it was far more distracting than he anticipated. You were savouring every bite, each one slower than the last, and it was driving him a little crazy.

Kenji coughed, trying to cover up the fact that he had been staring. “Try and focus. I know you’re enjoying the popsicle, but I need an answer,” he pressed on, though he was really trying to convince himself more than you.

“No I haven’t,” you said simply, your tongue swirling around the tip of the popsicle again.

Kenji couldn’t hide his disappointment. This was something he wanted to take seriously, especially since this was your first child together. “Really? You haven’t given any thought to the baby’s name?” He sighed, a little exasperated. “I thought you’d at least have some ideas,”

“Not really,” you said, still focused on the popsicle, sucking the flavour from the side with hypnotic concentration.

Kenji figured that now would be the perfect time to discuss the topic— the atmosphere was calm, and you were in a good mood. But it seemed that you weren’t as fully engaged in the conversation as he hoped.

“You really are depriving me of brainstorming all these precious names for our baby…” Kenji chuckled. “You know how much I love the idea of picking out the perfect name for our little bundle of joy,”

“We still have time,”

Another lick.

“Yeah, we do. But the sooner we decide on a name, the better,”

Kenj frowned as he realised he was losing you again, like he was just a blur in the background. But watching the way you continue to devour the popsicle with innocent enthusiasm was enough to forget about his disappointment.

The feeling was replaced with something else, something hard to ignore. He could feel the effect it was having in his body.

All he could do was watch— it woke a feeling inside him that he couldn’t fight back anymore. But what really put him on the edge was the soft moan that slipped from your lips, a sound so low and satisfied it sent a jolt of electricity through him.

He felt a flush of heat creep up his neck, spreading across his body like a wildfire. There was no way you were that oblivious to what you were doing to him, was there?

For a moment, he thought about saying something, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he decided to wait until you were finished, even if it was killing him inside.

He could feel his nails digging into his palms as his fists clenched by his sides, trying to anchor himself in place. He didn’t realise the sticky heat that pooled between his legs until he felt his boxers grow tighter.

Crap…

This couldn’t be happening…not now.

This wasn’t even distracting anymore— it was torturous. The effect you had on him was more intense than he anticipated.

He mentally scolded himself for standing there, watching you— he should’ve gone to bed straight after so he didn’t have to witness you and put himself in a predicament.

Finally, you finished the damn frozen treat, and Kenji seized the opportunity to step in. He stepped closer until he was right in front of you. Leaning in, he soft breath ghosted over your lips as you met his gaze

“Are you doing that on purpose?” He mumbled, a tint of irritation in his voice that he couldn’t suppress.

“Huh?” You looked perplexed, but Kenji couldn’t tell if it was genuine or if you were playing dumb.

“Don’t act so coy,” he muttered, his voice rougher now. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Your eyes dropped to his groin and he could see the gears turning in your head— the slow realisation seeping into your features.

“Oh…” you looked back up and gaped at him.

“Yeah…oh…” he mocked your tone with exasperation, crossing his arms over his chest.

He didn’t expect his bulge to look so visible under his trousers, but it was a relief that you weren’t so clueless anymore. Though, it didn’t do much to cool the fire burning in him.

“Sorry,” you offered meekly.

You don’t sound very sorry.

You don’t sound like you regretted anything.

He let out a huff, still trying to maintain some semblance of control. Part of him was still pissed at how you'd been acting, but he was so incredibly hard for you that he couldn't stop himself from wanting you.

Kenji forced himself to tear his gaze away, reminding himself that you weren’t supposed to be awake. The logical side of him was screaming to let it go and focus on getting you back to sleep. It took every fiber of him to fight off the desire to take you— he knew you must’ve been sleepy.

But it was a losing battle, and the way you were looking at him only made it worse. He couldn't overlook his swollen cock attacking the front of his pants, seeking freedom from his clothes.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight, okay? I don’t want you to overexert yourself,” he said, trying to sound firm. He could only imagine how much precum was already starting to leak.

“I can use my hands,” you whispered. It was like dangling a matchstick near a powder keg.

His heart rate spiked as he halted at your words. The logical side of his head was struggling to keep control as every pulse in his body throbbed with need— his cock twitched painfully under his pants.

“N-no.” He stuttered, still shifting awkwardly in his place. Your offer was so tempting, but he could’ve give in. You needed rest.

“But I want to take care of you,” you insisted.

“I know you do but you need rest.” He said firmly. The conviction in his voice was barely holding on by a thread

However, his resistance shattered the moment you reached out to touch his jaw.

Your touch was firing, sending shivers down his spine as your hands gently traced the line of his jaw and moved to stroke his cheeks.

That’s cheating…

“Stop…” he protested weakly, but his words didn’t reach his head. His body longed for your touch and he knew that he would be frustrated throughout the night if he refused your offer.

“Just a quickie.”

He would’ve refused if he hadn’t felt his tip rub against the fabric of his boxers. But the alarmingly pleasurable sensation along with your soft voice was impossible to ignore.

The next moment felt like a blur and Kenji found himself perched on the bed, bare. His cock was standing upright, twitching and begging to be touched. The precum that already leaked from the tip only exposed his predicament even more.

“Please…please…” Kenji couldn’t mask the desperation in his voice as he looked at you with desperate eyes.

The corner of your lips tugged up in amusement as you heard his tone, the power shift between the two of you was more pronounced than ever. You had him wrapped around your fingers so easily.

“Are you begging now?” you teased, your voice soft yet dripping with a bit of mockery. A quiet chuckle leaving your lips as you leaned in closer. He could feel the ghost of your hands hovering over his dick and it was driving him insane.

At this point, Kenji didn’t care how desperate he looked, or how quickly the tables had turned against him. All he could focus on was feeling more of you, even having you close, erasing the distance between the two of you.

“I’m…not begging,” he protested weakly, though his words fell flat. You both knew he was lying, his tone betraying him with every word.

His breath was shallow and his heart hammered in his chest, denial sounded almost absurd. He wouldn’t have minded if you called him a beggar— he’d wear the title proudly if it meant you’d give in and let him indulge in you.

You tilted your head slightly, observing his reaction with a knowing smile— a look you were aware would send another shiver through his body. His eyes met yours, wide and pleading— a failed attempt at grasping onto his dignity.

“Don’t look at me like that…” his voice sounded more like a plea than he intended.

“Like what, hm?” you asked, acting clueless. But the dark glint in your eyes gave away to your intentions. The way you watched him only made his dick twitch more and you relished the effect you were having on him.

Your fingers wrapped around his length— your touch was like fire. Kenji had to clamp his onto lower with his teeth to suppress the guttural moan that erupted from his throat.

His cock reacted with more precum beading from his tip. It was a huge relief to finally feel your touch where his body had been desperately screaming for.

But the feeling didn’t last long when you didn’t move your hand for a while and he was starting to grow impatient.

Through gritted teeth, he managed to bring himself to speak, “Please, just…”

“Just what, Kenji? Use your words,”

He could feel his sanity teetering the longer you stalled. “You know what I want!”

His entire being wound tight, the tension knotted further and it was obvious that you could see how much he was aching for you.

But you still didn’t give him what he wanted. Not yet. “Do I? Because it sounds like you’re not sure yourself,”

He grunted your name in frustration, but he knew deep down that he was enjoying this just as much as you were. If his pride hadn’t crumbled before, it definitely had now. “I need you…to move your hand on my…”

His sentence was cut short when you started stroking his dick with slow precision, putting slight pressure on the sensitive skin.

“That’s more like it,”

He made no effort to hide the sounds that escaped his mouth uncontrollably. His moans and whines came out as a broken symphony. The delicious friction from your palms was dizzying.

His body was taut with his muscles trembling. You lightly squeezed the tip with your thumb and forefinger and his hips jerked in response to the sudden sensation. A strangled moan escaped his mouth.

Blood rushed to his ears as he felt his senses getting lost in the haze.

He reached his peak quicker than he anticipated. His orgasm tore through his body that suddenly came as a shock to him.

He let out another loud moan, the bliss completely overwhelming him. His release spilled down your knuckles as you kept stroking him, riding out his high.

His mind was hazy and it took him a few short breaths to come down from his high and simmer down from the afterglow.

“Crap…I didn’t mean to go so quickly. I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his face burning a little from embarrassment as he looked at you and saw his fresh hot mess over your hands.

He couldn’t believe how quickly he lost control, even though he had no resistance at all the moment you started to palm him.

You let out a soft laugh, clearly amused by the situation you both were in now.

“D-don’t laugh at me,” he mumbled, still embarrassed by the mess on your hands. Kenji leaned back against the headboard, his deflated length resting against his thigh.

His body still hummed with the remnants of pleasure, his mind still floating in a blissful trance.

“Do you think licking this off will be bad for the baby?” Your voice jolted him back to reality. He looked back at you and saw his release still glistening on your hands.

His heart, that had just begun to slow down, stuttered back to a fast rhythm. He couldn’t believe your words, and the nonchalance in your tone only made it worse.

“I…can’t believe you just said that so casually…” his voice was a mixture of amusement and shock.

“What?” You gave him a look that was both innocent and self-aware. “You know I’d swallow your load any day of the week,”

Kenji straightened himself up on the bed, letting out a shaky breath. He tried to shake off the daze that still lingered. The sight of you, the raw sound of your bedroom voice— it was tempting him to lose himself in you all over again.

But his gaze fell on your belly that housed you unborn child. The reminder that you were pregnant was enough to keep his hormones in check and reel in his desires.

“Yeah…I know you would,” he finally replied as let out a shaky breath, “But I don’t want you to do that now…I don’t want you to risk the baby’s health,”

You nodded in agreement, your teasing replaced with understanding.

“You’re right. I’ll go wash my hands,”

Kenji watched as you got up and left the room. Even in the afterglow, when his mind was still foggy from his release, the protective instinct was stronger than his labido.

When you returned to bed, Kenji quickly grasped your hand to pull you in so close, you were nose-to-nose. He made sure your eyes were on him.

“Don’t think this is over, by the way,” his voice was low and sultry. “I’ll get you back for teasing me…soon.”

You chuckled, your breath mingling with his— your voice dropped to match his. “I’ll be waiting…”

My mother used to crave lemon popsicle when she was pregnant. Is it bad I’m using that as inspo 23 years later lmao??

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @rosaliin-blog @bloosnothere @nina-from-317 @ivvieene @bobbeshwar

@ichkyu @gyusimp

[animusrox]

TOP 10

Past Lives

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Killers of the Flower Moon

MY LETTERBOXD Grade A 11.    The Killer 12.    Beau Is Afraid 13.    Dream Scenario 14.    Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 15.    Godzilla Minus One 16.    American Fiction 17.    They Cloned Tyrone 18.     Evil Dead Rise 19.    Eileen 20.    The Artifice Girl 21.   Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem 22.    Talk to Me 23.    Reality 24.    Leave the World Behind 25.    A Thousand and One 26.    Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One 27.    Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. 28.    Theater Camp 29.   Carmen 30.    Merry Little Batman 31.    Priscilla 32.    Society of the Snow 33.    Infinity Pool 34.    Enys Men 35.    Sanctuary 36.    Rye Lane 37.    Skinamarink 38.    Monster 39.    Anatomy of a Fall 40.    Landscape with Invisible Hand 41.    Reptile 42.    Sisu 43.    Pinball: The Man Who Saved the Game 44.    No One Will Save You 45.    Tetris 46.    May December 47.    The Zone of Interest 48.    V/H/S/85 49.    Dumb Money 50.    El Conde 51.    Arnold 52.    Maestro 53.    Napoleon 54.    20 Days in Mariupol 55.    Influencer 56.    The Creator 57.    Origin 58.    Thanksgiving 59.    Next Goal Wins 60.    The Boy and the Heron 61.    Bottoms 62.    Wonka

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[ruewrote]

𝑠𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒.

PAIRING: josh washington x fem!reader WARNINGS: reunion, no use of y/n GENRE: angsty fluff SONG INSPIRATION: little bit by lykke li WORD COUNT: 1.4k REQUESTED: yes

navigation | ask | josh washington masterlist

the mountain had changed you.

the person you were a year ago, carefree and full of warmth, had died alongside hannah on that cold, snowy night. but instead of a clean death, you’d been forced to keep breathing, keep fighting, as the mountain swallowed you whole. the stranger had found you in the woods, broken and lost, but not beyond repair.

he patched you up, told you the truth about the wendigos, about the curse that haunted these mountains. 

then he taught you to fight. 

at first, you resisted. the idea of hunting those monsters, the creatures who had once been human, sickened you. but soon, survival became everything. you had no choice. so, you learned how to track them, how to trap them, how to kill them. you learned how to handle the heavy flamethrower, how to stay calm even when your heart wanted to race out of control. the wendigos were fast, stronger than anything you had ever faced, but you became stronger too. the stranger showed you where to strike, how to stay one step ahead, how to use the terrain to your advantage. 

the first time you killed one, it shook you to your core. but over time, you grew harder. the terror became familiar, and the blood on your hands just another part of who you were now.

the scars you bore told the story of every battle. your skin was littered with them—long, jagged ones where claws had grazed you, puckered burns from close encounters with the fire. your muscles had grown lean and tough, your reflexes sharper than they’d ever been. the girl you once were was long gone, replaced by someone stronger, someone who could face the horrors of the mountain and live to tell the tale. but even after all that, there was one thing you hadn’t faced.

josh.

that’s why you were here now, standing at the edge of the tree line, watching the lodge from the shadows. the firelight flickered through the windows, casting warmth over the faces of people you once called friends. they laughed, talked, acted like everything was normal. sam, chris, mike—none of them knew the truth about the mountain. none of them understood what they had unleashed when they pranked hannah that night. but you did.

and then, you saw him.

he stood apart from the others, staring blankly into the fire, his face gaunt and his eyes hollow. the sight of him made your chest tighten with a strange mix of longing and dread. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. you’d imagined this moment a thousand times over the past year, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality of it. 

you didn’t mean to make a sound, but the branch snapped underfoot, loud in the quiet night.

josh’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours through the dark. his brow furrowed, confusion clouding his features as he squinted into the trees. “who’s there?”

your heart pounded in your chest, your breath freezing in your lungs. this was it. there was no turning back now. 

you stepped out from the shadows, your body tense with a mixture of fear and hope. “josh…”

his body went rigid, disbelief flashing across his face. “no,” he breathed, his voice barely audible. “no, you… you’re not real.”

you took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “i’m real, josh. i’m right here.”

he stumbled forward, his eyes wide with shock as he closed the distance between you. his hands trembled as they reached out to touch you, as if he was afraid you would vanish into thin air. when his fingers brushed against your skin, the dam broke. josh pulled you into his arms with a desperate force, his body shaking as he clung to you like a lifeline.

“i thought you were dead,” he whispered, his voice ragged with emotion. “i thought i lost you.”

you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours for the first time in what felt like an eternity. “i thought i lost you too.”

for a long moment, you stayed like that, holding each other in the cold. but even in his embrace, you couldn’t shake the heaviness pressing down on you. the past year had changed both of you, twisted you into different versions of the people you used to be. you’d fought monsters, bled, and survived things no one should have to survive. and he… you could see the darkness in his eyes, the madness gnawing at him from the inside.

you pulled back slightly, searching his face. “why are you here, josh? what are you doing?”

josh met your eyes, his face twisted with grief and anger. “they left them. they left hannah and beth to die out there. we both know it.”

you bit your lip, the words caught in your throat. he didn’t know. he didn’t understand what had really happened to the twins. what had happened to you. he wasn’t just angry, he was drowning in his own guilt, and he was blind to the truth.

“josh… there’s something i need to tell you,” you said softly, stepping back, reaching for the sleeve of your jacket.

his brow furrowed in confusion, but he watched as you tug the fabric up, revealing the long, jagged scars that ran along your arm. his breath caught in his throat as his eyes moved over the raised lines of flesh, the burns and cuts that told the story of your survival.

“what… what is this?” his voice was barely a whisper, his fingers ghosting over the marks on your skin.

“these are from the things that live up here, josh,” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth you were about to share. “they’re not just legends. there’s something on this mountain, something old, something hungry. they’re called wendigos.”

his face paled, and he took a shaky step back. “wendigos? what are you talking about?”

you took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “hannah didn’t just die, josh. after the fall… she turned into one. i’ve been hunting them with a stranger i've met here. we’ve been fighting to stop them, but the wendigos… they’re relentless. they’re what’s out there, in the woods. they’re why i survived.”

josh stared at you, his eyes wide with disbelief. “no… no, that’s not possible. that can’t be…”

“it is, josh. i know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.” you lifted your other sleeve, revealing more scars, more proof of the battles you had fought. “this is what happened to me while i was out there. i didn’t just survive, i fought. i killed them. i’ve been living with this nightmare for the past year.”

his hands shook as he ran them through his hair, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “hannah… became one of them?” his voice cracked, the words almost too much for him to say.

you nodded, tears stinging at your eyes. “she didn’t mean to. it’s the curse, josh. the mountain… it’s cursed. when you resort to cannibalism, you turn. that’s what happened to her. she tried to survive, just like i did, but it… changed her.”

for a moment, he was silent, the weight of the truth crashing down on him. you watched as the pain twisted his face, as the horror of it all settled deep in his bones.

“i brought them here… to punish them,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “but it was never them, was it? it was the mountain.”

“it’s the wendigos,” you said softly, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “but that doesn’t mean you have to go through with this. we can stop it, josh. together.”

he looked up at you, his eyes filled with anguish. “i didn’t know. i didn’t know any of this.”

“i know,” you whispered, gently squeezing his arm. “but now you do. and we can fix this. we can fight back. you don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.”

for the first time in what felt like forever, josh’s body seemed to relax. the tension in his shoulders eased, and the wild look in his eyes began to fade. he didn’t have all the answers, and neither did you. but in that moment, standing together on the cursed mountain that had torn your lives apart, you knew one thing for certain.

you weren’t alone anymore.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

© ruewrote 2024.

@writing-fanics changed the ending hope this was okay :)

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 IN A SKY FULL OF STARS, I SEE YOU

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai is on the verge of falling apart. he can feel it happening, it's just a matter of whether or not he's going to be able to get out of your apartment before you come back and catch him like this. he has the opportunity for it—he does—but when he realizes that you might be in just as bad of a state as he's in, dazai decides to swallow his pride and put aside his own struggles to try to help you in the same way you've helped him in the past. {sfw, 3.2k}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: the first time fic stays hoarded for another week ... but i think this one is just as good eheheh. fun fact, when they're 22, reader acknowledges that this is probably the night she fell in love with dazai.

(warnings: fem!reader, pm!reader, in the beginning of the fic dazai is on the brink of a major depressive episode, reader is not in a good headspace when she shows up, reader has ambiguous injuries)

Dazai is not in a good headspace.

He arrives at your apartment in a whirlwind, not even your doorman dared to say anything to him on the way in. He’s wet and cold, his mind is in turmoil; he can’t stop the way his body is shaking no matter how hard he tries. The bandages on his wrist are fraying and the cool air conditioning of your apartment washing against his bare skin makes his body crawl uncomfortably. As he rushes into the bathroom, he nearly stumbles over his own feet, grateful that you’re not there to see the onset of what he knows is going to be a bad episode.

He doesn’t even know what triggered this one. 

The air getting to his lungs feels thin and shallow like he’s on a mountain peak and not in the comfort of your apartment. His fingers tug at his button-up as he falls to his knees in your bathroom, rifling through the cabinet to find his bandages—he needs to replace the ones that are coming off and then he needs to leave because he thinks he would rather die than let you see him like this.

His vision spins as he unwinds the bandages around his forearm, leaning his shoulder against the cabinet as he tries to keep himself steady. His fingers are cold and clunky, he can hardly wrap the fresh bandages back around his scarred skin, can hardly breathe. He tilts his head back, trying to force himself to get more air to his lungs but it’s just so difficult.

Fuck.

He drags his knees to his chest trying to calm himself down, resting his forehead on his knees, rocking back and forth slowly. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. He needs to focus—for ten minutes, he needs to focus. He can’t let you see him like this, can’t go out of the apartment with his bandages coming apart; he has to finish his left arm and then he can drag himself out of your apartment and rush back to the shipping container and ride out the worst of the episode alone, without your lingering eyes to see him at his lowest.

But as he unwinds the bandages of his left arm and starts to rewrap it with the fresh bandages, he finds his chest caving in because he doesn’t want to go back to the shipping container. The thought of not being able to curl up in the soft sheets of the bed in your spare room makes Dazai’s stomach churn, waking up cold and alone on the metal floor of the shipping container… all of the dark claws tearing his brain apart get sharper at the mere thought.

Maybe he can just lock the door, he thinks desperately. He can lock the door to the spare bedroom and he won’t let you in until it’s passed. He’ll rot in bed for days until he can force himself out from beneath the covers and then he’ll pretend like it never happened, evade all of your questions and brush off your concerns until you get frustrated and stop asking him.

Yeah, he thinks, this could work. It could work, and it means he wouldn’t have to go back to that cold, damp, uncomfortable container. 

No, he realizes, it won’t work, because you’re you and you’re frustratingly observant and have a quick mind to rival his own. More than that, you seem to actually care about him for whatever reason. You probably won’t let him rot there when you realize he’s not even coming out to eat and it just won’t work because he doesn’t want you to see him like this. 

He doesn’t want you to see him weak. Doesn’t want to lash out at you while he’s too consumed by his own mind to control himself. Doesn’t want to lose one of his only friend. (Maybe his only friend—is Chuuya actually his friend? Dazai is never sure) Not for the first time, Dazai wishes he was anyone else in the world, wishes that he didn’t have to constantly be at war with his own brain, wishes that he was normal. 

He’s tried so hard to keep up that facade around you even if he does know deep down that you know it’s a front. He’s been so careful, so meticulous in his efforts to act the way he thinks a normal sixteen-year-old would act and now it’s all going to be blown because what?

No, he can’t let that happen. He has to get out of here before you get home.

He doesn’t even know how this happened. Usually, he can feel a depressive episode coming from a mile away—he’s so used to them by now that it should be impossible for them to sneak up on him like this. The telltale signs are always glaring, always all-consuming; it’s impossible for him to ignore the way blackness edges at the corners of his vision, the way his chest becomes heavy with an indescribable weight, the way his feet become anchored to the ground, an effort to even just drag them against the ground. 

It’s impossible for him to miss all of this, he doesn’t know how he managed to do it this time. 

His nails scrape against the floor as he pushes himself to his feet after he tucks the edge of his bandage in to keep it in place. Even that takes an agonizing amount of energy, his lashes flutter as he tries to brace himself for the walk across the city. He steps out into your hallway, takes another deep breath of the familiar air of your apartment, trying to savor it before he leaves to deal with days of hell on the cold floor of the shipping container he used to live in. 

And then-

And then the elevator up to your apartment slides right open and you walk out.

Dazai’s lips part in horror—he can’t even rush to his bedroom because he would have to get past you to do it. His mind races as he tries to figure out what to do, but it feels like the equivalent of wading through waist-deep water, his thoughts are slow and sluggish and stupid—he feels like Chuuya—and he desperately tries to mask his internal struggle with a smile, forcing his face to light up at the sight of you.

He can fake it—he can fake it and then he can make an excuse to leave and then-

You walk right past him.

You walk right past him.

It startles Dazai so bad that he finds himself freezing, head turning to follow you as you walk past him to sit right on the couch. There’s an empty expression on your face, distant and unreadable and entirely too familiar to Dazai—something that he sees in the mirror every night, something that he’s never seen on you.

This is his chance, he realizes. He can leave in the elevator you just came from, make a break for it before you notice he’s there, but… his gaze lingers on how you sat so rigidly on the couch, staring at the black TV screen, hands folded in your lap, so lost in thought that you’re seemingly blind to your surroundings.

Instead of making his way toward the elevator, his feet move toward you and he finds himself sitting primly on the couch next to you. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, unsure what to say, and then glances back down at his lap. 

You don’t even acknowledge his presence.

Finally, he clears his throat and asks, “Where were you?”

“A mission,” you say, voice bland and you still don’t look at him. “Had to get information.”

“Oh.” 

Dazai has never felt uncomfortable in your presence before, but he feels uncomfortable now because he just doesn’t know what to say when you’re like this. A part of him still wants to flee but you wouldn’t flee if it was him and something isn’t settling right in his stomach about it.

He glances over at you, eyes catching on discolored marks staining your wrists and forearms. He pauses, reaching out hesitantly to grab one of your wrists—your skin is soft beneath his fingers and a spark shoots up his arm from the pads of his fingers. You don’t pull away as he gingerly pulls your arm into his lap, frowning when he sees the bruises on you.

“Who did this?” he asks quietly, jaw tightening. “Who-”

“It doesn’t matter,” you tell him. 

Dazai gives you a sharp look, careful to not tighten his grip on your arm. “You’re hurt, it does matter. Tell-”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, voice sharper this time. “Drop it, Dazai.”

Dazai falters at your tone—you’ve never spoken to him like that before. He doesn’t let go of your wrist but he does lower his gaze, unsure of what to do.

He doesn’t like this. He’s becoming increasingly more uncomfortable with each passing second. Doesn’t like the tight feeling in his chest. Doesn’t like seeing you like this. Doesn’t like the way he has no idea how to approach this. Doesn’t like that he doesn’t know how to help you. Doesn’t like that he wants to help you. He doesn’t like any of this.  

Dazai stares down at your hand. It’s still resting in his lap, you haven’t pulled it back to you. You’re just staring ahead again, you’re sad, and he feels a bit lost. And Dazai never feels lost, he always knows what to do but he doesn’t know now when it matters. He can talk his way out of every situation, makes plans to win any battle, but he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“I-”

Dazai doesn’t even finish what he was going to say. Honestly, he doesn’t even know what he was going to say. He turns his head back to look at you, feeling increasingly more helpless, and he doesn’t even notice the way the dark claws that had been threatening to tear him open slowly start to recede, doesn’t notice how the emptiness in his chest starts to disappear the more he focuses on trying to help you.

How do you help him? 

You sit with him sometimes when he starts to get lost in his own thoughts. You try to be casual about it so it doesn’t seem like you’re hovering. He figures it’s because you know he’ll get shifty and defensive if he knows you’re lingering because you’re worried about it, but Dazai knows, he just pretends like he doesn’t because everything feels less painful and lonely when you’re around even if he doesn’t understand why. And then that first time-

The first time.

“The roof!” Dazai suddenly says loudly, jumping to his feet. You twist your head to look up at him, a hint of curiosity in your eyes, and Dazai reaches down to snatch your hand, pulling you to your feet. He yanks you so hard that you stumble right into him but Dazai is unperturbed, dragging you forward to the elevator. “We’re going to the roof!”

“O-okay?” 

Dazai doesn’t have to look back to see your confusion, but Dazai has tunnel vision now. He bounces on the balls of his feet impatiently as he waits for the elevator to come back up, staring as the numbers as they tick upward. His fingers entwine with yours, grip tightening on your hand as he swings your joined arms impatiently.

You don’t say anything, more proof of how in your own head you must be right now. You’re always usually the one leading the conversation with him until you get him talking about something he can ramble about, then you just sit and listen, but you’re always the one to get the ball rolling. 

As the elevator arrives at your floor and he jerks you into the elevator with him, he can’t help the way his lips start to curl up, proud of himself for figuring out what to do with you. You’d found him up on the roof that night he’d nearly jumped, you had him lay down on a blanket with you and the two of you spent the night watching the stars. 

You showed him your favorite constellations, and told him the story behind them. Cassiopeia, the vain queen in Greek mythology who angered the Sea God; Andromeda, the princess who was sacrificed because of her mother’s hubris, and Perseus, the hero who had saved her. You told him that one day you wanted to learn the stories behind all of the constellations, but you haven’t had the time to look into them at all.

You’d seemed sad about it—sad that you haven’t been able to look into it, sad because you probably won’t ever have the time for it with how busy you constantly are with mafia business. You’re busier than even Dazai is most days, always out and about working on something.

So, Dazai learned them all—memorized all eighty-eight of their positions in the sky, learned the stories word for word, learned the histories behind the stories so he could give you the whole picture.

He figured maybe one day he’d end up back on the roof with you and he’d be able to show off his newfound knowledge. You’d be impressed, you would simply have to admit that he’s better than Chuuya, because he’s been trying to get you to admit it from day one but you have yet to utter the words out loud. He thinks maybe it’ll also make you happy, but he’s definitely more concerned with getting you to vocally admit that he’s better with Chuuya so he can hold it over the other boy’s head. 

Definitely. 

He types in the keycode for the roof—he can feel your eyes on him, narrowed and suspicious, because he’s not supposed to know the keycode to the roof. He gives you a sweet smile, mourning the fact that you’re going to have the code changed again and he’s going to have to go through the process of figuring it out all over again.

It only takes a few moments for the elevator to reach the rooftop and Dazai is rushing out into the cool night immediately, dragging you behind him. His gaze darts around until it lands on where you folded the thick blanket underneath an overhang and he finally lets go of your arm so he can snatch it up and lay it out in the center of the roof. He plops down immediately and then motions for you to join him.

When you sit down, you sit so close to him that your thighs are brushing and it makes Dazai’s cheeks heat up a little so he’s grateful that the darkness masks it. He lays down against the blanket and stares up at the sky, you follow him down and Dazai’s steady heartbeat wavers when he realizes that your fingers are brushing each other’s—he could grab your hand again if he wanted, it would only take the smallest shift of his hand to slip his fingers between yours, but he can’t bring himself to now without the excuse of dragging you somewhere to shield him.

So, the two of you just lay there, shoulders pressed together, fingers brushing, Dazai’s heartbeat thuds in his chest and his mouth feels dry, all plans of telling you the stories of the constellations out the window because suddenly all of the stars look the same. All of his practice pinpointing them is gone, he’s too hyperaware of your skin against his, how close you are, how stupid he’ll look if he’s wrong.

“That one is called Cygnus,” he blurts out finally, lifting his hand to point to one of the first ones he can recognize. “It’s a swan. There are a bunch of stories, but I think you’d like the Roman one the most. It’s mostly about Phaethon—he was the son of the Sun God, and he wanted to ride the sun chariot for a day, but he couldn’t control it. Zeus had to destroy it while he was in it and it killed Phaethon, the chariot crashed into the river. Cygnus was Phaethon’s lover, he spent weeks diving into the river to collect all of Phaethon’s bones to give him a proper burial. The gods were so moved by his devotion that they turned him into a swan and placed him in the stars.”

All of the theatrical narration he thought he’d be able to give you is long gone. His words are short and stunted, awkward, he rambles in a way that’s painful to his own ears. He swallows thickly when he hears you shift to look at him, fumbling as he tries to find another constellation before you can say anything.

“That one is Draco,” he says, pointing to one that he knows is near Cygnus, heart rate calming as he slowly starts to pinpoint each of the constellations. “It’s another one with a bunch of stories, but I think the most fitting one is the one that has to do with the Twelve Labours of Heracles—Heracles is right next to Draco, see, it’s right there. The dragon was called Ladon, he guarded the golden apples in the garden of Hesperides…”

As he continues to talk, his voice becomes more animated, easing into the stories as he moves from constellation to constellation, each story flowing into the next. He spins you a tale of each of the Twelve Labors of Heracles before shifting into the myth of Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. He talks so much that his voice starts becoming hoarse but he clears his throat and pushes through it.

It’s at the end of the tale of the Gemini Twins, Castor and Pollux, that Dazai finally dares to glance over at you. There’s a soft smile on your lips, a lidded look to your eyes that makes it clear you’re on the verge of drifting off to sleep. 

All of the tension and emptiness on your face is gone, you look ethereal beneath the moonbeams—so much so that Dazai stutters over the transition into the story of Orion. You’re prettier than any of the stars in the sky, more enchanting of any of the eighty-eight tales he learned for you. Your lashes flutter before looking up at him, eyes tired and sleepy and so full of emotion, and Dazai can barely breathe at the sight of it.

You don’t say anything, you don’t need to, Dazai thinks your eyes say it all. He watches as they finally droop shut, your head falling to the side as you drift off to sleep next to him. He can feel your forehead brushing his shoulder, but more than that, he feels the way your fingers slip between his, loosely holding his hand as your breath evens out. 

The words of the next story freeze in the back of his throat, a type of emotion swelling in his chest that Dazai has never experienced before. As his fingers tighten just the slightest bit around your own and he shifts to see the peaceful expression on your face. He forgets all about his ulterior motives, content to just bask in your presence, knowing that he’s the reason for your smile tonight.

[curtins]

BORN TO DIE — Geto Suguru minors dni!

prologue. → it's been three years since suguru left all you had ever known, crumbling it into the fine dust of the earth. a suspiciously timed mission from gojo leads you right into the arms of the man you swore to kill. well, fuck him right?

pairing. geto suguru x afab!reader

warnings+. implied/mild gojo x reader, lovers to enemies, or enemies to lovers, past relationship, injuries, mentions of blood, reader is lowkey violent, some establishing plot idk, geto is kind a jerk (well he's a cult leader so) but hes also down bad, making out, doing it raw and desparate (wrap it before yall tap it!), creámpie etc, minor mentions of infidelity, ríde him until he sees stars trope, minor implied stsg, suguru lowkey a messy slút for this <3 🩵

word count. 4.5k song inspiration. born to die — lana del rey

a/n. heehee

mp3.. my heart it breaks every step that i take, but i'm hoping that the gates, they'll tell me that you're mine

ask to be added to a taglist! likes and reblogs appreciated <3

fuck suguru geto.

literally.

it had been days of you tracking down a mere rumour of curses that haunted this side of the mountain, and you know you're close — close enough to feel the cold prickling along your skin, ripe with cursed energy with that taste of something unnatural and spectral in the air.

gojo had delegated this mission to you, claiming that you had a natural born talent for hunting curses, but you knew the truth was that he had laid on the flattery thick, so that he could kiss you chastely on the cheek, go take a day off, and let you handle this one on your own.

but just as you raise your hand to cast a light, a flash of movement catches your, a fleeting gleam, drawing you off the trail before you even realise where you're going.

you round the grove, and the sight ahead steals the breath from you. through the night's shadows, a pale blue light pulses, illuminating a tall figure whose outstretched hand has already grasped the curse, right into a neat orb.

it would take only a heartbeat to recognise the sorcerer, but you feel as though your heart has leapt into your throat, your blood pulsing under the thin skin, with such dizzying shock. your chest has tightened, and each breath is laced with something sharp and electric — not sadness, nor grief.

anger.

suguru geto.

you swallow against the burning in your throat, his features are half-lit by the eerie glow of his cursed technique, and yet they are sharper than you remembered, refined and all the more hauntingly familiar.

but he's turned, with his raven hair spilling over his shoulders, and violet eyes meet your own, and you scowl as his lips curl up, voice smooth as he speaks.

"hey. it's been a while."

"you...you — fuck you!"

ugh, now it's just embarrassing. you had spent three years, pondering and wondering what cutting words you'd deliver upon suguru geto when you saw him again. and now you can barely get a sputter out without your eyes wandering over him.

geto raises a singularly arched brow, "don't you think we should catch up first?"

"i should kill you," you wonder if your fractured voice betrays how quite literally unravelled you feel right now, like the earth has fallen out beneath you, and you're not sure if you're moving towards him, or taking a step back, "oh my god, i should actually just kill you."

you wonder how you should do it. draw a blade and let it kiss his skin, to see red split out from his throat. or if you just forgo a weapon and push the air from him until his creamy skin is red and bruised.

but he's beautiful, he's so beautiful and it leaves you wondering if this is how orpheus felt when he turned around in that tunnel, and saw eurydice again. if he was also planted in the ground, unable to move at the sight of what his heart most wanted.

the boy who once broke your heart is now a man, draped in robes of deep purple and green, and gold. a man with ghostly eyes that leave you unsure on whether you're furious, or wanting.

still wanting to wrap your hands around his throat, perhaps. you tamp down any other traitorous thought.

"what's your business here?" you manage, and you wonder if he can hear a tremor, and a crack where all that hurt was buried when you were seventeen years old.

but geto just smiles, "you don't think i'd notice the presence of a curse on my own estate? or a jujutsu sorcerer? you've come a long way, haven't you?"

"huh - your estate?"

ah, it hits you, as you follow your line of sight behind geto's head, past the thick trees that you've been wandering in, to where silver rods strike up, out into the dark sky — the roof of what's clearly an important building, the time vessel association.

you cross your arms, "you mean your bullshit cult?" you wonder how quick you can pull out a knife, one of several that you must have taken with you on your missions.

now it's his turn to scowl at you, and a petulant expression dances across his face, but geto doesn't address your barb, "you've come a long way, did satoru send you here?"

you bark out a laugh, "that's gojo to you now."

now he’s right in front of you, and you force yourself not to swallow or betray even a flicker of nerves.

you hold his gaze, determined and unwavering but geto has always been tall, his frame deceptively broad beneath the layers of his robes, but standing this close, you catch the heady scent of allspice and sandalwood, maybe even some ceremonial incense.

"oh, i'm sorry. only you get to call him satoru now, is that right?"

you're not stupid, you know that there's an undertone of a question in his snarky tone, well fuck him. you don't owe him an answer of what your life has been like in the past three years (nor what gojo's has been like, for that matter).

he watches you for an answer, with a face as elegent as an idol in an ancient shrine, pale and luminous against the moon-lit sky. you briefly wonder how a tall, beautiful boy who floated around campus with headphones around his neck, and an obscure band-tee, had managed to peel off his skin and carve himself into something more holy, like a heian-era deity.

"suguru," you finally breathe, and your head feels jumbled and aching. he tilts his head, lips parted, as if he's been waiting for his name to fall from your lips, and he's savouring it.

"come with me," he says simply, gesturing to the shadowed building behind him, and his hand lingers in the air, as his pale, slender fingers reach towards your own, "just this once, you don't have to tell him, y'know."

yes, you know. you should refuse, fuck, you should have been grinding his blood into the earth, for the night has no time for traitors. and if you were to take his hand, it would make you one as well.

oh, how easily suguru geto has always been able to unravel you, and all you've ever known or believed in.

suguru's fingers are like ice as they close around your wrist, with a firm but unhurried grip, pulling you along that makes resistance feel almost laughable.

you try to twist free, but he only glances back, with a teasing smile over his face, "still as defiant as ever," he murmurs, and you're not sure whether your cheeks are flushed from how he's drinking the sight of you in.

"i wouldn't be if you weren't dragging me through this place like some prisoner."

suguru laughs, "is that what you are?" and a dangerous, dormant merriment glints in his violet eyes, "i thought you'd come with me willingly."

his voice is maddeningly calm, as if this was some routine rendezvous, as if he hadn’t walked out of your life three years ago and left nothing but emptiness behind. suguru leads you down a long hallway lined with tall, flickering candles, their dim glow casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. it's so quiet you can hear your own breathing, each inhale tinged with the scent of incense that lingers on his robes.

you give another half-hearted tug against his grip, but his hold only tightens, but he stops, looking down at you, his gaze softening, almost pitying. "save your strength. we’re nearly there. and i need you to behave, and be quiet."

you hate the way your heart races at his touch, at his command, at the intimacy of this shadowed corridor that seems to belong to no one but the two of you.

"and where exactly are you taking me, suguru?" you ask, voice brittle.

"patience. you'll see soon enough."

he leads you forward again, each step echoing through the silence until he finally stops at a large, dark-stained wooden door. his fingers slide away from your wrist, leaving your skin tingling in their absence, and your own fingers curl outwards wanting to reach for his again before you tuck your hand away shamefully.

you can see his smile out of the corner of his eye. he knows this, and more.

but now suguru glances back, his eyes gleaming in the low light. "you came all this way," he says, voice low. "i thought you wanted to catch up."

yeah. catch up.

that's exactly what you'd call it when you barrel through the doors alongside him, and push your mouth against his, hearing the satisfying breath that he draws before he's moving against you too.

you lean into suguru, feeling the heat radiate from his broad body as every nerve in your skin awakens as his lips crash against yours with a fervour that leaves you breathless. it's been three long years since you last felt this, anything, like this and you fight back whatever demon lurches within you — an ode to bittersweet rage, longing and want.

you can taste him in your mouth, a mix of mint and even something sweeter, and it stings you, pricks at every cut he must be leaving over you. but suguru's hands grip your waist, and you wonder if he feels just as you do. but he must, for his arms have pulled you in, anchoring you onto his chest, as if he's afraid you might slip away (just as he had, from you).

you don't know where the tears came from, but salt runs down your cheeks, mingling in with your kisses, and you take a moment to pull away from him, and trace his face with shaking fingers.

"i should hate you," you breathe out, but how can you when he stares down at you as if you've reached into his chest and clawed his heart out. a killer, a traitor, a murderer. but it's still him all the same.

but his lips are now on your face, as his tongue runs over the streaked sorrow, licking it right up, "don't," and now his tone is pleading, suguru geto is pleading above you, "i can't live with you hating me. just let me do this."

he leans into your more deeply and your hands move instinctively, slipping beneath the soft fabric of his robes, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. you explore the contours of his muscles, tracing the lines of his body, every touch igniting a spark that sends shivers through you, makes your own core feel heavy.

it's delicious how his breath hitches as you slide your hand even lower, past the waistband of his pants, right where the hard evidence of his desire is plain, and there's a satisfying rush of power that courses through you at his response, at the breath of air suguru rushes through his teeth in a low keen as he separates yourself from your panting mouth, to trail his soft lips on the sensitive skin lower.

his teeth briefly sink into the juncture of your neck, and you jolt at the brief pain before he runs his tongue over the fresh marks, soothing, hot.

his large hands are both under your top now, moving over the expanse of your stomach and up, up until they cup both your breasts, pinching, and twirling and leaving you slick with the arousal that has gathered at the apex of your thighs.

"so pretty, ah! so - pretty," suguru breathes, and you quirk your lips up as he lowers you slowly to the mat. he'd let you to quite a bare room, with nought in it save for the floor and the walls, but you're honestly content with him having his way with you like this.

you should feel guilty, you should be seeing blue eyes peering up at you from between your thighs, white hair plastered with the sweat of exertion.

but instead, all you see is the twilight sky, brushstrokes of black and dusky violet as suguru takes his place on his chiselled stomach, as you feel the mat press into your shoulder blades while you lay flat on your back.

"stay with me, gorgeous," he murmurs, his breath warm against the skin of your thighs. his plush lips brush against your mound, and you squirm and shake from the need, the need to feel his mouth lower and you cannot help but just arch into him, mewling as he starts drifting his fingers down.

"oh my god, oh!," you're almost embarrassed to be put in this position, moaning like a wanton whore, but you can't just bring yourself to stop, "fuck, suguru. can you please -"

and you're bucking your hips up towards his mouth, begging him to get a hint, and give you a hit of the pleasure that you're so craving.

but suguru stares at you flatly, and then in between your legs almost methodically, like he's waiting for something, and the flat of his palm rests heavy over your clothed cunt.

"i don't think so," he mutters, "tell me something first," and he's playing with the elastic band of your underwear, pulling it to the side before snapping it back, thwack!

"tell me you don't hate me. i need to hear you say it, that you never hated me," and you can feel a new bruise bloom on the inner corner of your thigh from his teeth's ministrations.

"i don't hate you! please, suguru, i could never, ah! -" and you don't get the chance to even finish your sentence before the man is pressing his tongue straight to the damp, translucent patch of fabric that's been soaked with your slick.

his teeth have caught on the fabric deliberately, and he's pulling the fabric, up and up, and the sight makes you so incredibly delirious that you wonder how on earth you're going to recover after this.

and to your credit, his eyes have gone wide, and hazy even — and you enjoy watching him swallow, adam's apple bobbing as suguru seems so entirely pussydrunk, just from you alone.

oh, now you have an idea, and so you pull yourself up and onto him, and he lets you push him down so your positions are reversed. he looks so beautiful like this, dark hair splayed out and falling over his flushed face, as you straddle his thighs, lewdly dripping over his robes as you try to gain some friction from the fabric.

"you're so desparate, baby. didn't think you'd be so — mmph! fuck!" it seems that all it takes to shut suguru geto up is a well-intentioned roll of your hips against his groin, and his hands shoot up to find their place on your waist, rubbing small circles over your hipbones.

you let out a shaky laugh, leaning down to press your lips to his again, "yeah, that's what i thought," and you kiss him, quick and almost outstandingly chaste, and you grin in satisfaction as he leans up again to chase your lips as soon as you separate.

as moonlight spills into the room, you decide to make short work of his robes, reaching underneath the silk to part the fastening, revealing the smooth ripple of muscle underneath, illuminated like godly marble in the silver light. suguru's gaze is fixed on you, his breath shaky and quickening, as he lets you trace your nails lightly over his abdomen.

taking a quick breath, your fingers slide beneath the waistband of his pants once more, and you relish at how suguru's entire body tenses at your touch, his breath hitching, "oh, fuck! right there," as your hands make contact with his cock, feeling the soft skin and the steel underneath. it's large, and heavy in your hands and you gulp, and realise now he's enjoying your reactions.

"there you go, you've had your fun," he breathes out, before shifting your hips back till you're situated right over his cock, "now, let me handle this."

you're barely given a few seconds to catch your breath before he sheathes himself, gliding straight into you thanks to the obscene amount of arousal practically weeping from your cunt, and you keen up at the sky, writhing from the delicious stretch of his wide cock that's made its home in your gummy walls.

"oh, ahh - suguru! wait, let me -," and you shift yourself, groaning as you feel his cock right in the sweetest spots, so you're in his embrace and he gladly envelops his arms around you, bringing you closer and planting desparate, hot kisses on your skin as your nails create crescents in his smooth skin.

suguru seems just as whipped as you are, gone from this mortal plane of the earth and onto a higher level of existence, just from your pretty, tight pussy that's holding him together, "keep doing that, pretty, look how. good. you. take. me."

and each word is punctuated by suguru's hips bullying into yours, pushing his cock deeper and further than you thought you could ever handle, as his mouth pants under yours, "taking it like a fuckin' champ. missed this, missed this so much."

you missed it too, chasing after the feeling of threading your fingers through his soft black locks, feeling him shudder as you scraped your nails down the back of his head,

"yeah, that's it," oh, suguru's always been mouthier like this, when you're sucking up him so deliciously, ramming his hips and angling them in a way that has your abdomen tingling, and has your eyes (and his) seeing stars and the heavens.

he taps his shoulders, where his dark robes have slipped off, revealing the smooth expanse of toned muscle and hot skin, "hands here, baby. keep you steady, yeah?"

and you plant your hands on his chest, determined to swivel your hips in a way that has you gasping for air, and glancing down right where - fuck, where you can quite literally see his bulge through your skin.

"oh, suguru! ah, keep doing that!" you desperately hope that these premises were vacated, for your unrestrained moans must have been rippling through the thin walls, strained and throaty as they bounced off wood.

and you just couldn't pull your eyes away from the sight of him, intoxicating as he was. suguru under you, broad chest heaving as he caught his breath with every rock of your hips — with a flush painting his creamy skin, framed by dark strands of hair that fanned messily around his face, falling in careless waves over his forehead and brushing against his cheekbones.

you couldn't help yourself, curling your fingers in the unruly halo and drawing him up, closer to your face as his crimson-bitten lips parted slightly, clacking around a deep groan.

his mauve eyes lifted away from the swell of your chest once more, hazy with exhaustion, but they softened as they met your own gaze with an almost reverent, quiet awe. even lying there, while you quite literally rode him to hell and back, cunt pulsing against his cock in a way that left you both breathless, he looked at you as if you were some vision, and his rosy-bruised mouth curled again.

"always thought you - hah - looked like a dream," he murmured, his gaze tracing your face as if he were committing every detail to memory, "i used to think that i had forgotten, or tried to forget how beautiful you were, are."

"but now," and he bucks his hips into a steady tempo, a constant allegro, "seeing you here, like this as if you were made for fuckin' me, how could i ever forget?"

his fingers are still under your top, brushing against your spine and you mewl, pressed close enough to him so your breasts press against the hard planes of his chest.

"stay a little longer, yeah?" he whispers, "just let me look at you, fuck! don't think i'd ever be able to stop lookin' at you anyway. can't get enough of you," and he reaches a hand in between your thighs, finding your swollen clit and beginning to run soft circles around it with the pads of his fingers, "don't think i'll ever get enough."

it's becoming too much, the harsh smack of his skin against yours, the feeling of your throbbing clit being showered with white-hot attention from his quick hands, the counter of his dense shaft gliding down your pliable walls, spanning them out until you can feel him so deep within you, "fuck, it's too good - mmph, way too good, i can't -"

you're practically tangled in his arms, in the arms of a man who should have been an enemy, a traitor, one who crumbled all that you held once dear. but his chest rises and falls erratically against yours, and you can feel him heartbeat jump, grounding you in the most unbearable way,

his fingers are now bruising your hips, leaving marks that you're sure (in the back of your mind, somewhere that's still rational) satoru would easily be able to recognise but you can't bring yourself to care.

you can't tell whose tears are staining the fabric of his robes between you, his or yours. the line between the two of you blurs as much as the fog in your mind from the way his cock has driven into you, made its imprint in a way that you'll never forget.

"suguru -" you're wondering if your poor, torn heart will just simply give out now, why is it so hard to breathe? each press of his fingers against your clit has you moaning over the shell of his ear, "i'm close, hah, i'm so close, suguru."

he chuckles weakly, bubbling from him and mingled in with a grunt, "yeah, i fuckin' know. i know." and his soaked fingers are still drawing circles in your sticky arousal that's leaking from you, over his cock, over his robes, dampening the dark trail of hair that coats his groin.

"always been mine." and as he bites your neck, teeth sinking into you, you feel the coil in your abdomen snap! and god, you don't think you could ever go back. not like this.

you can't even imagine the picture you must paint now, lips parted and open as you feel yourself being rocked through your orgasm in a way that leaves you untethered from the earth. how the spasm of your walls must finally trigger his own release, and suddenly he's stiffened too as thick, creamy ropes of his seed find their home in you, "see, mine. always mine, don't go soft on me now, pretty. oh my god, fuck!"

all you can truly do is let him handle you now, let his arms tighten and pull you in as close as possible, so his teeth are tugging on your lips, kissing right into your mouth as you ride out the stars of your own release, tears springing to your eyes once more from the overstimulation, hands digging into the woven mat under him.

later, you lie in suguru's arms, wrapped up entirely in the exhausation (and guilt, oh fuck, the guilt of what you've done) of the world, and everything else feels hazy and irrelevant. the steady rhythm of his breath in small puffs is the only thing grounding you, the warmth of his chest rising and falling against yours. he's tracing soft lines across your back, like he's trying to memorise the feel of you.

"suguru," you whisper, your voice breaking once more on his name, lips close to the damp skin of his neck. you're not sure if you're still crying, or if this is the quietest, most intimate form of surrender that has replaced the weathered storm.

he doesn't speak for a long moment, but his grip has tightened on you, as though he's trying to draw you even closer, like your soul will meld into his, "don't," and his voice is ragged raw, "you don't have to leave just yet."

the quiet desperation in his words cracks your heart, and for the first time in three years, the distance between the man who had become a shadow, and the boy you once knew feels almost unrecognisable.

his face turns toward yours, his eyes searching yours, as if he’s looking for something to anchor him, something to give him the assurance that all the destruction he’s caused, all the distance between you, can still be undone.

but you’re not sure if it’s possible.

you want to say something, anything, but the words lodge in your throat, too heavy and too tangled to escape. you let your hand rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart, matching the pace of your own.

"i don’t know if i can stay, suguru," you say, "how can we go back to what we were?"

"then let me make it up to you," he says softly, his voice shaking with a quiet urgency, as though this is the last chance he’ll ever have. "let me show you what i've built here. that you don’t have to leave."

if you stay, you risk losing yourself. you risk losing the anger that you had cherished, and treasured, nurtured and held onto. the anger that had guided you through the world. still, as you meet his gaze, something inside of you shifts. maybe it’s the way his hands slide gently up your back, steady and sure.

"please," he breathes again, his forehead resting gently against yours. "don’t leave. do not do to me, what i should never have done to you."

the moonlight spills through the cracks of the window, and it brings to mind the flicker of bright blue eyes, six eyes, alongside their warmth and steady presence, and you wonder if the earth will swallow you whole for what you've done.

you should never have come here. you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to get caught up in suguru's gravity again, shouldn’t have let him pull you back into this mess of old feelings and broken promises.

suguru's low, tired laugh pulls you from your thoughts, his breath warm against your skin. he pulls back slightly, his dusky eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place — a spark of surprise, maybe amusement, even a little mockery, but there is no lie in his eyes.

"satoru?" he says, the name slipping from his lips with a touch of disbelief. "you really think he hasn’t visited me in the past three years either?"

[thegoatsongs]

Mina driving the carriage in the misty dark mountains of Transylvania in her mourning attire and never removing her veil to not show her ever-prominent scar and ever-sharper teeth

[shiny-jr]

outlander

Warning: Yandere. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia. 

Summary: In every land you travel to, there's a god with elemental powers. But why is it that in every nation you arrive to, the gods attempt to make you stay?

Note: Why has no one done a genshin x twst thing? This is more of a concept idea than anything else. I might do a series with it, or not, or just random posts. Feel free to ask about it or request stuff for it.

This must be a dream, either that or a never-ending nightmare.

Waking up alone on a sandy beach, as if washed ashore, was disorientating. There was nothing else on the shore save for shells and the occasional crab, no debris indicating a wreck and no scattered belongings. All you had on you were the clothes on your back, which were a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt, your pajamas.

In the center of your palms, was a marking you had never seen before, like a freshly painted tattoo in the shape of a tiny key. As curious as the strange new markings were and you wondered how they even got there, there was a larger question looming:

How did you get here?

GRIM

There was a cat on the beach. At least, it looked like a cat. A talking feline, with gray fur and the most impossible feature of blue fire lightly simmering in his ears.

It spoke, just like a human, with a grating high-pitched voice. It was a devilish little beast, with little fangs sharper than his comebacks that he supposed were funny.

The feline pridefully announced his name: Grim.

And when you told Grim your story of how you woke up by the water's edge with no recollection of how you got here and little to your name, the creature didn't appear to care. However, when he spoke of elements being used by people and names of nations and cruel living gods you never once heard of, only then was he very vaguely intrigued. Perhaps it was amusement, as he laughed and called you stupid for not even knowing of The Seven.

That's when you heard a growl, not from behind his fangs but from his stomach. If you looked at him from the right angle, he looked quite scrawny. The poor thing was hungry, you realized.

All it took was an offering of cans of tuna found in an empty cabin nearby, and you had him in your grasp. Following you around was only temporary, he insisted, he'd go along so long as there was food. While a talking cat was not the most conventional of guides, it was better than nothing, especially since he knew basic knowledge of each nation and where the nearest sign of civilization was located.

HEARTSLABYUL

Through the winding dark woods where mysterious creatures lurked in hollow trees and dead end paths, were meadows of flowers and peaceful grooves. However, don't let the tranquillity of nature fool you. In the distance were mountains– not actually mountains, but volcanoes and hot sprints along this land's border.

It's been said that the very millions of roses and other greenery in this land, was formed when ash rained down on dry barren earth for nearly a month. Ash from those very dormant volcanoes that were the backdrop to this perfect scenery, which came in huge black clouds thousands of years ago and blanketed the earth.

A god, an archon, the deity of law that rained hell on earth over thousands of years ago.

Long ago this land was a country of criminals ruled by a god of chaos that reveled in havoc and disorder. Among the mayhem, was a small deity of fire with mighty powers and a vision for a future he was determined to see. Riddle, is what the deity was called.

Riddle gained a number of followers to listen to his words, and he created order. A small feat compared to the many wicked still running about in a lawless land ruled by a god that valued anarchy. So, using newfound strength, the deity of fire drew forth molten lava from the mouths of the northern volcanos, burning all those in its path while the deadly plumes of smoke and ash suffocated those that remained. Atop the remains of the destroyed towns and cities, he built a new nation of order for his loyal followers.

Today, it is a thriving nation filled with flowers and greenery. However, there is one issue. The god of pyro, Riddle, is a tyrant. Every law is expected to be followed without question and without fail, beheadings have become nearly a daily occurrence with the criminals often being charged with mistakingly picking flowers on Wednesdays, drinking the wrong sort of tea post-meals, or playing croquet after five pm.

You were fortunate to be spared after your audience with the god of law, for breaking the rule: one must never bring a cat to a formal affair. Before he could burn you were you stood, you interjected, answering that your companion was no cat, so you had broken no rule.

Well, he promptly apologized for the misunderstanding and in turn, offered to make up for it by inviting you to a tea party. It would be best to except his invitation, afterall, he was the same deity that buried nearly an entire country in lava and ash, then built his kingdom atop their remains. He was a tyrant that beheaded and burned people on the daily. It was wise not to get on his bad side. Besides, he appears to have taken a fancy for you. Riddle implores that you tell him more of your world while you ignore the whispers of rebellion.

There is no leaving Heartslabyul, not without the explicit permission from the god of law. The borders with their volcanoes burn any would-be invaders, allowing passage only to merchants and travelers who have received the pyro deity's blessing. Why would Riddle ever give you his blessing to see you go?

SAVANACLAW

Across the volcanoes and hot springs of the borders, the mountains turn green with dense jungles. Across the river lies the savanna where the world's most wondrous creatures run free. Times have been turbulent, the shaking ground was evidence of troubles with this nation's divine beings, or rather, now single divine being.

Earthquakes have always been a sign of something occurring either for a purpose or unintentionally by someone else. The harsher the quake, the greater the importance of the event. And not too long ago, a ginormous tremor shook the entire globe. Something of major importance had happened.

A god, an archon, the deity of intellect was the new sovereign after tragedy befell his elder brother.

In the past the land was under the protection of the god of strength, a mighty god worshipped by his people. This god had a young heir who was also beloved by the people. However, most forgot or completely disliked the younger brother of the god of strength, a deity of ground, Leona, who had a burning hated for his brother.

Leona amassed followers of his own in secret. It came as no surprise that the common and the wealthy adored the exalted god of strength. However, the poor detested him, because he offered no help to them, no matter how much they prayed and offered what little they had to his alter. Instead, their prayers for mercy and for a change in luck, were answered by the deity of ground. The change of luck came from the death of the former god and his son, paving the way for a new sovereign.

Today, there is uncertainty in the street. Many of the former worshippers of the god of strength believe in one thing. The god of geo, Leona, is unfit to rule. The poor and mistreated have emerged from hiding places in the shadows, filled with newfound confidence for their was finally a god that answered their prayers. However, there remains a growing tension between both factions. Followers of the new god sing his praises, while followers who mourn for his brother believe that everything is falling into disarray.

You were promptly introduced to the god of intellect by his followers that wished to spread the good word. There was something wrong, you and your companion both agreed. How could a powerful god of strength and his young heir just perish without warning? Something was amiss.

This was just a new follower, at least in his eyes. So he brushed you off, allowing you to partake in the best food and drink only his followers had the privilege of receiving. Testing your luck, you decided you would ask him if he knew of a way home. For now you filled him in, explaining your origins and recent adventures. For such a conniving and arrogant leader, he was surprisingly lax. It even appeared as if he wasn't even listening to your words, just dozing off on some pillows. Your words were at least more interesting to him than the rumors of possible unrest.

Perhaps he does know a way for you to return home, but he doesn't want to tell you. It's as simple as that. He likes the new follower, you. Besides, you're not going. There is always the option of traveling further, but why do so when the geo deity has what you need? Leona greatly loathes betrayal from his own worshippers, so you wouldn't leave Savanaclaw to see another god, would you?

OCTAVINELLE

In the seas dwell creatures of unimaginable horrors living deep within the watery depths, across the ocean over turbulent waves there are islands of paradise. The chain of islands composed warm southern beaches and cold northern snowlands. This may be paradise, but a toll must be paid to even get near the islands.

A tax is applied to all arriving merchants wishing to trade and tourists wishing to step foot on the island. It doesn't make much sense, until you see their towns and cities bursting with trade. Business was booming, apparently. The water is clear and pristine, you could see the vibrant coral reefs and schools of fish swimming below.

A god, an archon, the deity of contracts once came from these very waters when there was no land.

Thousands of years ago there was nothing but ocean out this far away from the mainland. That is, until a deity of water appeared from the depths. He promised a new nation to traveling merchants, so long as they worshipped him. The deity introduced himself as Azul.

Azul had grown bored of the dull happenings under the sea, for he had achieved most things beneath the waves. The ocean could not satisfy his endless greed. He had his sights set on higher elevation, with the lofty goal of being just as powerful on land as he was in the ocean. He moved waves, creating tsunamis outward but revealing islands once hidden by water. The merchants took to land and fulfilled their end of the deal, worshipping him while creating a prosperous nation of deals.

In present day, hardly anyplace can compare to the thriving hub the nation has become. However, loyal followers have begun to see his greed. The god of hydro, Azul, is a charlatan. The ocean in all its vastness was not enough to satisfy his desires, it was why he took to land. For the promise of fulfilling prayers, something always must be given in turn or the worshippers must risk going on a quest. But, it is not always as it seems. One way or another, a prayer asking for something will end in the worshipper becoming in debt to him.

In exchange for an answer to the continued question of how to return home, you have nothing to offer for payment except for ideas. Home was modern, this world was not yet on par with the technology you knew. So you offer ideas of inventions, a device to capture an image in time, a mechanism like a box with wheels, a tool to contact someone miles away.

He believes you're quite bright, you think it false flattery to deceive you but you would be wrong. Your ideas are truly brilliant, and will no doubt earn him more millions and influence in other nations on the mainland! Best to take the compliment with a smile, or else this swindler may find a way to trap you in debt. Azul insists you tell him more of your home and your lucrative ideas. Here, a contract, where he shall sell your ideas as goods and you shall reap the rewards! Whatever hearsay you've heard painting him in a bad light, is defamation! Don't fall for it so easily.

Sailing away from Octavinelle would just be a fool's quest. Unless you can escape on a boat that can weather the harshest of sea storms, there is no stepping foot off the island without the risk of drowning. Don't you have more profitable ideas to share with the hydro deity? If not, just listening to your voice would make Azul content than all the gold in the world could.

SCARABIA

Rolling sand dunes stretch as far as the eye could see, and rocky canyons border a savanna. Sandstorms fill the skies like a dark cloud, covering the dry hot land in a new layer of sand once again. Struggle through the scorching days and blistering cold nights, and there will be an oasis in the center between large flowing rivers.

Life follows the flowing waters, and an enormous oasis is planted in the center of the desert. For miles and miles along the banks, are blooming cities and towns. A great contrast to the desert outside, these settlements are overflowing with water, with the greenest gardens and greatest crops.

A god, an archon, the deity of commerce that gave life to a once barren land.

Thousands of years ago, a terrible famine struck the land. All remaining oasis had shriveled up, leading to starvation. A kind-hearted deity of earth took pity on the people. So he decided to extend a helping hand. People would call the deity Kalim.

Kalim used his abilities to create a lush environment, a vast and incredibly rich oasis out of sand in the middle of the desert. When he walked, grass and flowers sprouted from the sand. In days, he managed to create a garden of tremendous size and design, where his new followers could live in peace and luxury by the rivers. Towns and cities were developed, giving way to a grand nation where he resided in comfort and extravagance, surrounded by people that adored him.

Now there is a grand metropolis where there is just as much gold in the markets as there are flowers. The god of dendro, Kalim, is naive. For thousands of years he has been sheltered and treasured by his people. He is oblivious and clumsy, but at the same time he is not foolish. He knows of the people that have attempted to use his abilities for sinister purposes. Although, no one could guess a conniving being plotting against him, resides in his very own palace.

Exciting adventures and thrilling tales, the god of commerce loves to hear your stories of the outside world! First time foreigners are welcomed with open arms, but you are treated as a rare guest with your unique origin. This might just be the most peaceful land you had ever traveled to.

Come, partake in the celebrations! It's easy to forget that such a laidback and cheerful personality belongs to that of a deity that gave life to this region of the desert. Dance, chat, he wishes to do it all with you! The brightness of the fireworks and lively atmosphere is nearly enough to drown out the presence in the shadows you see from the corner of your eyes. A figure with a piercing gaze, watching the jolly divine being with envy in their eyes. With a power as tempting as his, there would be those wishing to snatch it. Kalim distracts you, offering more food and drink with a smile sweeter than any flower.

Why would anyone ever wish to leave this garden that was Scarabia? The outside, the desert and canyons, were harsh and unforgiving. The god of commerce did not wish to see you risk traveling and getting hurt. The dendro deity invites you to stay in the city! Surely you could be happy here with Kalim, right?

POMEFIORE

On elevated lands, between mountains and hills, were endless forests in which travelers often vanished in or were discovered frozen. A winter wonderland, although this wasn't so delightful. It was beautiful, but a deadly kind of beautiful, where you risked being chased by mysterious beasts or becoming lost in blizzards.

The snow may be pure, it may look picturesque upon frozen lakes and lines of white trees, but looks are deceiving. This was once a serene land with a temperate climate, but it has only gotten colder and colder in more recent months until there was not a single spot of green to be seen.

A god, an archon, the deity of curses who was so bitter like the cold that he caused snow to fall all year round.

Stories have told that the land was once warm in springs and summers, only growing cold whenever the divine being was cross. They were frighteningly beautiful and terrifyingly powerful, regal as royalty but at times wrathful. Vil, is what the deity was referred to.

Vil became envious of an emerging figure, so he invoked powerful blizzards and storms. In recent generations, there have been a growing number of his people breaking off into a separate faction that worshipped a younger compassionate god of healing. Enraged by the betrayal of some followers and resentful with biting jealously, many knew that it was only a matter of time before he would snap. This frightening divine being would not accept being dethroned, he would not allow himself to be demoted in the people's hearts.

Civilization continued to thrive, even despite the never-ending snow. And yet, people cannot help but worry what may happen if the cold doesn't let up by spring. The god of cryo, Vil, was pretentious. Anyone who openly voices their distaste for him or a preference for the god of healing, can expect to be encased in ice and used as a display. No one dares to even utter the name of his rival, for fear of incurring his wrath.

Misfortune brought you before the god of curses' throne. Mistakingly his followers had believed you to be worshippers of the god of healing, which you insisted not to know of. You had simply been lost. Maybe it was your gawking at his ethereal appearance, or the compliment you murmured under your breath, but you were not frozen a punishment.

He decided to interrogate you himself, and through his stern questioning you found yourself a nervous mess as you answered honestly but blabbered far too much. Maybe this deity was amused, much like a king would find humor in a pathetic little jester. The divinity that froze nonbelievers into statues for his palace, found you quite endearing. Vil even once smiled at you when you spoke of inconsequential things, warming his heart to which the clouds carrying snow broke apart if for a moment, causing his followers to go into a frenzy fueled by hope.

When leaving Pomefiore is so much as even mentioned, all exits will be frozen shut by the god of curses. Why even venture outside the palace, when you have earned the favor of the cryo deity? Perhaps the land is warmer, but the neighboring nation is dangerous and he forbids the journey. Why would anyone leave after finally melting Vil's icy cold heart?

IGNIHYDE

A forest of dead trees serves as an ominous welcome, or perhaps it was an omen warning incoming travelers. Slopes gave way to valleys, and along the coasts was a heavy mist that painted the vision gray. Homes and buildings, magnificent temples and crumbling feats of architecture, appeared to be floating in white clouds, but in reality they were situated on cliffsides thick with fog.

In the center of the dying forest, there are ruins of a grand temple once belonging to a god that met a tragic end. However, its remnants are closely guarded by mysterious creatures of air that cannot be touched. Legends say the temple was once a place of worship for a fledgling god related to the main god the nation worships today.

A god, an archon, the deity of innovation that has never once shown his face to the public.

Thousands of years ago, a pair of divine beings appeared. They went largely unnoticed for many years, until their brilliant inventions brought awe to those around them, attracting worshippers and diminishing the power of other local gods. The one remaining brother from this pair, is a deity known as Idia.

Idia created wondrous inventions, unintentionally forming a nation of inventors in the process. Withdrawn, dark, and silent, he is quite the unconventional god and yet he begrudgingly rules nonetheless. As reserved as he may be, he is feared among divinity. All lesser gods aiming for his spot are quickly wiped out by his inventions, without him so much as lifting a finger and using his own abilities. They're reduced to mere memories, as nothing is left of them. In times of old, it was once believed that he was a harbinger of death.

On decent days, the sun may shine on the coast, but most days there are heavy clouds and fog. The god of anemo, Idia, is an enigma. Most think him a ghost, for never appearing and for his abilities. The highest families, the most brilliant inventors, even other divine beings may request an audience, but he will never show. No one has ever seen him, all that's known is he is a figure shrouded in black robes like a grim reaper. There are others who believe there are double, because two figures have been spotted once.

You become the first to see his face purely by accident. It seemed he was just as startled of you, as you were of him. Thankfully, you were not going to be blown off the face of the planet by hurricane-level winds. No other god would help, in fact, they wished to keep you here. So you had to turn to him for assistance in finding a way home.

It was only by promising that he could pet Grim, a deal to which the feline disagreed to, did the god reluctantly hear you out. After your explanation, he scoffed as if looking at a simple equation like 2 + 2. Of course he knew the answer, but he wouldn't give out the assistance you needed. The deal was to hear you out, not help you out. He'd become quite bold in the private conversation, a sharp contrast to his previous anxious demeanor. There was no arguing against he who could slaughter gods with a snap of his fingers. Although you aren't as intolerable as other mortals, this he admits.

Departing from Ignihyde is highly unlikely, given how dense the fog is. You cannot even see the ground you're walking on. While, yes, the anemo deity hasn't assisted you, he will, eventually, probably, maybe... You're the first mortal Idia has ever asked to stay, so why would you turn your back to him?

DIASOMNIA

A wall of impenetrable thorns stands in the way, magically opening and creating a clear-cut path through dense forbidding forests lively with critters. The thorn walls close, effectively trapping you. There was something different. It was unlike all the previous nations, the very air itself felt off. With every step deeper into these whimsical woods, it felt as if you were not alone.

Once upon a time, there was a dragon. No one knows how long the dragon has been alive, only that even the oldest tales say he was already ancient way back when. Valleys were shaped by his claws, the rivers from his tail, rare ore came from his fallen scales buried in the earth, the tallest mountains were but small hills to him.

A god, an archon, the deity of dreams is by far the most powerful and most ancient of all divinity in the world.

Peace was his personal preference, as he enjoyed new company which he never truly received due to his fearsome reputation. However, when other divinity sought out his destruction and his home, the deity of electricity raged. Destruction was left in his wake across the entire globe, and everyone came to know the name Malleus.

Malleus commanded thorns to be raised like walls protecting his home, and constant violent storms to ward off anyone threatening to cause trouble. For hundreds of years, no foreigner was allowed to step foot within the nation's boundaries. Anyone that tried would quickly be reduced to ash, and just a number added to the untold amount he's slayed in order to protect himself and his territory. Kind he may be to his own, but to foes he is merciless. With his black horns and piercing eyes, some refer to him as a devil incarnate.

A land unseen by outlanders, it's peaceful and magical in it's beauty. However, it seems that while your presence may be surprising, it is not a shock. You're taken by knights in gray and black, escorted away. The god of electro, Malleus, has invited you to his castle. There is astonishment and disbelief in people's eyes, a foreigner alive and well. Most like you would have been reduced to particles before they could even step foot past the thorns.

Much to your horror, or relief, once you're brought to the god of dreams, he seems delighted to have you here. It seems your presence was expected, as all he said was, "So you've finally come to see me, hm? I was beginning to grow concerned that perhaps I would have been left out of your list of destinations."

This was the last option, the only one you could turn to in finding a way home. Surely, the most ancient and powerful deity would hold the answer and assist you, since he had been so kind as to allow you inside his nation. Although as welcoming as he may be, you must remember that despite his fang-toothed smile and the twinkle in his eyes, this man– no, god, was archaic and all-powerful. He must have killed more people than you will ever know, wiped out whole armies and flattened entire nations. Malleus tilts his head at you, requesting that you recount your tale, with every minute detail.

This will be the end, there will be no escaping Diasomnia. Of course, you shall not know until later. For now, the god of dreams delights in your stories. You were the first guest he's had in thousands of years, and one of the few who did not wish to slay the legendary dragon that was the electro deity. Malleus knows what you desire, he has seen it in your dreams. However, he will not be kind and grant you what you sought. If he did, then what he desired would then vanish: you.

[solbaby7]

Seen

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: possible swearing but this is mainly just fluff, maybe a splash of sexual tension but I love a good slow burn when it comes to azzyboy

summary: Nosy by nature, you follow a few stray shadows somewhere you know you don’t belong—better not get caught

—

You shouldn’t be here.

You definitely shouldn’t be here.

But everytime you stopped, tried to turn back and go where you came, those little shadows stopped you. Wrapping around your legs like snakes, pulling at your clothes and gently pushing you forward down a dark hallway with only one door.

You knew you shouldn’t have touched it.

But the little shadows twisted the knob for you, door opening with a slow creek.

“Absolutely not,” You say to the hovering shadow, unsure if it could understand you but the way it curled around your shoulders and urged you forward seemed like a “actually, you will”.

It was a little colder in here, a room filled to the brim with all sorts of treasures. Weapons hang neatly against the wall above the fireplace, swords sharper than the jagged rocks weathered by the crashing tide deep below the mountains. Armor and fighting leathers of all sizes and stitching hang on a rack in the corner, perfectly clean save a few random holes—war wounds you concluded.

But whose?

The answer becomes more apparent when you prod a little further, carefully observing rare books; some with languages carved on the spine you hadn’t even known existed. Paintings hang on the wall, some of landscapes, a few of the Night Court, but one makes your eyes widen—the painting Feyre had made for Azriel.

You step back immediately, the shadow holding at your arm to brace you. “I really shouldn’t be in here.” You whisper at it, fixing the papers on the desk you’d stumbled into.

“No, you really shouldn’t.”

Your body freezes, hands stuck in place over the little wooden figurine you’d knocked over and the profanity that slips out is nothing above a whisper. “I swear I wasn’t snooping.”

It definitely looks like you’re snooping, hands all over personal paperwork that once you squinted your eyes to look at, you realize they’re reports; mission debriefs, important information that you certainly shouldn’t know and the whine that pulls in your distress, Azriel actually finds kind of cute. “Okay.” There’s no reading the expression on his face, dark hair tumbling down his shoulders. His shirts unbuttoned, golden brown skin capturing your attention and you force your eyes away before you get caught up in the giant wings tucked behind him. “Why are you here?”

Your fear morphs into anger, pointer finger jabbing at the two shadows slinking about your feet, nearly fully hidden if it weren’t for the smoke like wisps that curled in the air. “They made me, I swear. I didn’t even open the door.”

Azriel says nothing, wings ruffling when he beckoned them, silently commanding they return but the shadows don’t obey. They hide behind your frame, flitting about your clothes and one settles around the back of your neck like a sleepy cat. “Interesting.”

“They’re kinda cute,” You admit softly, eyes transfixed on the newest addition to your shoulders and when your fingers come to touch it, it feels cool. “—if they weren’t so naughty.” As if remembering you’re not alone you look back up, hand lowering back down to your sides as you stand there awkwardly. “But, I suppose I didn’t exactly fight them that hard—I was a little curious.”

“Dangerous thing, curiosity. People have killed over less.”

It takes everything in you not to step back because even though the words are slightly threatening, they aren’t untrue. “I apologize—I’ll go now.”

“If you weren’t actually snooping through my papers,” Azriel begins, the shadows attached to him preventing you from going any further and the two connected to you reach out to the others—bumping against one another like bees communicating where the most pollen was. A few more reach out to you, curiously prodding at your clothes, your hair, curling around your arm and gliding through the gaps of your fingers. “What were you looking at?”

You answer quickly albeit a little distracted by the smoky darkness crawling up your shirt and around your neck. “I was—“ Your breath catches when they squeeze a little, blush fanning. “Can you get them off please?”

“Believe it or not,” You dare look up at him and find that he looks just as flustered as you by his shadows. “I’m trying but they’re not really responding to me at the moment.”

Panic is evident on your face and the swirling gems containing the true extent of his power behinds to glow a little, shadows being pulled back like a magnet no matter how hard they latch on. “Does that happen often.”

Azriel’s hand reached out, snatching at one that dared try to pull away. He doesn’t look at you when he tucks it back with the others. “No.”

There’s a pause, a silence that’s not exactly uncomfortable but you still feel the need to fill it when you skim over parts of the room you hadn’t been able to explore before. “What is all of this stuff?” You’re moving before you can tell your feet to stop, settling before a glass cabinet filled with all sorts of precious gems, glimmering necklaces and two neatly hung dresses and though neither are quite as high quality as the stones; your hand still hovers over them, fingertips millimeters from the shiny glass. “It’s beautiful.”

You don’t hear anything for some time, too entranced with the golden arm cuff that had been carefully designed into a vine with detailed leaves and stems that seemed to grow the longer you stared at it. “They’re for,” Azriels voice is low, clearing his throat when his breath catches slightly. “—they were for my mother.”

Were.

You don’t look at him, granting him the gift of privacy because it was obvious this wasn’t exactly an easy subject and even more clear that procuring this many words from him was a feat in itself. You hum instead, trying to appear as casual as possible as you appreciate items not meant for other eyes—treasures meant for a someone who was no longer with us. “She must’ve been lovely—probably a bit complex,” You say without thinking. “Probably really kind too and good with nature,” You add, looking back at the arm cuff.

A blush forms when you finally turn to face him again, his mouth is slightly agape and you can’t quite put your finger on the way he’s staring at you. “You get all that from some jewelry?”

You scoff as if they’re your own, defending them like you’d picked them yourself. “They’re not just jewelry. Look at how intricate the pieces are,” You point at them, never touching the glass in fear of leaving a fingerprint or possibly breaking it. “Each and every one of them probably look careful thought and planning and endless hours of time spent bringing it to life. The care; the love put into them it’s—“ You let out a breath, realizing how fast you were talking and how quick you were breathing. Suddenly, you feel shy with his eyes studying you. “It’d be a disservice to just call them jewelry when it’s so clear her soul’s in every piece.”

Azriel’s not a man of many words, so you don’t force them. Instead you dip you head in farewell, returning the clingy shadows and making way to leave when you hear a whisper so soft you nearly mistake it for the wind. “I thought so too.”

[yanderedrabbles]

Misery - Part Two

Based on Misery by Stephen King

Stuck in the mountains, you foolishly decide to drive through a blizzard. The man that drags you from your wrecked car brings you to his cabin and patches you up. But as the snow piles up outside, you start to suspect that your rescuer's intentions may be far from pure.

Previous Chapter

The thing that brought you straight from unconsciousness and howling into the world of the living was your shoulder. In the bleary haze after you crashed, you were hurting in so many places that you couldn't have focused on an individual ache even if you tried.

It wasn't until the stranger popped your arm back into place that you realised it was dislocated at all.

You woke up with your shoulder and upper back a sharp, aching mess. You also woke up screaming.

"Easy, easy there ma'am. Hush now, you can take it."

The stranger's thick drawl was right next to your ear and you turned your head to find his hands on your upper arm.

You groaned. "I'm suffering enough without being insulted."

You tried to sit up and a host of new pains made themselves very known. You slumped back with a small gasp.

"I may look rough, but I am nowhere near old enough to be a ma'am, thank you very much."

To your surprise, he laughed. And if you weren't becoming intimately aware of your pain tolerance, you would have realised what a nice laugh he had.

"Hell, if you're this lively after I gave you morphine, I'm terrified to find you sober."

The man next to you was slowly taking shape out of the halos of light that streaked your vision. Grey eyes, that was the first thing you noticed. A kind of gunmetal grey that you would have found frightening if he hadn't been smiling.

"Oh, I've never had morphine before."

If you were hurting this much after getting doped up on pain meds, a part of you was terrified about them wearing off. A smaller part of you worried terribly about how much he'd given you. The rest of you however, was succumbing to the deep sleep that banged up bodies seem to demand.

Dimly you realised the stranger had stood up and was about to walk away. You thought of your car in the snow and your body hunched over the steering wheel, blood dripping little by little onto the floorboards.

Your hand shot out with a speed you didn't think yourself capable of and grabbed his wrist. The stranger stilled and looked down at you. Tall, that was the second thing you noticed.

"Please don't leave me."

You were falling asleep against your will and your voice was cracked with pain.

He wavered and then slowly sat down in the chair next to your bed.

"Alright then, I'll be right here. So you go on back to sleep."

Kind, that was the third thing you noticed about him.

As you fell asleep, your fingers stayed wrapped around his wrist. In that isolated cabin, with the wind driving snow down the chimney and rattling the hastily put up winter shutters, former USMC Corporal Andrew Wilkes smiled for the first time in six months.

......

Waking up the second time was much slower and a whole lot less painful.

You opened your eyes to the watery light of early morning. A thousand different aches called for your attention. To start with, your left leg was a throbbing mass of low grade suffering. Everything below the knee felt stiff and bruised. No, sharper than just bruising. You would have to take a look for yourself later.

Your ribs felt tender, like you'd gone head to head with a kickboxer who harboured a very personal grudge.

Your shoulder however, was a thousand times better than last night.

You sat up slowly, the sheets rustling quietly. Your mind felt slow and groggy - it must have been the after effects of the morphine. You heard a quiet groan and froze.

The stranger was asleep on the armchair next to you, his upper body resting on the bed. You still had your hand clasped loosely around his wrist but at some point in the night he'd shifted and now his other hand was draped over yours.

His hands were nicked with a collection of little scars and his palms felt calloused with work, but they were warm and you found yourself comforted by that.

He was handsome too, with thick blond hair and a five o'clock shadow on his jaw. A raised scar carved a crescent on his cheekbone and without realising it, you reached out to touch it.

Your fingers must have been warm because he smiled just a little before he opened his eyes.

"Mornin' ma'am."

Was his voice always so deep or was it just sleep? You pulled your fingers away from his face with a jerk.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

He sat up slowly, rubbing his jaw with his free hand. You noticed he was wearing a courdroy jacket lined with sheepskin. For some reason, you thought it suited him perfectly.

"Ain't a bother. Besides, I'd be a damn shitty medic if I slept longer than my patient."

There was a faint clinking sound and you realised he was wearing a pair of dog tags on a chain around his neck.

"I'm Andy, by the way. Andy Wilkes."

You smiled. It felt strange to just now be learning his name, after you'd spent all night clutching onto his wrist.

"Y/N."

You cleared your throat, suddenly awkward despite your drowsiness.

"Thank you, for saving me. I would have died in the snow if you hadn't rescued me."

You looked into his eyes and then quickly away. Something about that gunmetal gray made you shiver.

"I owe you my life."

He was thoughtful for a moment.

"It was pure fate that I even saw your car way down in the trees. And good luck that I know enough first aid to fix you up."

He shrugged. "It ain't me you should be thanking."

"Still, others might not have stopped for a stranger."

He raised a brow and glanced down at the hand you still had clasped around his wrist. "How about you let me go and we call it even?"

Were you blushing? It sure felt like it, with the way your cheeks suddenly tingled. You let go like he was made of lava.

"Right. Um...Sorry about that."

He shot you a small smile. "Don't be. It was...nice."

He stood up and your half unconscious observation had been right - he really was tall. He was wearing Levi's and a pair of cowboy boots. There was a dark stain down his left leg and with a start you realised it was your blood. He hadn't even changed since bringing you here.

"You were banged up pretty bad. You should have some breakfast and then I can give you more pain medication."

You nodded eagerly. Your pain had faded a little when you spoke to him but it still throbbed throughout your body.

"And uhh..." He looked away from you and rubbed at his jaw. "I'll give you some clothes to change into."

He brought you a flannel shirt and a pair of sweatpants you felt sure to drown in. He set them on your nightstand and dragged open his first aid kit.

You raised a brow at the size of the thing. In addition to the regular bandages and disinfectant, he carried hypodermic needles, sutures and a whole host of injectable ampules. Is this how he had access to morphine?

"I used to be a medic, back when I was in the Marines." He smiled at you properly for the first time. "You're in good hands, I promise."

He put his fingers under your jaw and tilted your face towards him. You flinched as peeled back the gauze above your eyebrow.

"Let's get a good look at you - how are you feeling?"

You tried to smile and couldn't find the energy.

"It hurts."

"I'd be surprised if it didn't. This cut up here was pretty bad. You were bleedin' like crazy."

He dipped a cloth into a murky white antibacterial liquid and dabbed gently at the cut. He was close enough that you could see the pulse that beat in his neck.

"I've given you a few stitches up here. They seem to be holding fine."

"Stitches? Do you think it'll scar?"

He paused. "Maybe. But you're pretty enough that a little scar ain't gonna make a difference."

Okay, this time you were definitely blushing.

He bandaged you up again and his hands trailed down to your shoulders. From the look of him, you'd expect him to have a heavy touch, but he was careful and gentle.

"Shrug, maybe move around a bit."

You managed it, despite some stiffness.

"Good. We'll need to focus on working your shoulder a little everyday. Keep you limber as the swelling goes down."

"Yes, sir."

He tensed up for just a second before he continued.

"Any bruising or cuts you think I might have missed?"

"My ribs are hurting something awful."

"Lay down."

Good god, was he a natural at giving commands. You found yourself on your back without really realizing you moved. He lifted your shirt up and you flinched at the feeling of his hands on the soft skin of your belly.

"Take a deep breath for me."

You managed it without too much of a struggle.

"Good. Looks like it's just some bruising."

You noticed the lace of your bra peaking out from under your shirt at about the same time he did. He pulled his palm away from your waist like you scalded him and yanked down your shirt with none of the clinical professionalism with which be raised it.

He cleared his throat. "It's your leg I'm worried about."

He turned away from you to bend over your right foot, but not before you caught the redness creeping across his cheeks.

Your jeans were cut open to the knee and your ankle was a bulging monstrosity wrapped in layers and layers of bandages. He kept one hand wrapped around your calf as he worked and when you flinched away, he just tightened his grip and continued.

"It looks like a very nasty sprain. Grade 2 at least. Might take a few months to heal totally. For now though, you absolutely cannot walk on it."

He looked up at you as though to emphasise his point. "Any activity for the next few weeks will just set your healing back. Not to mention hurt like a bitch."

He sounded so mean when he swore that you dropped your eyes.

He straightened up. "From the look of things, I reckon you've bruised some of the bones in your calf too. So just keep off this leg."

"Ummm." You felt stupidly bashful with his hand still on your leg. "How am I supposed to move around?"

"Hmm. I might have an old crutch lying around here somewhere. If not, I'll just have to carry you."

He said it so damn casually, as if picking you up was the easiest thing in the world. You remembered how easily he got you out of your car and realised that to him, carrying you was just as easy as hauling wood or slinging a ruck on a march. Hell, easier maybe.

You were just a little afraid of his strength.

He nodded to the clothes he left beside you. "You try and change and I'll go and get your breakfast ready."

It was only after he'd closed the door behind him that you realised - he hadn't said anything about taking you to a hospital.

Next Chapter [coming soon]

Masterlist

[thunderbump]

Lesson in labor part 2 (End)

Mrs. Thompson sat in the small, stuffy teachers’ lounge, her phone still clutched tightly in her hand. Her breaths came in short, shallow bursts as she glanced anxiously at the clock. David had said he was on his way, but how long would it take? Another contraction surged through her, pulling her focus away from everything else. Her belly, already heavy and round, seemed to tighten unbearably, forcing her to double over and grip the edge of the chair.

She bit down hard on her lip, trying to stifle the groan that wanted to escape. The last thing she needed was for someone to walk in and see her like this. But with each passing minute, it became harder to hide the truth—her baby was coming fast, and David still wasn’t here.

As the contraction subsided, she leaned back, her swollen belly rising like a mountain in front of her. It felt impossibly large, like there was no room left inside her for even another breath. She rubbed it gently, trying to soothe herself as much as the baby, and whispered, “Just hold on a little longer.”

But the baby didn’t seem interested in waiting.

The next contraction was sharper, deeper, pulling her further into herself. She gasped, her free hand instinctively going to her belly, which had begun to tighten into a hard, unforgiving ball. This time, though, something was different. There was a sudden, strange sensation—a pop, followed by a warm, wet rush between her legs.

Mrs. Thompson’s eyes widened, and she let out a small, involuntary gasp, scrunching her nose in a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. Her water had broken. She could feel the liquid pooling beneath her on the chair, and her cheeks flushed hot with the realization.

“Oh no,” she whispered to herself, her hands instinctively cradling her now lower, heavier belly. She felt it drop as the baby shifted downward, pressing insistently against her pelvis. It was unmistakable. The baby was moving into position, and she was running out of time.

Her heart raced, and she quickly glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to walk in at any moment and see the situation she’d tried so desperately to avoid. But no one came. She was alone, soaked, and very much in labor.

She winced as another contraction rippled through her, stronger and more urgent than the last. Her belly, which had once sat high and round, was now noticeably lower, pulling her forward as though the weight of the baby was dragging her down. She shifted in her seat, trying to find some way to relieve the pressure, but there was no escaping it.

With trembling hands, Mrs. Thompson reached for her phone again and called David. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. A groan of frustration escaped her lips, followed by a deep, shaky breath as she fought back tears. She was going to have to do this on her own.

Her mind raced as she tried to figure out her next step. She couldn’t very well stay in the teachers’ lounge; someone would find her eventually, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold on before the baby made an appearance. She pressed a hand to her now-lowered belly, feeling the tight, hard surface beneath her palm, and realized with a sinking heart just how close she was.

She gritted her teeth as the next contraction hit, this time leaving no room for doubt. The baby was coming. Fast.

"I can’t believe this is happening," she muttered under her breath. She knew she needed to get to the nurse’s office or at least somewhere more private, but the thought of standing, of moving at all, seemed impossible with the way her belly had dropped and how each contraction left her breathless.

Finally, gathering what little strength she had left, Mrs. Thompson gripped the arms of the chair and hoisted herself to her feet. She could feel the weight of the baby bearing down on her, her belly pulling her forward with each labored step she took. Her soaked dress clung uncomfortably to her legs as she waddled toward the door, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out.

She stepped into the hallway, but after just a few steps, she had to stop, leaning heavily against the wall as another contraction gripped her. Her entire body seemed to tighten and tremble, her belly rock-hard and lower than ever, as though the baby was pushing with all its might to be born. She let out a shaky breath, pressing her forehead against the cool wall as she waited for the wave to pass.

She needed to get help, but she was starting to doubt whether she could make it.

Mrs. Thompson clutched the wall, panting heavily as another contraction rippled through her. Her body was screaming at her to stop, to rest, but she didn’t have time. She had to make it to the nurse’s office. That was her only hope. But each step felt like dragging a leaden weight behind her—her enormous belly, now hanging low, swayed with every agonizing movement, making it harder and harder to lift her feet.

“Just…hold on,” she whispered, both to herself and the baby. “Not yet, please. Just a little longer.”

Her hand trembled as she pressed it to her belly, feeling how tight it had become, how low the baby had dropped. She could almost sense the baby moving downward, eager to make an entrance. Her dress, already wet from her water breaking, clung to her legs, further hindering her slow, labored progress. She could feel every shift, every push from the baby inside her, and it was becoming harder and harder to fight back the urge to bear down.

Mrs. Thompson heaved herself forward, step by step, her free hand pressing against the wall for support. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, each one sharp and shallow. The pressure was unbearable, her belly so heavy it seemed to pull her forward, like gravity itself was trying to drag her down.

“Not yet,” she pleaded again, her voice strained. “Just stay in there a little longer.”

She could see the nurse’s office ahead, the door slightly ajar, but it felt a mile away. With every step, the contractions grew stronger, each one more intense than the last. Her belly was huge and low, pressing down relentlessly. She could barely move, her body sluggish under the weight of labor, but she had to keep going.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she stumbled into the nurse’s office, panting. But as soon as she entered, her heart sank—there was no one there. The nurse’s desk was empty, the room eerily quiet. Mrs. Thompson bit her lip, trying to stifle a cry of frustration. She needed help. She needed someone to tell her what to do.

But there was no time. The baby wasn’t waiting. She gripped the edge of the curtain that hung beside the exam bed, her knuckles white as another brutal contraction hit. Her legs buckled, and without thinking, she sank down into a deep squat, her body instinctively taking over.

She let out a sharp, desperate groan as the pressure surged through her. Her belly, heavy and low, pressed downward, and she could feel the baby moving. She gripped the curtain tighter, holding on for dear life as her body prepared to push.

“No, no, no…” she gasped, shaking her head, but there was no stopping it now. Her body was in control. She felt the baby’s head descending, the burning, stretching sensation overwhelming her as she cried out again, louder this time, the sound echoing through the empty room.

Her breathing became erratic, her entire body trembling as she clung to the curtain with one hand, the other cradling her massive belly. She could feel the baby crowning, the head beginning to emerge. Sweat poured down her face as she grunted, low and guttural, the sound of her effort mixing with the squelching sensation of the baby moving lower.

The pain was immense, but it was more than that—it was the sheer intensity of the moment, her body surrendering to the primal urge to give birth. She bore down with everything she had, her face contorted in effort, and let out a strained moan as the baby’s head slipped free.

“Ahh!” she cried, her grip on the curtain tightening as her entire body shook. She could feel the baby moving again, the shoulders pressing against her now, and with one final push, the baby slid into her hands, wet and warm.

Mrs. Thompson gasped in shock and relief, falling back onto her knees, clutching her newborn to her chest. The baby let out a tiny cry, filling the room with its soft wails.

In that moment, the door burst open. David rushed in, his face pale and wide-eyed. “Sarah!” he shouted, his voice thick with panic, but then he saw her, cradling their baby on the floor.

He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch both her and the baby. “You did it,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and relief. “You’re both okay.”

Mrs. Thompson looked up at him, exhausted but smiling, her heart swelling with joy as she gazed down at their baby, still nestled against her chest.

“We’re okay,” she said softly, her voice shaking with emotion. “We’re okay.”