#my beloveds (clenches fist of rage)

[kalashnikovlobotomy]

favorite flavor of rusame ? i think im a big fan of "i want to tear your head off🤬" and "i wanna tear your head off☺️☺️"

our braincell is connected ive been tagging them as variations of this dynamic for ages now. this is still one of my fave gayposts... but i have multiple favorite flavors🤤 im a big fan of being forced to overcome their differences to defeat a bigger evil (i unironically love paint it white soo much and a rusame piw confession comic was one of the first arts of them i posted) and right now i just looove a mutual "worst guy you know is also a beloved source of warmth you come back home to after a long horrible day (half of it was caused by him)". i probably like more variations as well i just get embarrassed to wall of text super hard. but i loove to.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)

Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! 📝✨

Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong – it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay – even necessary – to tell rather than show.

First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.

But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.

Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.

For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.

But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.

Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.

So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:

Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.

For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.

Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.

Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.

Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.

Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.

For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.

Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.

Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.

Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.

Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering – it's not quite like our own.

Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.

The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:

Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.

Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.

Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.

Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.

Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.

Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:

Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."

Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."

Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.

Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.

Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.

Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.

It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better – it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.

Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.

So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.

Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:

First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.

Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.

Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.

Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.

Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.

Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.

In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.

Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.

This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.

Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.

As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.

Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.

Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.

Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!

Happy writing! 💖✍️ - Rin T.

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors. 

[thehusbandoden]

He Doesn't Realize How Much he Needs You Until You're Gone Part One- Dabi

A/n: 100th writing I've posted :3

I hope you like it haha.

General info:

Genre: pure angst \\ wc: 2,425 \\ female reader \\ posted: 06/06/24

Warnings!: arguing, neglect, pure angst, crying, yelling, screaming, hurt, feeling betrayed, injuries (reader gets burned- not by Dabi), pushing your partner away (both parties), feeling worthless, feelings being discarded, mention of therapy, thoughts of leaving, thoughts of death, fear of a loved one dying, numbing your emotions, Dabi raging (burning things), leaving, partner being very tsundere, mention of blood (Dabi's tears), regret, guilt, becoming a husk, I think that's all haha. Pls lmk if I miss anything! <33

I will post two endings, one with angst and one with fluff. Lmk if you want to be tagged!

Tears roll down your cheeks as you spam Dabi with texts. You had just gotten into an argument with your beloved when he stormed out, cursing you out.

"Please." You quietly plead, your voice broken with sobs. "Don't leave me."

All of your texts remain unread. All your calls declined. You were having a panic attack by now, yet nothing seemed to get the villain's attention.

Just as you're about to completely lose it, you hear footsteps. Your freeze, listening with an indescribable intensity. The window opens. Your eyes dart to the activity.

Familiar black combat boots peek through the gap, falling to the floor. Your eyes travel up the familiar torn jeans, the worn out t-shirt, the burned neck, the crooked frown, and finally to the comforting turquoise eyes.

You let out a sob of relief as you see your Dabi standing in front of you. He looks down at you, grimacing.

"What happened to you?" He scoffed.

"I-I was worried." Your voice was hoarse and broken from your sobs.

"Worried?" He grunts. "You're more idiotic than I thought." He groans, grabbing the sandwich you made before the argument.

"I-I thought you were leaving me."

"I'm not gonna leave ya. No matter how annoying you are." He scoffs.

Annoying....

Your mind repeats the word several times, your face stiffening as you numb your emotions.

"Sorry..." you mumble.

"Don't start that pouty crap." He scoffs, shooting you a glare. "I'm tired of you being such a bother. I have so much to deal with. Your pathetic emotions isn't on my list."

You quietly fold your arms, moving to the couch. You watch Dabi silently, taking deep breaths to contain your emotions.

"I'm leaving for a mission tonight. I'll be back before next week."

His voice was less harsh, but nowhere near as warm as usual.

"O-okay.." you mumble, fidgeting with your sleeves. He rolls his eyes with a scoff, stomping into your shared bedroom.

~~

"I'm leaving now, brat."

You scramble to your feet, swiftly moving to his side. You lean up, hoping for a kiss as you ever so slightly pucker your lips.

You know your husband. He will notice... won't he?

His cold eyes move down to your lips. He grunts, turning around and leaving. "See ya later, brat. Don't be pouting when I get home, you hear?" He mutters, hauling himself through the window.

He always came in and out through the back window... it would be bad if your neighbors caught a highly wanted villain in your apartment.. hence the sneaking.

You've lived together for over a year now, you've moved four times now.

"Wait-" you call out, reaching out to your husband. His cold gaze burns into you.

"Um- a-aren't you going to... going to.."

"Spit it out, woman."

"Aren't you going to.. kiss me?" You blush. Dabi scoffs.

"Don't expect needles privileges after your attitude yesterday."

"Attitude?! Do you mean our argument?" You protest.

"Here it goes again." He groans. "You're always complaining and refusing to take accountability."

"Thats nonsense." You clench your fists, trying to suppress your emotions. Tears burned your eyes, but you refused to let them shed.

"What's nonsense is your attitude. You can't even keep me around now can ya? Your attitude always drives me off! I wonder why I ever married you in the first place. You give me attitude and then act like I'm the victim. Pathetic."

Tears well in your eyes. You bite your lip. "I won't ask for anymore from you." You whisper.

"Good. Keep it that way." He lands outside, shrugging his shoulder before walking off with an nonchalant attitude.

You close the window, leaning against the wall as you try to slow down your breathing. Tears fall down your cheeks as you curl in a ball, feeling hurt, angry, betrayed, and worthless.

The days pass by as you wait for Dabi to return. You didn't hear from him, and he was gone far longer than he said he would be. Every text was left unread, every call ignored, every voice-mail left un-listened to.

Eventually, you stopped trying. You got a therapist, and ended up deciding on what was best for you. When he comes home, if he doesn't treat you better, if he doesn't even listen or try to change, its better for you to leave. Even if it was just for a little bit.

Days turn into weeks, and weeks blur into months. Many nights you lay awake, doubting yourself. Doubting your worth.

It killed you inside. Your self esteem plummeted. You stopped going to therapy. All you wanted was your husband. Your husband's love, his validation, his touch, his mere presence.

Curled in a ball, you stared at the wall with a blank expression. Horrid scenarios went through your head as you imagine your poor husband alone, injured, and dying.

Tears blur your vision as you imagine him already dead, his loving soul leaving this world without even telling you goodbye. You hadn't even gotten a kiss. Or an I love you.

The tears don't stop. And they didn't as the hours slowly pass by. You felt like ripping your hair out, screaming, hitting, throwing things- anything to get your mind off of your husband's doomed death.

The window opens. Your eyes dart towards the unlocked glass pane. Combat boots pokes through. You gasp in relief.

A worn, exhausted, injured, and in pain figure follows the boots. Revealing your beloved, Dabi. You let out a small sob, launching yourself at him.

You close your eyes in relief as you feel his warm chest, the familiar staples bringing you comfort. As you move to open your eyes you feel a hand to your shoulder, your backside hitting the floor.

You look up in shock, Dabi looking down at you in disgust.

"I thought you said you wouldn't ask anymore from me." He scoffed. You grab your arm, holding it to your chest.

"I-" you start.

"I really don't want to hear it. Just let me rest." He groans. You slowly lift yourself off of the floor, silently moving into your shared bedroom.

You curl in a ball, hiding under the sheets. You hear him walking around outside of the room, silently listening. Tears blur your vision once more. You cover your mouth, tightly closing your eyes.

You shake with sobs, doing your very best to stay quiet. You can't help but feel worthless. Tears stream down your cheeks as you listen to your husband's familiar footsteps, glad he's safe at the minimum...

Hours pass by as you cry yourself to sleep, your stray tears staining your cheeks.

~~

Dabi's POV

Dabi strolls into your shared bedroom. "Oi, make me a sandwich will ya?" He grunts. Yiu don't move, irritating him.

He moves to your side, snatching the blanket. "I said-" he stops as he sees you asleep, tears stained on your cheeks. A strange pain dtabs at his chest. Shaking it off, he drops the blanket.

Staring at you, he gently cups your cheek, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. He pulls away, caressing your cheek. "I've missed you. Even though you're a pain." He whispers before pulling away.

~~

Your POV

The next morning

You blink open your eyes, rubbing at the lingering sleepiness. Yawning, your eyes lazily run over the room. The curtains were hiding the small bedroom from sunlight, the entire room encompassed in darkness.

Sitting up, you rub your puffy eyes once more. Dabi was no where near sight. Sighing, you absent-mindedly trace the bruise on your arm where you fell.

Your heart aches as you remember your therapist's words. This isn't healthy. It needs to stop...

The door opens, revealing Dabi. "Finally awake, sleepy head?" His voice wasn't the cold growl like last night, but it was no where near gentle.

You nod, timidly. Afraid of upsetting him once more.

"I'm starving. Want to make breakfas..?" This was his way of asking you to. If you agreed, there would be no thank you, for you "wanted" to.

If you said no, he would be irritated for a while. He won't cook, no matter how many times you beg him to while you're away, so he will oftenly go without eating if you're unavailable or refuse to cook.

Biting your lip, you nod. He gives you a short grimace, something similar to a small smile before walking out. Standing up, you yawn, stretching your arms. Your eyes ache from all the crying, but you push that to the back of your mind.

You walk out to the kitchen, beginning to cook. You feel Dabi's eyes on you, but you don't pay much attention. You were guarded, unsure why he's acting so differently this morning. Cautious of unleashing the monster once more.

"Dabi?" You murmur. He grunts in response.

"I talked to a therapist when you were on your mission..."

"A therapist? What for? Did you leak my identity?!" He snaps.

"No, I didn't. I was really struggling for a while and needed someone to help me."

"So you relied on a stranger?!"

"You wouldn't answer. I called, texted, I left voice-mails."

"Oh so you think that your crappy attempt to get my attention justifies getting help from a stranger!? Was he a guy?! Were you sleeping with him?!"

"What?! No! I would never!"

"Then what were you doing with them?!"

"I was getting help for my mental state, Dabi!"

"Oh poor baby, you think being lonely justifies that?!"

"You're being unreasonable. Dabi she told me it was best for me to leave you if you keep treating me like this. I'm telling you this so you can wake up and change. This isn't okay." You snap, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

"Leave me?!" He laughs. "You wouldn't. You can't live without me."

"You've been making me live without you for months, Dabi. You don't tell me you love me, you don't show me affection, I'm lucky just to have you not yell at me!"

"You're being dramatic." He spits. "You're a spoiled brat. I've been working my arse off for you and you're this ungrateful."

"You've been working for revenge! It's not for me, it never was! I have my own job that pays for all or our bills Dabi!"

"You're listening to a stranger's advice and plan on leaving me?!"

"Only if you don't change Dabi!"

"You knew what you were getting into when you married me, y/n. Stop playing the victim."

"You didn't treat me like this when we first married."

"Keep telling yourself that." He spits, putting his jacket on.

"Where are you going?!" You cry, the food far from recovery, you hazardously shove the pan into the sink, burning your hand. You cry out in pain.

"Y/n!" Dabi yells, hurrying your side. He aggressively graps your hand, making you cry out once more. "Idiot! Why did you hurt yourself like that?!"

"Just leave me alone!" You try to yank your hand away but Dabi yanks it back.

"Stay still!"

"Let me go Dabi!"

"Y/n just sit still!!"

You push him back, protectively pressing your injured hand to your chest. "I said to let me go!"

Dabi's face scrunches up as he looks down at you. After a few silent moments he turns away. "I'm over you and your dramatic act." He mumbled.

Walking to the door, he pulls his combat boots on. "Don't leave!" You cry, coddling your burning hand.

He ignores you, moving to the window. "Dabi! If you leave without us finishing this I'm leaving."

"Go for it. I don't need you. I never did." He sneered.

Your heart throbbed as your beloved husband jumped through the open window, not looking back. Falling to your knees you break into sobs.

You cry over the absence of your beloved, you cry over the pain, and you cry over the dreaded feeling of being completely alone.

You don't stop for hours. It goes on and on until your completely out of tears, numb to the feeling of utter loss. Your hand aches. Your eyes aches. Your heart aches.

It all just- hurts.

You slowly drift to sleep, the cold kitchen floor being the only thing that grounds you from the pain of betrayal.

~~

Dabi's POV

Three days later.

Dropping from the window Dabi nonchalantly glances around the room. It seemed unusually cold an empty. Paying it no mind, Dabi hazardly tossed his jacket and boots towards the front door.

"Y/n, I'm home." He calls, running his hands through his greasy hair, his roots were growing out. Rolling his eyes, he opens the fridge. It was... empty.

"Y/n!" He calls once more, huffing in annoyance. "I get home and can't even eat?!"

No response. "For Pete's sake you petty brat! Get out here!"

Silence.

Anger fills his being before he remembers your words before he left. A strange pain shoots through him, his eyes widen as he runs into your shared bedroom. Everything of yours was... gone.

His heart quickens as he searches the entire house for you. Nothing. Not even a trace. His breathing quickens as he pulls at his hair. Taking a shuddering breathe, he shakes his head.

"You'll regret this y/n... you'll be back and I'll laugh in your face!" He chuckles, losing a bit of his sanity. "I DON'T NEED YOU! YOU'LL SEE!" He screams, activating his quirk as he knocks over a chair. He let's out a scream, lighting anything and everything in sight on fire.

Months pass by. Dabi has turned into a shell, simply surviving. Work, sleep, work, sleep, work... a "good" day is when he remembers to eat or drink. A shower or change of clothes is out of mind.

Walking through the streets, he walks inside the charred apartment. Stepping inside, he closes the door. He doesn't care about his identity anymore, or anything really.

His turquoise eyes scan the apartment, his eyes landing on a photo of you and him. His heart strangely aches once more. "Y/n..." he murmured, his fists clenching.

Falling to his knees, he lets out a broken sob. His eyes burn, tears would be running if they could. Blood drips from his charred tear ducts. He falls to the floor face first, nothing but his beloved wife on his mind.

How could he be so stupid?! How could he be so utterly retarted?! He lost the one thing in this world that actually loved him. Grasping his phone, he dials your number.

Please. Please pick up... please... I need you...

~~~~~

Part two (coming soon) | alt. ending (coming soon) lmk if you want to be tagged!! <33

Dabi's masterlist | Masterlist | Navigation | Tips<3

Reblogs make me smile (bonus points if you tag) and comments make my day!!

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging. 

[st4rg8te]

A Captured Dragon (BL)

Yandere! Half-brother X Crown Prince! Reader

[tw: graphic depiction(s) of violence, obsessive behaviour, betrayal, imprisonment, gaslighting, non-con kissing, incest!!!, teeny tiny bit of feminization]

✦✧✦✧

“You have done nothing to deserve that title. You were only lucky enough to be born the King’s son.”

A lot of things in life were beyond your control. 

But fate had been kind to you, gifting you a life that most could only dream of. Born into the royal family as their beloved Crown Prince, the world bent to your will from the very moment you drew your first breath. 

Spoiled, indulged, and never once tested by struggle—perhaps you were destined to fall from the start.

✦✧✦✧

✦✧✦✧

It’s getting harder to tell the days apart.

The world around you blurs into a cycle of sleepless nights. Your mind is a fog, heavy with the weight of guilt and fear. Each hour blends into the next, until time itself feels like a punishment.

The nightmares don’t help either.

Every time you close your eyes, they come—haunting, vivid dreams where blood stains the corridors and screams pierce the air. The sounds of blades slicing through flesh, of bodies collapsing onto blood-soaked floors, echo endlessly in your ears. It is relentless. 

You see the palace engulfed in flames, your servants and people—those you’ve known your entire life—crying out in terror as they are cut down by the cold steel of soldiers.

In every dream, you stand helpless, watching as they beg for mercy. Your people reach for you in desperation, their faces twisted in agony, but you can’t move. 

In every dream, at the center of it all, is him.

Daewon.

Your half-brother.

While you grew up in the limelight, basking in the affections and adoration of others, your half-brother was cast into the shadows. Born from a lowly maid, his very existence was a blemish on the royal family's image. He was the son who would never be acknowledged by his father—neither loved nor remembered.

Despite that, you had treated him kindly.

When did everything go so wrong?

After the slaughter, you were taken away and imprisoned. The room you were kept in was dark and empty—there was no light, or any warmth. It was a far cry from the luxury you were used to.

Occasionally, food and water would be brought to you—a guard would come every few days, sliding bowls of stale rice and cloudy water across the floor without a word, without so much as a glance in your direction. You felt like an animal.

But worse than the silence of your captors were the visits from Daewon.

You hated those days the most.

“Brother.” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t make out his face within the shadows.

So you bury your head further into the damp pillows, hiding from the monster in the room.

It isn’t long before you feel the bed dip under his weight, the chain on your ankle rustles against the sheets. He kneels beside you, leaning close enough for you to smell the faint traces of blood still lingering on his robe.

“You haven’t been eating,” Daewon’s voice was soft, almost tender, but you could hear the dark amusement laced beneath it. “Is the food not to your liking?”

You keep your eyes shut tight, fists clenched under the thin blankets.

It'll all be okay. Soon enough, he would leave you alone.

Cold fingers brush against your cheek, and you flinch. He chuckles at that, a low, mocking sound that makes your skin crawl.

“Did you know that these meals are what I had to eat as a child?” He whispers, his breath hot against your ears.

You briefly open your eyes, glancing at the food scattered across the floor, remnants of your earlier fit of rage—destroyed, just like everything else in your life. 

“There were many days when the servants never even came. My mother often gave me her share, just so I wouldn't starve." 

You grit your teeth—

"Why don't you just kill me already?"

The words hang in the air, and a suffocating silence stretches between you.

But then, Daewon's firm hand suddenly grips your chin, forcing you to meet his dark gaze.

“Kill you?” A cruel, guttural laugh escapes him, sending a shiver down your spine. “But death would be far too easy.” 

“No... you have to live. You’ll live and endure. Just like I did.”

He had lived a life of invisibility, where no one cared to look beyond the stain of his tainted blood—no one, except you.

And the thought of it drives him mad.

His hand falls from your chin, trailing down until it rests against your chest. With that simple touch, your spirit breaks just a little more.

You hate him—hate him more than you’ve ever hated anyone. 

Without any warning, you feel the press of his soft lips against your own. His body heat seeps into yours as he forcefully pulls you closer and presses you flush against him.

You are too tired, too hungry to resist.

"No, stop—" You protest breathlessly, the words barely escaping your lips as your mind reels, still foggy from the kiss. A dizzying mix of shock, confusion, and disgust floods your senses.

"This is wrong, we can't—"

"They will never fully accept a half-blooded bastard like me as their king."

“What?” You swallow hard, blinking up at the man.

"But surely, they'll accept a 'bride' from the royal family.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. 

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours again, harder this time, more possessive. The taste of him—bitterness and control—invades your senses completely.

A twisted smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and you finally understand.

This is a debt of suffering, a price he intends to collect over and over—until you were broken.

"Don’t worry. For everything you’ve done for me, I'll repay your kindness tenfold."

✦✧✦✧

[A/N]

This was not proofread, sorry for any mistakes!

[darlingsblackbook]

Beneath the Ashes

Diluc Ragnvindr x Reader

Summary : All you want is to help and fight alongside your lover but all it causes is arguments. Words are said, feelings are hurt and you storm away but will you come back?

Warnings : angst, arguments, blood, sad moments >:)

A/N: This is my first piece for Diluc, my beloved♡

There will be a part two soon!

The slam of the door rings in my ears, but it’s not enough to drown out the argument still raging in my head. The cold air hits me as I step outside, sharp and biting, but I barely feel it. My heart is still pounding from the shouting, from the words that cut deeper than I’d ever imagined they could.

“I’m not some child, Diluc!” My voice had cracked, raw with frustration. “I don’t need you to protect me like I’m some helpless idiot!”

“You don’t understand,” he’d shot back, his voice edged with a rare, ice-cold anger. “You’re too reckless. This isn’t just some petty mission. This is real danger. I won’t risk you getting hurt because you want to prove a point!”

There it was, that condescending tone. That same look he always gave me when we fought—like I was a fragile thing to be coddled, to be kept safe. It made my blood boil, made my fists clench at my sides.

“And what about you?” I had spat, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “You throw yourself into danger every damn day. You think that’s fair to me? To anyone who cares about you?”

Diluc’s eyes had darkened then, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought he was going to back down, to let me in. But instead, his voice turned cold, a chilling contrast to the fire always burning beneath his stoic exterior.

“That’s different.”

I had laughed, bitter and hollow. “Of course it is. Because it’s always different when it’s you. You get to play the hero, sacrifice everything for the sake of Mondstadt, but gods forbid I want to stand by your side.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe!” His voice had risen, a rare crack in his composure. “Do you think I want to do this? That I want to push you away? But if something happened to you, if—” He had cut himself off, his fists clenching. “I couldn’t bear it.”

“So that’s it? You just expect me to sit here in this mansion, waiting for you to come home, hoping you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere? You want me to be okay with that? With being left behind every time?”

His silence was deafening.

“I’m not a fragile flower, Diluc. I’m not one of your servants or your… your responsibilities.” My voice had trembled with the effort of holding back the storm of emotions threatening to break free. “I love you. I want to fight with you, not against you. But you… you won’t even let me in.”

He had looked at me then, his eyes hard, distant. The walls he always built around himself had gone up higher, stronger. And when he spoke, his words were like daggers, each one sharper than the last.

“This isn’t about love. This is about survival. If you can’t understand that, then maybe you don’t belong here.”

I’d felt something inside me shatter at those words. The pain had been so sharp, so sudden, that I couldn’t even speak for a moment. I had stared at him, at the man I loved, the man who was supposed to trust me, to stand beside me. And all I saw was a stranger.

“Is that really what you think of me?” My voice had come out small, barely more than a whisper. “That I don’t belong here? That I’m just… in your way?”

His silence had been the final blow.

Without another word, I had turned and walked out, slamming the door behind me. I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to see if he would stop me, if he would finally say something, anything to make me stay.

But he didn’t.

°•♡•°

The wind howls through the trees as I stumble along the path, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My side aches from the cold, the pain still fresh from the fight. I should have grabbed my coat, but I’d been too angry to care. Now, every step feels like a reminder of how badly things went, of how shattered everything is.

His words keep replaying in my head. Maybe you don’t belong here. I never thought he could say something like that to me, that he could push me away so easily, as if all the time we’d spent together didn’t matter. As if I didn’t matter.

I bite back the lump forming in my throat. I’m not going to cry. Not now. Not after everything. If he wants to push me away, fine. Let him.

But the truth is, I’m not angry anymore. I’m hurt. The kind of hurt that sinks deep into your bones, that makes you question everything you thought you knew. And I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know how to make this better, or if it can even be fixed.

I don’t realize how far I’ve gone until the sound of twigs snapping behind me jolts me from my thoughts. I look around, but the darkness has swallowed everything, leaving only the faint outline of trees swaying in the wind.

I freeze. Something feels wrong. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I slowly turn around, heart thudding in my chest. At first, I see nothing but the dark outline of trees swaying in the wind.

Then, a shadow moves.

It happens too fast. A blur of movement, a sharp pain as something—or someone—grabs me, pulling me off the path. My scream is cut off by a hand clamping over my mouth.

Suddenly, a sharp pain explodes through my head, and the world tilts. I barely register the blow before I’m knocked to the ground, my knees hitting the dirt hard. The breath is forced out of me, and I taste blood in my mouth.

Panic floods my senses, but before I can react, a hand grabs my hair, yanking me back. I cry out, my voice barely more than a choked sob, but no one hears. There’s no one around.

I can barely process what’s happening, the world spinning as I struggle to push the assailant off. There’s more than one. Three—no, four figures, cloaked in darkness, their eyes glinting maliciously in the faint moonlight. Fatui? Bandits? It doesn’t matter. They’re here, and I’m alone.

My mind races, the fear choking me. Where’s Diluc? Would he even come if he knew? Or would he let me bleed out here, alone, because I wasn’t supposed to be out here in the first place? Maybe you don’t belong here. His words echo in my mind, cruel and sharp.

I was so hurt, so angry, so distracted by the fight I had with Diluc that I had not been paying any attention to my surroundings. I had not been paying attention to the possibility of enemies following me.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have made such a mistake after my whole speech about being able to take care of myself and wanting to stand by Diluc's side?

I kick, I claw, but it’s not enough. I can’t stop shaking, the cold and fear gripping me in equal measure. One of them pulls out a blade, and I feel it cut into my side, a sharp, searing pain that makes my vision blur. I gasp, the knife sinking into my skin. Everything goes white with pain, and I feel the warmth of my own blood pooling under me.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, and I can taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. They say something to each other, but the words are distant, muffled by the rush of blood in my ears.

My vision blurs, and the world tilts again, the cold ground rising up to meet me as I fall. I hear the faint sound of footsteps, of voices, but it all fades, growing distant

I think I call his name.

Diluc.

But no one’s coming.

•• </3 ••

When I open my eyes, it’s to the sound of someone shouting my name.

“Y/N!”

It’s him. Diluc.

I try to move, try to sit up, but the pain in my side flares up, and I can barely breathe. His arms are around me in an instant, lifting me from the cold dirt. His face is pale, his eyes wide with something like terror.

“Don’t… don’t move,” he says, his voice shaking. “You’re hurt. You’re hurt…”

I try to speak, but the words don’t come. My throat feels tight, raw, and I can barely focus on anything but the warmth of his arms around me, the way he holds me like I might slip away at any moment.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. Please, stay with me. I can’t—” His voice cracks, and I feel something wet hit my cheek. His tears.

I want to tell him it’s okay, that I understand now, but all I can do is reach up, my fingers brushing weakly against his cheek. He catches my hand, holding it tightly as if it’s the only thing keeping me here.

“I’m so sorry.." I sob as tears run down my cheeks as rivers. I yelp as sharp pain pierces my side, the slight movement of my crying causing immense pain. "Y-you were right-t...I kept telling you I c-could take care of myself and f-fight- still I-" My voice is barely a whisper.

His grip tightens, his eyes full of pain, of fear. “Sshhh, don't say that, dont worry about that now. I can’t lose you. I should’ve never… I shouldn’t have said those things. I was scared. I was—” He stops, choking on the words. “Please, y/n, just hold on.”

But I’m so tired. The pain is fading now, replaced by a numbness that spreads through me, pulling me under.

I hear him calling my name, but it’s distant now, fading with the rest of the world. And then, there’s nothing but silence.

♡

Meow meow meow meow...meow meow meow meow meow...

[ilsanslut]

Can i please request some jealousy headcanons for Kaiser and shido with a female s!o? Smutty too if that's alright.Thank you!

꒷♡꒷ GREEN-EYED GAZE!

♰ featuring: michael kaiser + shidou ryusei (separate) [blue lock]

♰ note: VAMPIIE WRITE UNDER 1.5K WORDS CHALLENGE (IMPOSSIBLE). i got carried away making the headcanons and decided to write blurbs to go alongside them but they are both LITERALLY the length of fics.... ANYWAY ryusei’s section may or may not be based off of my interactions with my jealous!ryusei shidou bot teehee. yall know how i already feel about him in ANY type of situation, but adding a jealous michael on top of that??? . . . yall hear something purring or is it just me—

sypnosis: hey siri play jealousy by monsta x! wc: 4.9k content/trigger warning(s): 18+. smut. fem/fem-bodied reader. SHIDOU RYUSEI. jealous!ryusei. jealous!michael. possessive!michael. possessive!ryusei. mean!ryusei. degradation. unprotected sex. rough sex. big dick!michael agenda! tummy bulging. locker room sex (michael). dacryphilia (ryusei). Tit-slapping (ryusei). spanking. choking. creampie/breeding. cursing. dirty talking (ryu likes to call u mean names when he's horny). groping. hair pulling. sweet n vulnerable ryusei at the end :((. ꒷꒦

MICHAEL KAISER

❥ it should be noted that Michael is not prone to becoming envious. i mean, why should he? he’s handsome, wealthy, extraordinarily skilled at football, and he has you as his beloved girlfriend that he loves to show off. what more could he ask for? in fact, one might contend that he was the target of envy more than anyone else. ❥ at least, that’s what he thought until he noticed you talking with his teammate and sworn rival, isagi yoichi at one of their games. ❥ it wasn’t like he was afraid that the inferior little shit was going to take you away from him. on the contrary, michael could not even begin to describe the sensation of emotions he was experiencing within. it was as if a tumultuous storm of emotions raged inside of him, ones he could not quite pin down. ❥ hatred directed at Isagi? betrayal at the fact that you would so openly talk and dare to laugh with his rival when he was right here? angry that if he spoke about it right then, he would come off as a cowardly fool who lacks self-confidence? ❥ he’s deathly silent, menacingly brooding, and unbelievably furious. he couldn’t help but enviously glower at the two of you with so much intensity that it was a miracle that you didn’t have a hole lasered into your back. ❥ but he could not just idly stand by and do nothing, especially after that little shitstain dared to touch your shoulder. that was his last straw.

“K-Kaiser . . .” Ness' voice jolted him out of his reverie, and the innocent brunette unintentionally fell prey to one of Michael's infamous death glares.

Alexis tried his hardest not to flinch in the face of such wrath, but it was nearly impossible. Instead, he quickly averted his gaze, fearful of further infuriating his King, and motioned to the water bottle in Michael's hand, which had been unknowingly clenched so tightly that the cap had long since burst free, drenching his fist and shorts. Michael clicked his tongue, dropping the poor bottle to the grassy field, his deadly gaze returning to you and Isagi, now laughing about something else that he could not hear because he was too far away. Without saying a word, he extended his hand to Alexis, who hastily used his handkerchief to dry the wet skin.

“. . . I noticed them too.” Alexis murmured quietly, glancing briefly in the direction that Michael was glowering, but not for long since he knew not to look at you without his permission. However, it was at that precise second that he saw Isagi brush something off of your shoulder, which caused his breath to hitch and Michael's murderous aura to flare with ferocity.

“—He’s dead.” Your lover snarled, snatching his hand away from Ness and marching right over to where the two of you stood.

You were not aware of Michael's impending form, but Isagi was made very aware when his eyes met the ace’s murderous ones that were fixed solely on his form. When you noticed the striker's sudden silence, you turned to see what he was looking at, but before you could, you felt two strong arms wrap around your shoulders and pull you into an equally strong body. With the scent of expensive cologne and the familiarity of the rose-thorn tattoo wrapping around his forearm, you knew immediately that it was your boyfriend. Oblivious to the silent staredown between your lover and his rival, you continued to babble innocently.

“Oh hi, love! I was wondering where you were.” You commented, craning your neck up so that you could look at him. He would meet your gaze with a tight, unassuming smile on his lips, always a master of emotional disguise. The fire in his eyes, on the other hand, was undeniable. His smile was like a mask, meticulously crafted to conceal his true emotions, but it had begun to crack. You were no idiot. You could tell that he was upset. At what? You didn’t know.

“ . . . Were you now, liebchen?” You could not unhear the underlying malice that tainted his words, no matter how warm he tried to make his tone, nor could you ignore the cat-like narrowing of his eyes.

“Mhm! I was meaning to come back to you when Isagi and I started talking about ‘My Neighbor Toroto’, the Studio Ghibli movie!”

A stupid-looking movie. One that you still had yet to watch with Michael since every time you tried, he dismissed it with the notion of it appearing too childish for his tastes.

“Who knew that we had such similar tastes?!” You giggled as you turned to look back at Isagi, with Michael taking the opportunity to continue his malicious staredown at the striker. This time, he rested his head on top of your chin to prevent you from catching him.

“ . . . It that so?” His tone was grave, and his words were accentuated with a firm squeeze of your shoulders.

An awkward silence would ensue as neither man uttered a word, seemingly attempting to assert dominance over the other through mere looks alone, until it was abruptly broken by Raichi summoning Isagi. Once he was gone, you had little time to react as Michael's grip would release your shoulders, instead seizing your wrist to tug you along until the two of you were off the field and into the rest of the stadium.

“M-Michael?! What are you—”

“—Shut up.”

His tone was curt—rude—something that told you he demanded absolute silence, and you listened. There was hardly anyone on the way to the locker room since everyone had already filed into the arena and into their seats, and both teams had already taken the field. Once there, Michael dragged you inside, locked the door, and shoved your back against a locker’s steely face. In an instant, he was leaning over you, his forearm resting above your head while his other hand cupped your jaw, deft fingertips squeezing your cheeks as he forced his lips onto yours. It was passionate, possessive, and, above all, dominant, as if he refused to be opposed—as if he were trying to completely and irreparably erase Isagi’s name from your tongue. You adored it; his kingly persona was one of your favorite aspects of him. It was more reminiscent of his behavior on the field than anything else.

“Don’t ever look at him again.” He would mutter breathlessly against your lips, pulling away so that he could peer into your eyes—deep oceanics, half-lidded. His fingers squeezed your cheeks, causing your lips to pucker. Using this grip, he shook your head gently back and forth, relishing in the way your pretty eyes blinked up at him through your lashes. “Do you understand me, liebling?”

You nodded, your eyes wide and doe-like, just the way he liked them. A wolfish grin overtook his features, tapping your cheek twice with the hand that previously held you taut, “Good. Girl.” Both words were pronounced with a tap.

His lips were back on you, this time on the cheek he had lightly slapped. Soft brims kissed hot trails down your neck, becoming sloppy and possessive with each passing second. Sharp incisors and pointed canines would attack the sensitive flesh by the time he reached your collarbone, gnawing, lapping, and sucking at your delicate skin until he left deep marks and you mewling in his wake. Your digits went to grab his blonde tresses, threading your fingers through the soft strands, when his hand came to your wrist, snapping on the joint and pinning it beside your head against the locker.

The silent command was straightforward. Don’t touch him. This was a punishment.

Pulling away momentarily, he admired his handiwork. Your previously subtle flesh was now ridden with purplish and red blotches—some lined with teeth marks—all over your exposed neck and collarbones. You could not possibly hide them, especially since the two of you were now in public and all of your makeup had been left at home. Smirking triumphantly, he grabbed both of your shoulders and spun you around, pressing your chest and cheek against the smooth steel. It was at that moment that you caught the nameplate that was etched onto the locker: Isagi Yoichi.

Michael seemed to notice your realization, chuckling to himself as he flipped your skirt up above your ass, bringing his hand down on both of your cheeks once and then twice, making you croon each time. He ripped your panties down your thighs until they pooled around the backs of your knees, all the while reaching beneath his boxers and shorts to pull out his cock, which was already hard and tip drooling with pre. He wasted no time lining his cock up with your soft folds, pushing into you in one single, hard thrust that had your knees going weak and you nearly sobbing from the immense pleasure. He kept you steady by grabbing your bicep from behind, using his weight to press you against the locker.

“You feel it, don’t you, liebchen?” He grunted, thrusting shallowly and languidly against you as though he were trying to fit every inch and then some into you. “Feel how deep I am in this tight cunt? My pretty little pussy? Hm?” His other hand wrapped around your front, pressing right against your womb as his thrusts grew deeper—longer. Each drag of his cock along your walls was tantalizing, leaving you a whimpering, drooling mess. You could feel him in your tummy, your slightly chubby pocket of flesh on your lower abdomen pressing into his palm. His thrusts grew faster and more ravenous as they began to mimic the fire that had previously been ignited in him only moments prior on the field. It was almost as if he were trying to get you to feel how you made him feel—what you did to him to make him just so fucking crazy for you—and you did. Loud and clear.

Your voice echoed off the locker room's concrete walls like a mesmerizing siren's song, only for his ears to hear. Moans of pleasure, pleas for more, his balls slapping your clit, and your ass bouncing off his hips—it was all too much for you.

“M-Micha, I-I can’t! Too much, plea— AHN~! —please slow down!”

Your cries went unheeded; if anything, they seemed to fuel him to pummel your poor little pussy even harder, ramming you against the locker at an unforgiving pace. He used the arm he held in a vice grip as leverage, pounding into you like a battering ram at a pace that made your brain go numb and your body clench around him as you felt your orgasm approaching.

“You can and you will. No one could ever make you feel this good, could they? Hit that sweet—” He paused, hips stuttering, as he delivered a particularly rough and targeted thrust to the squishiest part of your walls, causing knees to buckle beneath you and cunt to gush around him. “—There it fucking is. Hit that sweet, sweet spot inside of you like I can, huh?”

“N-No! No one–mphf! No one but you, Micha!”

“Not even Isagi?”

“G-God, not even him!”

“Goddamn right, meine königin.”

You would finally come apart against the lockers as Michael let go inside of you, both of you breathlessly moaning in unison. One thing about Michael is that when he came, he came a lot. Every time, without fail, thick, hot ropes of steamy, milky cum invade your womb and bloat you full of his seed. It was heavy too. It was a miracle you had not gotten pregnant by now, given how much he would pump into you.

Even now, as he pulled out of you, thick globs of his white release would leak from your sopping cunt. However, before a single drop could spill to the floor, he moved to grab your panties, which were around your ankles, and pull them back into position to stop any more from escaping.

His hold on you would soften as he became aware that you were still frail from your adventures. He would tenderly spin you around so that his lips would again touch yours, this time more tenderly. Unfortunately, Ness's familiar voice calling you both—more specifically, Kaiser—through the door interrupted your enjoyment of the moment. You knew he had heard what had happened between the two of you—possibly even more—due to the stutter in his voice.

“Uh, a-are you two done in there? Kaiser, the game is going to start soon, and Noel is going to put that Hirori kid in your place if you aren’t on the field in the next two minutes.”

“The hell he will.” Michael grumbled against your lips, placing another quick peck on them before he finally pulled away.

“Duty calls, emperor.” You teased him, lightly pushing at his chest.

He caught your wrist and pulled you into him in a way that always made butterflies arise in your tummy. “Are you coming out there with me, dear?” It was clear from your quivering and unsteady legs that you weren’t going to be able to do any type of walking any time soon.

“Ah, such a hassle.” He commented playfully, scooping you up into his chest, bridal style. “The things you do to me~.”

SHIDOU RYUSEI

❥ this is ryusei we’re talking about here. the same man who’s not afraid to set someone on fire if they even so much as look at you. it should come as no surprise to anyone that he gets jealous easily. that being said, he’d never be one to admit it. instead, his jealousy presents itself in the form of possessiveness and protection. after all, you're his, and you know you’re his. ❥ think of him as a protective doberman, a perfect guard dog. if anyone, more specifically, a man gets too close to you, ryu will loom over you and all but glower, snarl, and howl curses his way until the male gets the hint or has his neck stomped on. ❥ you could not count the number of times you had to physically restrain him from knocking someone’s lights out, especially after that one foreigner asked you for directions and ryusei responded by grabbing him by the collar, strangling him, and barking at him to "get lost." ❥ oh and god forbid anyone dares to flirt with you. you’d need the strength of jesus and all of his disciples just to keep your murderous boyfriend at bay—even then, it might not be enough. ❥ it’s never immediate, though; it takes a minute for it to click in his head what’s going on. moreso, a moment of “is bro serious right now?”. when these moments occur, for once in his life, he’s silent. he looks between you and the fucker who has the audacity to approach you, his eyes narrowed in a glare promising lethality. it almost seems as though he is testing the waters to see if you will speak first or if he will have to. in the end, though, it’s always him. ❥ so what could possibly go wrong when he brings you to his u-20 team banquet?

Angry does not even begin to describe Ryusei's current state of mind. He was enraged—furious, even—by the events that had occurred earlier in the night. You see, the two of you have been together for a little over six months now. He enjoyed bragging about you, and you enjoyed being with him. You were his lock screen, the source of his brainrot, the majority of his entire instagram page, and the absolute apple of his eye. So it would only make sense that when he was made aware of his team banquet in celebration of their big game that he would invite you to come along with him, right? God, how he regretted that decision.

All eyes were on you two the moment you walked into the banquet. Because it was a formal occasion, you wore a sexy red gown with an open thigh slit similar to Jessica Rabbit’s and a deep v-cut that exposed your cleavage and ended just at the tip of your sternum. Not to mention that the back of the dress was low cut enough that your lower back dimples were visible to all. Needless to say, it was no surprise that you were the center of everyone's attention—despite the fact that some of the others had brought their girlfriends with them.

However, anyone who dared look at you for too long would be met with Ryusei’s fury—everyone except for Sae Itoshi, who stared shamelessly at you with desire burning in his eyes. Somehow, you hadn’t noticed this. Due to his high regard for him and the fact that he was the one who gave him a second chance at football in the first place, Ryusei felt as though he could not confront his junior about it. Not to mention that you and Sae already had a pre-existing friendship before the events of Blue Lock. The two of you were essentially inseparable throughout the entire evening, conversing, laughing, eating, and even drinking together while Ryusei was left behind to stew in his festering emotions.

You two have just returned to your apartment after what was a riveting night for you and a torturous one for Ryusei. Now that the two of you had returned home, shortly after locking the door, Ryusei would turn to you with his infamous grin on his face, but the predatory glint in his eyes told a completely different story. He was seething, his gaze piercing right through you.

"You and Sae seemed awfully close tonight, huh? Ya' never told me you two were so 'buddy, buddy'.”

You paused, gazing at your boyfriend with an incredulous stare as you picked up on his accusatory tone. He was, in a sense, correct. Even though you two got along really well that evening, all of your interactions were completely innocent. Considering that you two had been friends for as long as you could remember, this was the first time you had seen him since junior high, when he left for Madrid. What were you supposed to do? Ignore him the entire time?

"What do you mean, Ryu~?" You would inquire, calling him by his nickname in a way that came close to disarming him, but he remained steadfast and scowled as he observed you take your heels off of your slender feet and set them on the shoe rack next to the door.

"You know damn well what I mean, sweetness. He'd retort back, his hands becoming stuffed in the pockets of his slacks as he towered above you. "You can put on your whole innocent 'I was just being nice' act all you want, but I’m no idiot, Y/N."

I’d beg to differ. You thought as you sauntered further into your shared apartment, the buzz of the alochol in your system flickering in and out as Ryusei began to sour your mood. You could hear him following you from behind you due to the sound of his socks shuffle across the wooden floors, much to your dismay.

“We’re just friends, Ryu.” Exasperated, you sighed and made your way to the master bedroom with every intention of taking off this dress and your makeup, taking a hot shower, and then going to sleep.

“Oh, just friends~!” He mimicked your tone crudely, his quick palm darting forth to snatch your elbow to prevent you from moving further. He whirled you around with surprising strength, shoving you backwards into the wall beside your shared bedroom non-too-kindly, drawing a gasp from your lips. His hand seized your jaw, slender digits squeezing harshly against your bones, making you whine aloud. He leaned closer to you, the tip of his nose brushing against your own at the scent of faint alcohol and mint wafted onto your face. “Don’t play coy with me, attention whore. I saw how you looked at him all night—practically eye-fucking him."

There was an undeniable fire in his eyes, accentuated by his downturned brows. His fuschia irises burned into yours as your eyelids narrowed into thin slits, boring into the core of your being. Sharp canines and pearly incisors were slightly exposed as his upper lip curled into an angry snarl. Excitement gathered between your legs as your 6'2" lover scowled down at you, forcing you to unavoidably squeeze your thighs together—an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Ryusei.

“Ohoho, what do we have here?” He commented, his knee sliding between your thighs as a ferocious grin spread across his lips. Due to the height difference between you, his knee was perfectly positioned against your panty-clad folds, causing your clit to needily throb against him. “Could it be that you did this on purpose, you little minx? Got me all hot an’ riled up just so that I could fuck ya’ up a little bit, huh?”

The hand on your jaw moved down to your neck, his lithe digits wrapping around it before squeezing. With each passing second, his grip would grow more unforgiving. Your delicate hands encircled his wrist, your back curved into his chest from the wall behind you, and your hips jolted across his knee, eliciting a contented moan from your lips. That was sufficient proof to him that you were, in fact, becoming aroused by this.

“Dirty little bitch.” He growled, a chuckle rising from his lips, before closing the gap between you two and smashing his lips against yours. It was rough, filthy, and full of teeth and tongues smashing against one another in a desire-filled exchange between two people who were both far too ravenous for their own good. Your hands were all over him, and he was all over you until his large palms came to rest on the backs of your thighs and hoisted you into the air, causing you to squeal against his mouth. His brims smirked against yours as he carried you over to your shared bed and placed you atop your silken sheets and plush mattress.

He was on top of you again before you could react, his deft fingers grasping the arms of your dress and pulling it down your body in one smooth stroke, leaving you completely nude before him. He tossed his head back, groaning at the sight of your body and sinful curves, feeling himself practically straining against his boxers. He wasted no time stripping out of his own clothes before diving back onto you, his tongue and pointed canines making quick work of the delicate flesh of your collar bones and neck, leaving visible marks in his wake. While doing so, his hands snatched greedy handfuls of your breasts, squeezing and groping at the engorged sacks as cunning fingers pulled your nipples taut. You keened under his body, fingers grabbing at the roots of his hair and tugging, a silent plea for him to give you more—one he heeded with a few particularly rough slaps to your breasts.

“Greedy slut.” He snarled, rising to tower over you once again, calloused fingers massaging the plump skin of your breasts that he had just brutalized. “Y’want more, huh? I’ll fuckin’ give ya more.”

Sliding off of the bed, he grabbed you by your ankles to take you with him and flipped you around so that you were on your stomach. Assuming he wanted you on your hands and knees, you began to rise to your knees, however, he placed a fiery smack on your rear that had you crying out in both pain and pleasure.

“Nuh uh, keep that pretty ass down here, baby. I’ll fuck ya just like this.” He muttered through gritted teeth, pulling you back down so that your toes bore most of your weight on the floor and you were still pressed flat against the mattress.

Before you could regain your composure, you felt Ryusei pressing a hand firmly against your lower back and his cock sliding into your wet folds in one full push. You gasped, already breathless from the intrusion and the feeling of being so full that you didn’t even know what to do with yourself. You sank against the sheets, your fists balling the material next to your head as you moaned curses into the sheets.

“Nah, baby, that won’t do.” His fingers threaded themselves through the root of your hair, forcing your head up from the bed. “Let me hear how I make this pretty pussy feel, yeah?”

“R-Ryu, y-you’re too big—”

“—The hell I fuckin’ am.” His pace increased, becoming brutal and unrelenting. Every time his hips touched yours, you felt him miraculously strike deeper and deeper areas within you, bullying his fat cock in and out of your helpless cunt as if he were trying to punish you. He was.

“Bet if—ngh! Bet if I was fuckin’ Sae, this pussy would take his cock with no problem, huh? Y’wish it was him fucking you, baby?”

He was barbaric and cruel, channeling every ounce of rage and jealousy into his furious thrusts that pistoned into you within an inch of your life. You enjoyed every second of it. Your mouth remained agape, drool threatening to pool over your soft brims as a chorus of unapologetically pleasured cries and moans escaped your open maw. Without even trying, he hit every spot inside of you as though he knew you in and out—no one would ever be able to replicate how his cock made you feel, not in a million years. That’s one of things you loved most about you.

A sharp smack to your rear snapped you from your fucked-out haze, a cry escaping your lips as Ryusei used the grip on your hair to yank your body flesh against his chest, his lips snarling into your ear, “Answer me, bitch.” He snarled through clenched teeth as his thrusts grew erratic, sloppy even. The distinct pleasure moans he used to emit between his words had evolved into almost feral snarls and grunts, as if you were being ravaged by a beast rather than your lover.

“Tell me the truth, you wish you had another cock fucking you this good, huh? Making you— fuuuck! Making you gush around this big dick, huh, princess?”

“N-Noo, ah~! O-Only want you, Ryu! I only want you!” You babbled through tears of overstimulation as the hand that was previously grabbing your hair was now holding your neck, pressing you taut against him.

“Yeah? Y’love me and my cock that much, sweets?”

“Oh God, yes! I-I only love you, Ryusei! O-Only you, baby!”

“Thaat’s my fuckin’ girl. G’on. Make a mess on me, pretty.”

By the time you gushed around his cock, you were hardly able to stand. Ryusei's powerful arms helped you maintain your balance so he could finish the last few thrusts inside of you before coming undone, spilling ropes of hot milky cum inside of your dripping cunt. The sheer volume of it was too much for you to hold, squelching around his cock as he now languidly thrust inside of you, fucking you both through your highs.

When he was completely spent, he let go of you and pulled away, letting you fall gently to the mattress beneath you. He collapsed beside you onto his back with one arm covering your back and the other resting on his forehead as you writhed around lazily in the moment. Even though he usually could not think of anything other than falling asleep and how great his orgasm felt after having sex with you, you could tell by the unmistakable pinch of his brows and his intent gaze on the ceiling that he was still thinking about something.

“Somethin’ the matter?” You inquired softly, concerned by his sudden silence. You fashioned an arm pillow to rest your head on while looking at him. He didn’t look at you, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly in his throat. “. . . Did you mean it?”

Now it was your turn for your brows to furrow as confusion etched itself onto your features. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows so that you could at least meet his gaze, to which his fuschia hues would give in and finally meet your own. He looked bashful, unsure—it was unlike him. If you squinted, you were certain that you could make out the faint tint of pink tinging his cheeks. His gaze darted away from your own and off to some random corner of the room.

“Yanno . . . about lovin’ me.”

A wave of emotions came over you when you realized that, as you were at your highest, you had unintentionally confessed to him. A sudden warmth filled your heart and permeated every fiber of your being, spreading like a delicate dance of butterflies in your stomach. You said you loved him. Every word you said was genuine.

You shuffled over on the bed so that you could climb partially on top of him, resting your head on his shoulder as you guided his head to meet your gaze again, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. “Of course, I meant it, Ryusei. I love you now, and I always will.”

His eyes held a tenderness that you did not even know he was capable of, his gaze softened, and his brows rose as if he had been suddenly struck with love. He loved you just as much as you loved him.

“What was that, babe?”

“I said I love you, Ryusei—”

“—I know.” He grinned suddenly and cheekily as he encircled you in a bear hug, squeezing you into his arms and pulling you up onto his naked form. “I just wanted ta’ hear ya say it again.”

“. . . I love you too, Y/N.”

ⓒ vampiie 2023 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work with tiktok or any other site.

[propheticbride]

Down on Your Knees Before the King

𐙚 Rafe Cameron has everything he could ever ask for; rich parents who do whatever he wants, an entire community under his thumb, an expensive car, freedom to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and he's about to be crowned King of Midsummers. The only problem? You aren't being crowned his Queen. But that's okay. Rafe has a plan for everything.

𐙚 Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader (tw: blood, murder, rafe is insane... 'coked up rage monster', noncon, unconsenting fingering)

(A/N: inspired by this gem)

Rafe had everything he could ever want in life. His father owned a successful construction company that had never been doing better, his step-mother a well beloved philanthropist. His sisters, determined to stay out of his way. And because his parents and sisters all traveled a lot, Rafe was able to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

It also helped being the big man around figure eight, everyone either feared him, or worshiped the ground he walked on. Both he was most content with.

Midsummers was coming up in a few weeks, and he obviously had King in the bag. The only real issue was you.

You and Topper had just begun dating only months ago. It started off by you falling after rushing back to your friend’s table at the country club. Rafe had laughed, along with some of the other guys.

But Topper had rushed over to you and made sure you were okay. And ever since then you've been hand in hand.

It disgusted Rafe.

Until one night, that is.

It was a grimey frat party in the next town over, Rafe got invited and was allowed to bring others. But when he invited Topper, he didn't expect him to bring you.

It wasn't until Rafe had found himself at the end of a cruel prank by someone he considered at least a friend, the person who had invited him.

Rafe excused himself to the bathroom, his pride already hurt, not wanting to lose his reputation.

As Rafe stared down the white substance aligned on the handheld mirror, you had accidentally stumbled in, a little drunk and immediately you gasped.

“Get the fuck out!” he demanded.

You stand there for a few lingering seconds before you shut the door and locked it.

“Are you okay?” you hiccuped, squatting so your eye to eye with him.

Rafe’s eyes darked and pressed his forehead to yours. “Get the fuck out.”

“No. You're upset.” you shook your head. “When my mother was alive-” hiccup “-she'd stay with me til I was better.”

“Won't Topper be missing you?” he pulled back and said, voice laced with venom.

“He's…busy.” you murmured.

Rafe knew Topper was seeing Sarah behind your back. But you simply pretended he wasn't. You were so scared of being alone, Rafe had gathered.

“I'm here for you. I always thought of us as friends.” you sat down, rather clumsily and rested your head on his lap.

Rafe didn't know what to do. He froze.

“You're so nice…Rafey.” you slurred. You looked up to him. “What happened to you? Why are you upset?”

“People are assholes.” Rafe said softly, putting his hand gently on your head.

“M’sorry.”

You had fallen asleep, and he had to carry you out. When he had gone inside to retrieve Topper, he found him with his dick deep inside one of your best friends.

Rafe had driven you to his house, laid you down on his bed and covered you with a blanket.

As he sat at the end of it, he thought over all of the reasons he hated you. He had come up empty however. Then he began to think of all of the times Topper had openly cheated on you, and his fists clenched.

You weren't the bad guy, Topper was. You were…you were an angel. His angel.

He looked over at you, and his dick became immediately hard. The way he laid you down, caused your skirt to come up only slightly, where he had been able to see your panties.

You were his now, so touching you wouldn't be wrong…right?

He slid his hand up your leg and you sighed softly.

“Shhhh.” he whispered, “You're such a good girl aren't you, fuck Topper.”

Rafe pressed his fingers against your clothed cunt and rubbed hard. You whined and grinded down in your sleep, sweat already making the hair to your forehead stick.

“All for me right?” Rafe smiled. He licked his lips and began to lick down your neck. He humped the bed beneath him slightly, everything was just too much for him in the moment.

Even if you're not conscious, it's better than he could've imagined.

Despite you being fast asleep, Rafe didn't let up, finally pulling your panties down and shoving his whole face to your cunt. He lapped like it was his last meal, letting his nose rub against your clit. His hands gripped your thighs with an iron hold, there will be bruising tomorrow, something you wouldn't be able to explain.

When you came, you finished hard and whimpered in your sleep. Rafe spent the next 5 minutes lapping your juices up.

After he sat up, Rafe had decided you were his. Topper can go fuck himself.

After that night, Rafe slowly got you to himself. He turned your friends against you, even your parents began to question the daughter they had raised. Rafe had gotten your last friend to somehow convince you that Topper had assaulted you when you found yourself bruised. All the while planning for midsummers, but what you didn't know, is you would be crowned his queen.

God he loved you. You would be together in the end.

Or so he thought.

The night of midsummers was supposed to be you and him. But miraculously, Topper was able to convince you that he hadn't even been with you the night you were 'assaulted', those bruises not from him. So you decided you'd have a good night, and then dump Topper after. You deserved one good night, after all and this was an important event.

But Rafe didn't see it that way.

Rafe stared into the mirror, his eyes wide and dark black bags hanging from them. See, some boys are rational, but Rafe was not. He stares into the mirror, thinking only one single thought. There's at least seven fucking reasons his crown isn't as good as got, so as he stares into the mirrors, thus went his plot.

You had been knocked out, something slamming you into the bathroom mirror before everything went dark. Your eyes slowly open, pain shooting through your entire face.

“I’d like to thank everyone who voted for us-”

Your vision is blurry, you try to move but your limbs are still throbbing in pain. Something weighing on your head. You use all of your strength to raise your hand and touch it. It feels like a crown. A tiara.

“I could never truly ask for a better queen.”

You slowly look over to the voice. Despite being blurry, you can see the red covering his beautiful blue suit. He has the other crown on his head and he's talking to an invisible audience.

“Rafey.” you whisper. Your voice is hoarse, and there's liquid leaking from the corner. It tastes salty.

“My queen!” Rafe exclaims. “You're awake. Isn't this just great baby?”

You look at him, your vision clear enough to see his deranged face. You attempt to stand, before Rafe roughly pushes you back onto the floor. You fall back with a sharp thud and your crown falls into a nearby pool of blood. When you look at it, all you can do is let out a bloodcurdling scream that is definitely going to take your voice tomorrow.

Topper lays in the pool of his own blood, his drained eyes looking at you. A knife still sticking into his heart.

“Down on your knees before the king!” Rafe screams. Then he turns back to his adoring invisible crowd and takes a bow.

[lovely-p-issues]

Calypso put the new flowers in the vase.

It didn't matter how much water she poured in or how often she changed the plants - the flowers always wilted after a few hours and nothing of her magic could prevent that. She didn't understand that. Just like she didn't understand a lot of things that had happened since her Beloved had shown up on her island.

The late dinner was slowly cooling, the smell wafted throughout the house and the last wisps of steam were disappearing somewhere in the air. She was used to waiting for him. To waiting for him to turn up in her bed at night, for him to join her in the warm springs of the island and rest in her embrace, for him to give up those childish dreams of Ithaca and burn all those tools he was trying to hide from her.

She had waited so long. She could have waited a little longer.

‘Oh darling, this looks just amazing.’

It wasn't Odysseus' voice. Odysseus never sounded so cheerful.

She turned and clenched her fist, and the candles in the room flickered.

At the head of the table, where she usually seated Odysseus, sat a strange man.

No, not a man.

A god, smiling at her with his teeth bared. He sprawled comfortably in a chair, holding a chalice in his hand, Odysseus' chalice, into which she had not yet had time to pour wine. However, the intruder seemed not to mind as he took a sip from it without taking his eyes off her. In his other hand he held a strange staff, entwined with two snakes. He rotated it in his hand, as if slightly bored.

‘This place is not for you, Hermes,’ Calypso growled, and the candles went out completely.

She noticed with anger that the Lilies of the Valley, which only an hour ago had tempted her with their fragrance in the meadow, had begun to bow to the ground. The petals were covered in spots.

The Messenger of the Gods only laughed heartily. Something about that joy made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He waved the Caduceus, and the candles lit up again, but this time with a rosy glow. She gritted her teeth.

‘So you remember me? I shouldn't be surprised, I can make an impression, after all I am-’

‘Uninvited. And unwelcome.’

‘Funny, I don't recall you being bothered by not being invited when the waves tossed a certain wanderer onto the shore.’

She turned.

‘I enjoy his company.’

She had work to do. She placed the pot over the hearth.

‘I don't doubt it, darling. Tell me, though, does he enjoy yours?’

The wind wailed and hit the shutters. Out of the corner of her eye, Calypso noticed that the petals of the buttercups had fallen on the table. She had to restrain herself from shouting.

‘He will learn to enjoy it. I have time, all the time in the world. His wife cannot say the same. Even his son will eventually turn to dust. And he will finally be able to move on.’

'Ah, so you put your trust in the workings of Chronos, the god of time. A touching method, mortals claim, but even they can tell the difference between it and a vain hope. How long has it been, darling? Seven years, if I count correctly?'

She slammed her hands on the table, glancing at him over her shoulder.

‘Oh, please, what is seven years?’

‘For us?’ waved the Caduceus between them. ‘Nothing. For them?’ he waved his hand towards the window. ‘It's a bit more complicated.’

‘Why do you care? Why couldn't you fly over my island without looking back, like you always do?’

‘For many reasons. If only for the fact that, as you know, I am the god of travellers. What kind of a patron would I be if I didn't make sure that such a determined man didn't make it home?’

‘He is home.’

Although Hermes took a compassionate tone, his face remained sullen.

‘A lie doesn't suit your eyes, darling.’

She clenched her fists and furrowed her forehead.

‘I won't let you-’

Hermes was no longer sitting behind the table. He was hovering over her, and his eyes, though hidden by the shadow of his helmet, glittered with rage.

‘You will let me speak, for as the Messenger of the Gods, I speak not only with my voice, but also with the voice of Zeus, the King on Olympus. You will let Odysseus go. You will end his torment. You will let him sail home. You will give him everything he needs for the journey. And then you will come back here and learn to live without him.’

Calypso didn't think she could still be afraid of anything after all these years. She took a step closer and raised her head so that their noses nearly touched.

‘He's going to die.’

Hermes tilted his head.

‘Let me worry about that, darling.’

His voice was cheerful again.

He moved away from her and began to play with the dried flowers.

She stood in silence, afraid that if she opened her mouth she would start to cry. Finally, she quieted the storm in her chest.

‘What if I convince him?’ she looked at the god, a challenge burning in her eyes. ‘What if he decides to stay?’

‘Then I will be more than impressed, darling, even as a god whose one of his myriad talents is deft eloquence.’

Hermes moved closer to her. In his hands he held a garland braided with petunias, monkshoods and yellow carnations. Fatal was a crown for the queen of Ogygia.

She had not brought those flowers. She took one last look past the set table and the cold food. The only flowers she had brought herself that had not fallen from their strength were yellow roses, the scent of which now made her choke.

Hermes adorned her head with a garland in the gentlest of motions.

‘Go on, Calypso. I shall watch.’

The wings rustled and Calypso was alone. Again.

___

I hope you enjoyed a little dangerous Hermes c:

[dark-and-kawaii]

༺ 𝐿𝑜𝓈𝓈 𝒪𝒻 𝒜𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝒾𝓇 ༻

Raphael

Summary: Raphael returns to his boudoir only to discover that you’ve lost his child, and it wasn’t from natural causes. His rage spirals when he finds it was due to a fellow follower of his…

Notes: I suck at summaries But I loved how this turned out so I hope you do as well!!!

Pairings: Raphael × f!Tav/Reader

• Hurt I Angst I Miscarriage | Ascended Raphael | Raphael Gets His Revenge

Ao3

As Raphael returned to his domain, an unsettling sight awaited him in the heart of his boudoir. There, amidst the opulence, was Haarlep, his personal incubus, cradling you in their arms within the large bath. Raphael's eyes scanned the water, a macabre blend of red and clear, tainted by the presence of blood. His gaze then shifted to his beloved little mouse, your hair clinging to your face, your skin glistening with sweat, and your breath laborious as your eyes remained closed.

But it was the sight of the tiny wrapped figure beside you on the bath’s edge, drenched in blood, that sent Raphael's rage spiraling to new heights. He didn't need to uncover it; he knew within his very core that his heir, his precious child, had been stolen away. With such a great loss, for the first time in centuries, his heart felt heavy.

"What happened?!" Raphael's voice seethed with malice, his clenched fist emphasizing his anger. Haarlep, usually insolent but now treading carefully, moved away from you and gently positioned you against the steps of the bath, ensuring some comfort. Approaching Raphael, Haarlep’s concealed their voice in a whisper so that you couldn’t hear, "It would seem that your dear tav has gone and lost your little pup-," Haarlep began, only to be interrupted by a warning glare from Raphael, “The lady of the house has miscarried," The incubus finally confessed.

Raphael's rage intensified, his words laced with venom, "I see that, you insolent creature! How did this come to pass?!" Aware of the consequences should they misstep, Haarlep treaded carefully, knowing their fate might just mirror Hope's in the basement.

In a snap, Haarlep summoned a cup, presenting it to Raphael. "Korilla brought this to my attention. A glass of deceit, a venom ever so sweet. It's tainted with juniper." Seizing the cup, Raphael brought it to his nose, confirming the presence of the insidious poison. It dawned on him that an intruder had violated his sanctuary, contaminating his precious little mouse, with this abhorrent act. Even as a devil, he recoiled at the thought of snuffing out the life within a mother's womb. This transgressor would pay a heavy price, both their soul and flesh, as Raphael vowed to exact a merciless retribution upon them.

It only took a couple of hours, but Raphael manages to track down the culprit, Korilla, once a cherished follower, always by his side. Yet, for reasons unknown, she had chosen to betray him in the most vile of ways… As Korilla returned to his domain, Raphael awaited her, leaning casually against a pillar, his arms crossed in a display of controlled dominance. His face, seemingly normal, concealed the depths of his wrath. When she finally approached, he began to circle her like a predator sizing up its prey, his gaze never wavering.

“Tell me, dear Korilla, how was your day?”

Her voice was filled with falsehoods, twisting a tale to make it seem as if though she were gathering clients for him.

"Ah, ah," Raphael interjected, his tone laced with a sadistic delight. "The truth is far greater than that feeble lie of yours." His features twisted with a mix of disgust and fury, his nose scrunching in disdain. And in a snap of his fingers, the very cup from which you had sipped appeared before them.

"Justify this to me! Why I stumbled upon what is undeniably my possession, nestled within the grasp of Haarlep, grieving for the loss of my own flesh and blood? The stillbirth, wrapped in a cloth stained with the taint of blood!” He condemned her for the atrocious deed, declaring, "You invaded my sanctuary, forcefully snatching away my child from the very womb that belongs to me!”

Korilla stood her ground, her calm demeanor unwavering. "I did this for your own sake," she asserted. "That mortal was tainting your path to becoming the next ruler of the Nine Hells. I'm sorry, but it needed to be done."

“You thought you were acting in my best interest, did you?" Raphael's scowl shifts to a smile, "Your feeble attempt to protect me has only sealed your fate."

Korilla trembled, her once defiant spirit now reduced to a mere flicker of fear. She had underestimated the power and ferocity of Raphael's love for you, and now she would pay the price for her treachery. But even in the face of imminent punishment, a spark of hope ignited within her, "Raphael, you cannot blame me for this," Korilla pleaded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation. "I did what I believed was necessary to protect you, to protect House Hope.

Flames consumed him, "Your time has come to an end, Korilla,” Raphael growled, his voice resonating with a deep, otherworldly tone. "But fear not, for your sister shall keep you company as I flay you and adorn my abode with your entrails.”

As his true form emerged. He transformed into a monstrous fiend with wings unfurling from his back, a tail lashing behind him, and a wild mane of fire cascading around his head. His once simple horns morphed into a complex crown of infernal bone, framing his snouted face. Two additional faces erupted from his cheekbones, giving him a total of four menacing, orange eyes. His entire being radiated with the glow of infernal flame, and fearsome tusks jutted forth from each of his mouths.

Raphael approached, his towering figure casting a haunting shadow over Korilla. His claws extended, glinting ominously in the flickering light. He reached out, his talons grazing her trembling skin, causing her to shudder in fear and anticipation. With each touch, a searing pain coursed through her body, a mere taste of the agony that awaited her.

[bl00dlight]

Ghostly Flame

Aemond Targaryen x OC sister x Alys Rivers {NSFW}

Warnings ● more carpet munching, graphic language, general smut and filth, implied homophobia, age gap, dubious consent, violence against female character, heterosexuality, Aemond being depraved as fuck and lowkey the worst, oedipus complex, full blown targcest, mentions of Madame Sylvie (sorry yall), Alys Rivers being a trick ass bitch, not proof read

Word count ● 4.7k

Author's Note • Long awaited. It's finally here. Holy fuck it's actually... like insane how long this took for me to dwell on. I'm not gonna spoil anything but this one is a bit gross. In a good way. Sick sick sick.

Masterlist / Ghostly Flame ● Part I

Part II

The sight on the Prince Regent's bed was indeed, not a mere dream. He stammered as a flood of emotions suddenly whipped against his skull.

As he entered, Aemond's face darkened and the breath in his lungs all but vanished. Hs let fist slowly curl, though his eye was transfixed on the two women, watching as his paramour's mouth moved against his sister's skin. Despite it all, the disgust and rage that was brewing; for a brief moment he enjoyed the sounds and sight before him.

And yet, Aemond knew it was but a vile sin, a betrayal of both his bedmate and beloved sister. Still, the sight stirred heat within him.

Alys continued in her ministrations, her tongue moving with precision, seeking to please and to tease the princess. The witch was so engrossed in the task before her that she hadn't noticed the door or the figure which loomed in the shadows.

The sounds of his sister's mewling was enough to drive him over the edge. The prince clenched his jaw, he stalked towards the women and spoke, his voice ringing in the quiet of the room. "Alys."

Just like that the sounds of their pleasure had come to a deadened stop. Slowly Alys pulled away, and turned towards Aemond. Daera opened her eyes with a flash, her body jolting with fear and suddenly the humiliation rang true.

Aemond's own heart was hammering in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts he had never dared admit aloud.

"Tell me," Aemond whispered, his voice rough and low. "Do the both of you take me for a fool?"

Alys bowed her head and spoke gently, "My Prince, I..."

"Silence." Aemond sneered, stalking towards Alys. His fist soon met with her raven hair, gripping at it as he forced her head up at him. "I have had my fill of your vile tongue."

A silence brewed before he suddenly shoved the woman back to the ground. Alys winced as he body hit the floor with a startling thud. Daera shook, her hands in her head as she had pulled the sheets upon her bare flesh out of modesty. It was comical, still she seemed to care of propriety, even though her own brother had seen her in such a state.

Aemond grunted, raising a hand up as though he was to strike the woman before him. Alys stayed deadly still upon the ground, gritting her teeth, awaiting his hand to make contact with her flesh. Though he felt his rage stir he swiftly pulled his hand away. He could not strike her, no, instead he launched and gripped her arm, forcing her upon her feet.

"You dare humiliate me? You dare bring such shame upon me? Defiling my own blood, my sister! Upon the very bed I let your treacherous head lay, no less!" Aemond's lonesome eye was narrowed in a maelstrom of emotions, anger, betrayal, jealously, humiliation.

Yet in truth, he felt one thing; weakness.

Alys glared at him, speaking oddly calmly, "Of course not, your grace..."

"Then speak, bastard! Speak on the sight before me... of you upon my sister and why my eye was witness to it! Speak to why you... why you dare go against me, after all I have done! I spared you, or do you forget?" The prince gripped her flesh sternly and his gaze faltered as he felt sorrow bloom.

Daera looked away, she couldn't bare the scene before her. Couldn't bare what she had done, she hadn't even known what led her to do it. She had no excuse, no reason. It seemed to have happened before she had any idea it was occurring.

The princess wiped her tears, her heart aching. "Brother..." she muttered weakly, sorrowfully.

Aemond turned his head sharply, "I SHALL HEAR NOTHING FROM YOU!" He snapped at Daera, forcing her back into submission.

His gaze came to Alys once more, whom at this point was holding back a low snicker. Her hands came to his chest, and a low hum was earnt from the prince at her soothing ministrations.

"You are not so tempting as to distract me. I see you for what you are... a snake in my own den." He lowered his tone, as his hand came to her raven locks and gripped them.

Alys gave him an incredulous look once more, "You... you do not mean such things, I have been nothing but faithful, my prince."

"Yet your mouth was upon my sister? You think that faithful?" Aemond retorted swiftly, fastening his grip.

"I... I do not deny how such may seem an act of betrayal. But it was in service to you, your grace." Alys flinched as his hands laced themselves in her hair forcefully. Her voice still measured.

"Do not dare speak such folly-" His temper flared as Alys spoke over the Prince.

"It is not folly... I have brought her, swayed her senses so they may receive what is so deeply suppressed within her. She had not come for me, my prince. She came for you." Alys' voice like a siren song, she let her hands run to his cheeks. Gently stroking at his sharp features.

Silence beckoned for a moment, as Aemond found himself lured by the witch's words. Her eyes gazing with reverence upon him, yet there was a glimmer of something else. Something she had seen.

Slowly, Aemond's grip upon her hair eased flattening to cup her head, "What do you see?" He muttered, his eye scanning her carefully.

Daera's sobbing had eased now, and she watched with baited breath as her brother and the witch spoke before her. She noticed the tilt of Alys' head the low chuckle as she leaned in to Aemond's ear, muttering something unknown.

There was a noticeable shift, the sharp line of his jaw hardening as he eased into her touch. Daera caught a low hum from him, an inquisitive one as Alys nodded.

The prince turned to his sister, her trembling form. No doubt her mind already a place of torment for her. His gaze scanned over her pale flesh, silver hair - so much like his own. Though she looked more like their mother in her features. Melancholic round eyes, full lips; a soft cherubic face. She was a woman grown and yet, still appeared so much like the docile girl she once was in their youth.

Aemond leaned down, his silver hair catching in the moonlight as he gazed upon his sister sternly. His hand gripped her wrist.

"I ought to punish you." He said firmly.

Daera instantly weakened at his words, her head tilting, tears streaming as she simpered, "Brother..."

His hand suddenly clasped her cheek, silencing her whining, "Do as I say."

The Princess's eyes searched his lonesome one, her gaze coiling in uncertainty. She shook her head, disturbed by his sudden change of demanour. Her heart thundering as she knew whatever was to occur, was something she ought to be fearful of. She felt the need to beg, to plead for forgiveness. Though she remained still.

"I do not blame you, for failing to resist my Alys' charm. You are but a woman... you stand little chance against her, for even I find my resolve wavering in her wake." He slowly rose to his feet, and Alys came to him, slowly unstrapping his leathers from his chest.

"You are not... mad with me?" The Princess whimpered, squeezing her nails into her palms. Allowing the pain to distract her from her shame.

"What Alys has seen.. changes the matter." Aemond spoke with a new found clarity, though there was a bitterness that lingered upon his tongue.

Daera shook her head in response, she looked at Alys, whose hands were upon his breeches, unlacing them. Before she could continue he pulled her hands away from him. "No." Aemond muttered, slowly turning to his sister.

Daera found herself trembling once more, her eyes watery, desperately searching for answers as she whispered, "Seen what?"

It was the uncertainty in her eyes which made Aemond look away, his gaze narrowed upon the ground as he mumbled to Alys, "I cannot..."

The witch let her hands cup his face once more, soothing the fear he felt within him, "You can... and you will, desire has sown it's seed long bef-"

Aemond swiftly gripped her wrists, interrupting her, "Do not presume to know of my desires! She is my sister..."

The raven hair of Alys fell upon her pale shoulder as she turned to face the princess before her. Aemond's eye wandering for a moment upon her bare flesh... her breasts.

Daera looked into the green landscape of her eyes, flashes of them lingering between her thighs caused a spark of shame within the princess and she looked away. Alys chuckled softly, turning back to Aemond.

The witch leaned in, her hands coming back to his jaw, one slowly trailing down his neck. She hummed, smiling softly as Alys whispered to Aemond, "You are the blood of old Valyria, your grace... fire courses through your very flesh. A fire I have felt lick at my womb and that shall lick upon hers..."

Aemond's gaze met his paramour's in an intense exchange of understanding and trepidation. Though he was soothed by her gentle touch upon him, soothed by the wisdom her foresight granted him. She was right, it was not as though he held no desire for his sister. He had merely suppressed it. Why long for something that shall never be his to keep?

Their mother never sought to the betroth them, so Aemond simply focused on matters of duty; of becoming a formidable force in battle. Though he could not embrace Targaryen tradition entirely, he sought to expand upon it in other ways. He would seek to become a fierce dragonrider. A man of skill, for his legacy would be his own.

As he gazed upon his sister, he felt the sudden urge to comfort her. The tears that rolled upon her cheek meant for a greater challenge. He would not force himself upon her, but he could not deny the fire set ablaze in his blood when his eye wandered her flesh.

She was to be his destiny it seemed... and if Alys' vision proved true, the mother to his true born heir.

He stalked towards her, and once again found himself reaching over. As he extended his hand to cup her cheek she flinched, and Aemond merely persisted.

Daera however, was not so much aware of what Alys and Aemond spoke of. If anything she was still mortified by the fact her brother had seen her indulge in such sin.

Her gaze widened at the feeling of his palm upon her fleshy cheek, "Please... forgive me...I know I have tainted myself in the eyes of the Gods, but you must let me seek absolution from you. My resolve has grown weak, I see it now... I..." The princess mumbled, fanatically searching her brother's stoney gaze as he watched the trembling of her lips.

Silence beckoned, and Aemond remained still. His eye scanning over her, his thumb rubbing against the plushness of her cheeks. Her eyes that wore sorrow so beautifully, just as their mother's does. Large, comforting eyes... for a moment he felt a sense of boyish peace dawn upon him. Remembering how once, Alicent would gaze upon him with concerned filled eyes.

Though he had not spoken to his mother in many moons now, could not bare the sight of her. It was in Daera's simpering expression he found a small sense of comfort. She was but a piece of home. Though his youth was not always a happy one, there was peace. There was... a familiarity which made him wish to crawl within his sister's arms and pretend nothing bad had befallen them.

"Brother..." She whimpered, begging for him to say something; pulling the Prince from his thoughts.

Daera's eyes were caught by the familiar saunter of Alys' bare frame. She came to Aemond, leaning down as her thin, pale fingers tucked his silver hair behind his ear. Gently she cooed, "Go on, my prince... take what is yours."

With that Aemond glanced briefly and Alys, and then slowly looked back upon his sister. He moved now, shifting his weight to crawl upon the bed. His hand still gripping at her cheek, and the other now finding her waist, pulling her from the sheet and forcing her before him.

Aemond gazed softly, tentatively, at her. His hand moving to her silver curls; her hair so similar to her mother's. His fingers twirled a strand delicately, as though it were made of glass. He suddenly brought his face near her, his cheek grazing hers as he buried his nose within her locks for a moment. He breathed in, closing his eye. The familiar sweet smell of honeysuckled flesh filling his senses.

The princess was in complete shock, she had never known such affections from her brother before. Her eyes widened, her gaze meeting Alys', who came to the bed, sitting at the end as she removed Aemond's boots. Soon, her pale hand reaching over to stroke Aemond's hair gently. The princess furrowed her brow, positively unfurled by the scene before her. Her tears had all but come to a halt, not for the fact shame had left her, but for the fact she was overwrought by the absurdity of it all.

Aemond pulled back slightly, and both he and his sister let out a sharp breath. Her eyes wide, watching him carefully as he gently grazed his nose upon her cheek. His hand coming to her lips. Lips which were too, like Alicent's; swollen and quivering.

His eye, narrowed upon her and he caught her discomforted demanour. His fingers moving from her lips to cup her cheek as he muttered, "If it is absolution you seek, then let us not allow what transpired to be in vain. So, do as I say."

Daera though confused, did not protest. She nodded and heard her breath catch within her throat as he hummed slightly. Aemond brought his other hand to her cheek. A look of determination filled his eye though he seemed conflicted.

His gaze locked upon her lips, he wanted to kiss her, wanted to touch her. Though he knew not how to. Aemond grunted again, unsure of himself. An awkward tension rose as he stammered like a boy. The Prince huffed, looked down as humiliation coiled in his belly. He felt weak, he felt the fool.

He had, in truth never been with a woman as young as Daera. Though she was but a year younger than he. She was unlike Alys... unlike Madame Sylvie. Both of which had known the ways of initiating pleasure. He had never had to worry of such things, for both women brimmed with the confidence only within a mature woman, to take charge. Neither were coy, nor demure. Neither stuttered nor flinched when presented with his desire. Neither seemed so... shocked by his forwardness, nor hid behind maidenly virtue, nor looked upon him with judgement. They were women whom he felt safe with, secure with. He did not have to wear the mask he had crafted so precisely for himself. Did not have to act with the hard faced confidence of a man. Aemond could be unsure, with Alys and Madame Sylvie. He could let go of his masculine fortitude and be a boy once more.

But this was not the case with Daera. He could not help but find the judgement in her eyes, enraging. Already he thought of the million ways she may be laughing or repulsed by him. Already he thought of how she would reject him if he were not willing to do as had been taught men are to do. Take charge.

He could not falter with her, could not be seen as weak.

"Alys..." He muttered lowly, his head turning slightly as to call his paramour to guide him.

The witch continued stroking his hair, cooing softly as she gave him a knowing look, "As you would me..." Her voice soft, knowing he would understand her implication.

Aemond gave a small nod, his gaze then returning to his sister. A look of determination yet also... fear in his eye.

Daera had watched the interaction transpire as though she were but a mere spectator in her body. It hadn't felt real at all, it all seemed like an elaborate dream, and betwixt the moonlight and shadows of Harrenhal, he wasn't fully convinced it wasn't.

The princess found herself sharply returned back to reality as the feeling of her brother's breath upon her neck made her flinch. His fingers gently moving the strands of her silver curls away, before the soft and warm sensation of his lips met her neck.

Daera went to protest, but was met with the cold palm of Alys upon her other cheek, her fingers lacing in her hair as she pulled the princess' head to one side. Exposing more of her neck for Aemond to place his lips upon.

Alys smiled softly and gently stroked the coil of worry lines upon Daera's face.

"That's it." The witch lulled gently, slowly encouraging Daera to lean into her brother's touch. To which the princess slowly raised her hand to Aemond's silver strands, her fingers coiling into his scalp, earning a low groan.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of his lips moving up her neck, his hands now moving upon her bare body, falling between her plush breasts, down onto the soft planes of her belly.

It was not long before she felt Alys' lips press into her own, a small whimper leaving the princess.

It was that sound which egged Aemond further, he kissed up Daera's jaw, hoping to siphon more of those sweet sounds from his sister. He felt the familiar touch of Alys upon the band of his breeches, already unlaced. Her cool hand shuffling them down, before reaching in, palming his stiffened length. The sudden feeling of his paramour's hand upon him made him groan. Though he swiftly pulled away from the soft flesh of his sister, his head turning to Alys' sharp face.

"I shall do it myself." His words a quiet yet sharp command.

Alys conceded and resumed her position behind him, gently she stroked his silver tresses. Slightly annoyed by his barking at her tonight. Though she supposed he probably still seethes over her seducing Daera so easily.

The princess was terribly lost in the moment. She had eased to her brother's advances and slowly, his hand came to move her head towards his and pressed into hers gently. Daera whimpered and he pulled away, catching a breath. It was with that kiss that her blood had been set ablaze by him. Suddenly, her hands reached up, catching his cheeks in her palms and attempting to force her lips back into his.

Aemond, pulled away slightly, if not only to tease her for her eagerness, but also to remind him he must remember she had not ever been touched by a man. She was unwed, a mere maiden and similarly to him, probably starved for affection.

A dark desire bloomed as he noted her pleading gaze, a sense of control he did not get with his older lovers. It felt good to be the one whom was bestowing another with affection. Filling a lovelorn void with her that he himself shared. He found her stammering endearing, familiar in a way.

He pulled back again, if not to see how her pretty face coiled in desperation. Just as his would. His hand moved to the back of her hair, gripping her strands roughly, her head tilting back before he spoke lowly, "Tell me you desire it."

Daera's eyes beamed with a sudden awakening desire. Her cunt growing warm, as she whispered, "I desire it."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his voice soft, "Do you want me?" His eye wide, expectant.

Slowly, the Princess let her hands move into his hair as she furrowed her brow, as if he had to ask, she thought. Her voice equally soft, needy, "Yes, brother."

It was those very words which set his lips to hers again. He forced his breeches from him, Alys aiding. Aemond let his knee pry Daera's legs apart, his hand moving to finally touch what he knew would already be ready for him. His fingers grazing her wet core, just as their lips upon each other grew far more intensive in their ministrations. Daera was again, shocked by how wet everything felt, and his fingers sliding between her cunt made her mouth open slightly as a moan left her.

He pushed her down, and his head turned to guesture for Alys to get behind Daera. The witch did so, moving so that her legs were parted where Daera's head lay between. Aemond looked down upon his sister then up at his paramour. His eye narrowed as he let himself slip a finger into Daera's entrance.

A sudden moan left the princess and her hands gripped at his upper arms, she found her head tilting back as a simpering gasp left her. His other hand guiding her knee upwards as he pushed two fingers within her. Slowly stretching her. His eye caught Alys again, who herself had seemed to find the ordeal so pleasing, her own hand worked upon her. He watched as she circled her cunt, then slowly fucking herself with her fingers. Though Daera hadn't noticed, she was too busy writhing beneath Aemond as his fingers had grown terribly fast.

Suddenly he stopped, pulling his fingers from her, his gaze still harsh upon Alys as she pleased herself. His jaw clenched as he had remembered the sight he had walked in upon.

Daera found herself letting out a small whine as he had stopped, she looked up at him, when she was met with his hand clasping her cheeks. Aemond spoke with a swift determination in his tone, "You will tend to Alys as I ready you."

Daera had opened her mouth to speak before Aemond interrupted, "Turn around."

With that, Daera had found herself most shocked, though slowly, hesitantly she turned to her belly and moved towards Alys.

Aemonds voice rang in the thick silence of the chamber, "Tell her what she might do." He said lowly to Alys, his gaze too busy scanning the vast expanse of Daera's pale back, her plump rear and fleshy thighs.

Alys hummed, titling her head, her hands coming to Daera's cheeks to pull her forward, "I shall take the girl's mouth." The witch spoke smugly, her hand pulling at Daera's hair as she lowered the princess' lips to her cunt. "Slowly, my pet..." Alys cooed. "With your tongue."

Daera all but whimpered as her mouth met the soft, delicate folds of Alys. She was not sure how to go about it, but she started with slow, languid licks, hoping she might gauge where Alys was brought pleasure. The witch hummed and chuckled with pleasure, her hips slowly circling as she pressed Daera's mouth upon her cunt further. She instructed the princess lowly, and soon Daera was using her tongue to circle Alys clit, winning groans from the older woman.

Aemond had found himself oddly transfixed by the sight, his paramour instructing his sister. It was as though he was watching himself in a way. Though the sight of the two woman before him, was far more thrilling than he had anticipated. Alys' head tilted back, forcing Daera to move quicker, and Aemond slowly pryed apart her thighs. His fingers finding Daera's soaked core.

He grazed her clit, winning gentle moans from her as his other hand kneaded her rear. Alys, moaned again, her peak dawning as she cried, "The prince watches us... sweet girl. He watches with reverence."

Her words sparked a quick hum from Aemond as he found himself focused on Daera again. He leaned down, his chest pressed upon her back as lewd sounds of the two women filled the chamber. He moved his sister's hair to the side, exposing her neck and back. Aemond pressed gentle kisses into her, his hands trailing her soft flesh.

As he went to kiss her again, Alys had pulled Daera's hair harshly, forcing Aemond to lose his grip slightly. He looked up at his paramour, watching as she rolled her hips on his sister mouth, chasing her endless peak.

She was indeed a woman of great fortitude, but this was not about her pleasure. This was about legacy, this was about himself and his sister... and their duty to House Targaryen. Aemond's hands wrapped around Daera's waist, suddenly pulling her away from Alys' cunt.

The witch's eyes opened swiftly, and she gasped. "Your grace?!" She barked, almost like a mother would towards her child.

Though Aemond paid little attention to Alys as he laid Daera down upon her back again. "You've had your fill." He muttered.

The raven haired woman scoffed, "So I get nothing then? I brought you the girl-"

Aemond raised his hand, his tone aloof as he gazed down upon Daera. "Leave us." Aemond spoke lowly to Alys, he was too transfixed on the way Daera had brought her hands to his cheeks.

"My Prince..." The witch begged. Alys let her gaze grow wide and discontented.

"Hm.." Aemond looked up to the older woman, his gaze unwavering, stern, "You may go."

It only took one disgruntled look from Alys before she gave a nod, biting her tongue as she moved away from the bed. She dressed herself once more and left without any protest. After all, she was but under his mercy.

The silence in the room was startling, Daera's eyes widened, and her hand came to Aemond's eye patch, though he forced her hand away. He did not say another word as he settled between her legs. Aemond moved her hand to clasp his length, guiding her hand up and down to ready himself.

His lips met hers as he moved her legs to wrapped around his hips, and slowly, Aemond let his cock graze her folds. Both of them moaning at the sensation. He felt his resolve weaken, and with that, he pushed into her entrance ever so slowly. Giving her time to adjust to him.

Her core tight, so tight he felt himself wince as he tried to push further. Daera squeezed his arm making him force her hands to his cheeks. "Calm yourself." He said lowly.

Daera obliged, she closed her eyes, trusting the sensation that currently stung with pain would soon dissolve and it did. He eased himself into her, and Daera marvelled at the sound he made when he had finally pushed within her. All that could be heard from her was a deep gasp, her head tilting back. As he rocked his hips, fucking her slowly, her hands laced into his hair and his face buried into her neck. Daera suddenly began to moan softly, wantonly as the sensation became more and more pleasurable as her core loosened. She began to feel herself relax, and he slid in and out of her with ease. Aemond at this point was all but lost, he kept moving into her, his hands cupping her face as he moved between his face in the crook of her neck or kissing her harshly. His moans growing more intense, their names flying from the other's mouth. Panting and cursing filled his chamber, alongside low growls as he relished the feeling of her warm cunt upon him.

"Sweet sister..." He grumbled, nodding as his peak was soon to come. "Have me." He said, almost sweetly against her flesh. He wanted to bury himself in her, hold her tight. And that he did, their bodies flushed firmly against each other and Daera had instinctively began to rock her hips against his.

She moaned, grappling at his hair as she whispered, "Aemond... my brother..."

It was her soft coos which triggered him to come fiercely within her. His seed causing an odd warmth to spread within her. As the moment diffused, the heat between them had caused both of them to become flushed, panting gently as they lay entwined upon the bed. The shadows enclasping them both, yet in their arms both found a sense of peace. Daera coiled into him, her head resting upon the top of his.

Aemond laid upon her, letting her arms wrap around him, her soft flesh against his taut frame felt like bliss. He breathed out, speaking softly against her skin, "Alys... she.." Aemond stammered breathlessly against her neck, leaving small kisses.

Daera raised her brow, her hands coming to his hair, gently grazing his silver tresses. The moment felt beyond intimate, she felt a strange tie to him. One that had been all but lost to their distant youths.

He let his hands gently carress her face, his cheek nuzzling against her own as he whispered softly, cooingly into her ear,"She see's a silver haired boy upon the throne... a boy who comes from the flesh of two dragons. The mother... a great beauty, the father... a feared warrior. Of darkness and light, joined by a ghostly flame of longing. Separated by time, brought together by blood. It is us... sweet sister. Alys sees us."

[autumn-foxfire]

"I find the act of murder disgusting and unforgivable," Shinichi said with a whisper, "To steal away another person's life... I can't imagine ever bringing myself to ever do so." He sees Kaito in his mind's eye. Kaito, who picked up the mantle of a ghost for the sake of justice, who put himself on the front lines so no one else would have too, taking bruises and bullets so he can finally put the souls stolen by evil to rest, whether the harm comes from the dark who stole a boy's innocence or from the light who view him as nothing more than a nuisance instead of the hero he truly is. "I didn't think I'd ever be able to understand how one comes to feel that way," Shinichi continued. His fists were clenched so hard that his nails were digging into his skin and drawing blood. He stared Toichi straight in the eyes, the rage of a demon burning bright inside his own blue eyes, and he sees Kaito, his love, his moon, who had cried against Shinichi's shoulder when he finally shared his burden he had been made to shoulder by himself for too long. He sees Kaito, pale and broken, as his parents show him a ghost and tell him he's real. He sees the mockery they made of his beloved and feels nothing but a fury too strong for him to contain. "Yet," Shinichi spits at the man, the monster who was behind Kaito's nightmares, "looking at your smug face, it's taking all my will power not to snap your pathetic neck and put you back in the grave where you belong."

Yes, this is ooc, but Kaito deserves to have someone protect him from the monsters that are his parents and Shinichi is such a good person for that because he's constantly faced with the darkness of the world and you can see his anger when he doesn't understand how people can be so horrible, especially to those he loves.

[loki-cees-all]

Ch. 1 - Against the Wall {Against All Odds - TVA!Loki x Female Reader Longfic}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link / Against All Odds Masterlist / Next Chapter

Pairing : TVA!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : The first interrogation of X-5 doesn’t go as planned, and Loki needs to blow off some steam. He returns to 1977 for a drink, and discovers that not only have his actions have left you abandoned by your date to his movie premiere -  but it’s also your birthday. 

Thankfully, Loki knows just how to solve both of your problems. 

W/c : 4.4k words

Content Warnings : Smut, p-in-v, semi-public sex, strangers to lovers, ruffled tuxedo appreciation

Author's Note : This one is dedicated to my beloved and beautiful friend @infinitystoner as part of our Glorious Birthday Bash. Our ask boxes are open, so get those questions in!

18+ Only - Minors DNI

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Loki was absolutely seething. The Hunter X-5 - Brad, or whatever he wanted to be called, was not just uncooperative in answering their questions about General Dox’s plans - he was a complete asshole about it. And even though they knew he would be, it was still impressive just how quickly he managed to rattle all three of them and completely derail the interrogation. 

It was enough to make Loki afraid that he was losing his touch, that his edges had softened too much. But after the catastrophic events he’d endured over the past few months, what else could he expect?

After leaving the interrogation room with Mobius and B-15, Loki had stormed away, his eyes blazing with fury and his fists clenching until his knuckles were white. He just needed a moment to calm himself down, to regain control of his emotions. 

Truthfully, what he needed was a break, to relieve some tension and come back to his problems with a clear head. If only everything would just stop trying to implode for five minutes, he might be able to do that. But the weight of everything he needed to fix was slowly crushing him to death instead. 

And that asshole thought it necessary to throw the death of Frigga in his face and call him a villain - all in the same breath. The audacity, the nerve of that man to speak to him like that - when genuinely, truthfully and in every sense of the word, Loki was only trying to fix, not harm. 

Loki pushed himself further down the endless corridors of the TVA, and the anger radiating through his skin alerted the unassuming TVA employees to continue minding their own business as they slinked past him. Loki’s heavy footsteps echoed off the pristine floors and elegant walls, and he foolishly thought that maybe they’d take the hint and turn around to take a different path towards their destination. But just as soon as he would find himself alone in the hallway, another one would appear, and Loki’s rage would elevate just a little bit more. 

Norns, was there nowhere to even think in this place?!

Soon, Loki found himself in another alcove with another elevator, that inevitably led to another floor with even more corridors and TVA employees who were just trying to do their jobs in the face of a Temporal Loom meltdown and total destruction. It wasn’t their fault; it was the only thing they knew how to do. 

There had to be an exit around here somewhere - a courtyard, or a sidewalk, or something - any place Loki could go and not be reminded of all of this. But how long would it take him to find it? 

Too long. And more likely than not, a new crisis would emerge before he could even reach it. 

As he paced back and forth across the granite floor, Loki’s hands alternated between raking through his hair, clenching at his sides, and resting on his hips. His mind raced uncontrollably, and his chest heaved to keep enough oxygen mixing with the blood flowing through his veins. He was starting to feel trapped, doomed, cursed. 

Loki took a deep breath to steady himself, and as he closed his eyes, his thoughts shifted to the beautiful woman he’d seen earlier that evening. Her stylish dress, pale amber and loosely cinched around her waist, had been far too enchanting to be wasted on a date to a silly movie premiere. She was much too good to be on Brad’s arm for the evening, and Loki wondered if he had even bothered to learn her name…

But ultimately, it didn’t matter. Loki didn’t have the time or the space to clear his head, and he certainly didn’t have the time to waste on thoughts of a woman he’d never see again. He was just going to have to carry on, to power through the stress and brain fog and dread, like he’d always done. 

Resigning himself to return from where he came, Loki shoved his hands in the pockets of his pea coat and turned on his heels to head back to Mobius and B-15 and the interrogation of Brad. But he stopped as his fingers brushed against something, and his brow furrowed as he pulled the TemPad out of his pocket. 

Loki couldn’t remember how or when it got there. He turned it over in his hands carefully, running his fingertips across its smooth edges and polished wood grain as he considered his options. 

With this, he could easily find a place to think, and he could return just moments after he left the interrogation room. And with the branches of the Sacred Timeline already diverging wildly out of control, no one would ever know he had left.

Loki quickly glanced over his shoulders to make sure he was alone, and he flipped the top screen of the TemPad open. The previous coordinates were still typed in, still active.

All he had to do was press a single button and walk through the Time Door. In another moment or two, he could return to the Zaniac premiere and finally have the drink he so desperately needed. 

And maybe Brad’s date would be willing to share that drink with him…

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ──  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Date : June 18th, 1977 [Sacred Timeline]

This was not how you thought your birthday would turn out. 

Dressed to the nines, after hours in the salon chair getting your hair done and days of planning your outfit down to the perfume kissing the insides of your wrists - all so you could be abandoned by that jackass before the showing of his film even started. 

What made it worse was you didn’t even want to be here tonight, with this Brad Wolfe - a man no one had ever heard of before six months ago but was suddenly basking in the spotlight of directors clamoring to hire him and starlets begging to be seen with him. 

You could have been out with your friends celebrating your birthday, but your agent had insisted that this would be much better for your career; he was definitely going to be getting a very unpleasant phone call in the morning. 

After Brad disappeared, you sat yourself at the bar and ordered a drink; it was less humiliating than the press seeing you alone inside the theater, which would have surely been the only headline in tomorrow morning’s paper. 

You briefly thought about calling your friends to meet up at The Roxy, which had been the initial plan for the evening, but ultimately decided against it. Nothing could salvage the evening now; maybe you’d have better luck next year. 

The ice from your second drink had all but melted, and after the leftover contents were consumed, you were ready to get out of there. The exciting climax of the movie would be happening soon, and once again the lobby would be swarming with press and London’s finest celebrities, not to mention Brad - who had probably found another woman to have clinging to his arm during the film. You didn’t need to see that. 

As you thanked the bartender with a warm smile and placed a generous tip in his jar, your thoughts returned to the two men Brad had been talking to just before he disappeared. One of the men, the older gentleman, seemed pleased as punch to be there, but the other one - the tall, dark and devastatingly handsome one - seemed like he’d rather be literally anywhere else; it was exactly how you felt about this ridiculous event. 

And God was that scowl on his face sexy; but then again, everything about him was positively delicious. His piercing green eyes had threatened to set the room ablaze as he looked around the room, and when he wasn’t scowling, he was smirking. 

It was a very confident smirk, and he deserved to have it. He certainly knew how to wear a tuxedo, and you were sure he looked even better underneath it. 

Just thinking about it was enough to make your heart race, and the warmth of arousal was beginning to unfurl itself in your core. It was too bad the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen had left already; perhaps you would head to The Roxy after all, to find someone to take you home tonight…

“Leaving so soon?” 

Your breath faltered as you turned to see him standing next to you. He looked exquisite - casually leaned against the bar, one ankle crossed over the other, and one hand in his pocket as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow in your direction. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that he had appeared so suddenly and he was looking right at you. 

“I suppose that depends on whether something exciting is about to happen here,” you replied with a shrug and met his inquisitive expression with one of your own. 

The man chuckled and cleared his throat as he turned his attention to the rows of liquor displayed behind the bar. “And I suppose you wouldn’t think helping me decide on a drink would be very exciting…”

His voice was smooth as silk - polished and refined, and it made everything he wasn’t saying so much more intense. You could see his eyes in the mirror behind the bar, hungrily roaming up and down your form as he paused, and you knew he was thinking about all the things he wanted to do tonight. 

And when he turned back to look at you, it was like you were the only other person in existence, like you were the only thing that mattered. “…or would you find that exciting?” 

That look was sinful, intoxicating, teasing. It made you forget all about wanting to get out of there before the movie ended. It made you want to do anything to keep his attention, and so you sat back down on the barstool and crossed your legs as you leaned closer to him. 

“Surely a classy man such as yourself knows what he likes to drink?” you replied, hoping he enjoyed being teased as much as he enjoyed teasing. 

The man laughed again and shook his head with a charming smile on his perfectly-crafted face. If you didn’t know any better, you would have believed a God had sculpted his features with a careful and delicate hand, that only something majestic could have styled the dark curls on his head. He was perfect, and you were dying for him to ruin you. 

“Well, I’ll be honest - I just wanted to know what you were drinking, so I could invite you to have another with me.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, and immediately unbuttoned the jacket of his tuxedo as he sat down next to you. His long legs were splayed wide as he gazed at you, and he had the kind of thighs you wanted to sink your teeth in. 

The white shirt underneath the jacket was stark white and perfectly pressed, save the ruffles running vertically from his throat to his waist. There weren’t too many men that could pull off that look with the same confidence and charm, and you found yourself wondering who he was and what he did for a living. 

He had to work in the entertainment industry - fashion, maybe? Another actor? You wanted to know everything about him, from where he grew up to how many different ways he could make your toes curl. 

“What a clever, classy pick-up line. I’m truly impressed,” you murmured playfully as you beckoned the bartender over. 

The man narrowed his eyes, and his perfect lips curved into a teasing smirk. “I believe it worked, did it not?” 

You shrugged innocently, bringing your fingertips to fondle the necklace dangling around your neck. His gaze followed your fingers with a hungry expression, and he opened his mouth to say something else when the bartender interrupted to take your order.

“Yes, me and my new friend…” you paused and tilted your head at him, a silent plea for the man to finally introduce himself. 

His expression shifted briefly to uncertainty, as if he wasn’t sure that he wanted to give you his name at all, before resuming his confident demeanor as he met your gaze once more. “Loki. Pleased to meet you.”

“A pair of Slow Screws for me and my new friend, Loki,” you smiled at the bartender before returning to your new companion for the evening. “That’s quite an interesting name, Loki. Scandinavian?” 

“Something like that. And you’ve got quite an interesting drink order,” he replied, leaning closer and sliding his arm along the back of your chair. “Tell me - do you usually share Slow Screws with complete strangers?”

His voice was low and husky, vibrating at all the right frequencies and sending shivers of excitement down your spine. It took all of your willpower to not mount him on the spot. 

“Only when it’s my birthday, and I’ve been abandoned by my jerk of a date,” you answered, though truthfully you were glad he disappeared if it meant you got to know this man a little better. 

Loki’s brow twitched and he looked away; it was an odd reaction, one you hadn’t anticipated. Did Loki know something about why Brad had left, and was he not expecting you to bring it up? 

The bartender returned with your drinks, and you were grateful for something else to focus on for the moment. Freshly-squeezed orange juice and gin swirled around the tall glass as you brought it to your lips and took a not-so dainty sip. 

Loki glanced over and smiled as he followed suit, then set his glass down and began tapping the bar-top with his long and surely skilled fingers. “You know I, um…was speaking with your date earlier, and I promise he didn’t ditch you. Something very important had come up, and…”

Loki glanced over at you again, his green eyes sparkling as if a thousand distant worlds were burning up inside them. He had an unparalleled mysterious aura around him, like the weight of the entire world was resting on his broad shoulders. 

“If he sent you here to keep me company in his stead…” you interrupted, brushing your fingers across the back of his hand as he tapped mindlessly on the bar-top. “…then I’m glad he left.” 

That seemed to be enough to make him forget about all of his earlier troubles, and a confident smile graced his features once more. “Well, I couldn’t leave a beautiful woman all alone on her birthday, now could I?” 

Loki rotated his hand underneath yours, and his fingertips lightly traced along your inner wrist, sending your heart rate skyrocketing. He leaned closer to whisper against your ear. “So how does the birthday girl want to celebrate then, hmm?” 

Your breath hitched, and it felt like the rest of the world stopped except for the two of you. You wanted to spend your evening dissolving into pleasure, screaming his name, breaking your bed - but this man clearly loved innuendos and teasing; it was foreplay for him, just as much as it was for you. 

“Well, I’ve always wanted to try…a Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall,” you answered softly, knowing he would understand that you didn’t necessarily mean the drink. 

Loki’s arm slipped around your chair once more, dragging his knuckles down the back of your arm. “Is that how you like it?”

Your eyes widened, and your heart thudded painfully in your chest. But it was worth it if it meant he’d do it, so you nodded as you bit your lower lip. 

“Slow…and comfortable?” Loki continued, whispering softly and letting his lips brush against the cartilage of your ear. 

Swallowing back a moan was the hardest thing you’d ever done. Your thighs pressed together, squeezing them against your already wet cunt and nodded again. 

“What about against the wall? Do you like that too?” Loki brought his other hand up, tracing the angle of your jaw with his fingertips and turning your face closer to his. 

Your lips parted as your nose brushed against his, and you silently pleaded for mercy. Your pussy was already throbbing and clenching around nothing, and if you didn’t get out of here soon, you were going to explode. 

A simple yes was all you could manage, and Loki immediately took action. He pulled a few bills from his pocket and tossed them on the bar as he stood up, and you absolutely could not believe your luck - that he came back, that he wanted you, that he was going to take you exactly the way you wanted. 

You quickly followed him to standing, and your knees almost buckled underneath the weight of the adrenaline and hormones carving their way through your veins. Loki placed his hand on your lower back and guided you swiftly through the crowd that had returned after the movie’s end. 

And you didn’t even turn your head as you passed by reporters milling about in the lobby, wondering where the hell Brad Wolfe was. 

As you stepped outside, Loki’s hand slipped from your waist to grab your hand and pull you after him. You thought he was going to lead you to a cab, but instead, he turned down the alleyway beside the theater. 

“Wait - where are we going?” you giggled in anticipation as he squeezed your hand. Did he have his own vehicle parked somewhere back here?

Loki turned around and yanked you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist as he continued backing down the alleyway. “I’m giving the Birthday Girl what she asked for. Remember?” he murmured against your lips as his hands splayed wide on your hips. 

You couldn’t take the wait any longer and crushed your lips against his. Loki’s groan was deep and powerful as he eagerly returned the kiss. His lips tasted like gin and lust, and his hands gripped you tightly, pulling you all the way against his body. 

Your hands found the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, pulling on the material as you parted your lips around his. He eagerly slipped his tongue between them as he started to walk you backwards.

Loki towered over you, even with your heels on, and soon his lips were moving down to your neck, sucking on the delicate skin as his hands slid down to squeeze your ass. You gasped, and immediately started to unbutton his tuxedo jacket. 

He hummed an approval against your neck, and his hands grasped your ass harder, making you grind your hips against his. “I thought the Birthday Girl wanted it slow and comfortable, hmm?” 

“Changed my mind,” you whispered breathlessly, opening the jacket and untucking his shirt from his pants. “I need you now…” 

Loki grinned as he pushed you against the wall, trapping you between the firm, cold bricks and his firm, warm body. “Ah, so you’re an impatient Birthday Girl,” he growled against your lips.

This new tone, so wild and animalistic compared to the opulent and sophisticated one he had used back at the bar, was more than enough to make you forget that you were in public, that he was a stranger, that if anyone saw this then your career would be over. But you were being driven by pure lust at this point, and nothing else mattered anymore. 

Your lips met again, moving frantically against each other as your tongues and hips writhed together. It was incredible that your bodies and minds were already so in sync with each other - when you moaned against his lips, he’d groan against yours, and when you gasped, he’d exhale in a deep hum that threatened to drive you insane. 

He pulled the strap of your dress down as you untied the knot of his bowtie and began to loosen the buttons of his shirt. Loki kissed his way down your neck and you arched into his touch, even as your hair snagged on the bricks behind you. 

You quickly slipped your arm out of the strap, and Loki slid the top of your dress down to your waist, exposing your breasts. Your nipples hardened from arousal and the cold evening air, and Loki leaned down to take one between his lips. You moaned out loud in response, encouraging him to keep going as you spread your legs to grind against his thigh. 

His tongue flicked against your stiff nipple as he sucked, and your fingers curled tightly in his hair as you hooked a leg around his waist. Your hips gyrated wildly against him, soothing your aching clit as you chased a release. 

“Oh, yes. Keep going, love,” Loki groaned against your skin and shifted his hands to keep you balanced on one leg, gripping your hips tightly as he brought his face back up to yours. 

He pushed his leg further between yours, watching eagerly as you continued grinding against his thigh. You gasped and moaned breathlessly, each one louder than the last as the alleyway faded away and all that remained was the stranger bringing you ethereal levels of pleasure. 

“Yes, that’s it. Come for me, dear,” Loki rasped as he brought his lips over to your ear, and his teeth nipped at the cartilage as he spoke. “I’ll give you more - as many as you wish…” 

You could barely hear him as blood pumped frantically through every vein and every nerve ending prepared to fire off, but it seemed as though he was getting as much pleasure out of this as you were. What a blessing this was - it was your birthday, and this man only wanted to make you come. 

You gasped as your orgasm washed over you, sending endorphins and molten lava through your veins. Your fingers dug into his neck and shoulders, and your leg shook and wobbled as you died and reborn anew. 

Loki moaned with you as you came, his hands grabbing your hips to keep them rolling against his thigh. Your eyes rolled back into your head and unintelligible whimpers of pleasure tumbled from your lips. And just as the orgasm started to fade, his hands slipped around the back of your thighs to lift you up. 

Somehow you managed to lock your arms around his neck as he held you in the air, and he hooked his forearms underneath your knees as your bare back scraped against the brick. It hurt so good, and you buried your face in his hair, breathing in his scent and savoring the way he was going to ravage you. 

Loki grabbed your ass as he rolled his hips against yours, both of you moaning in unison at the skin-to-skin contact. His heavy exhales washed over your skin as he panted against your jaw, and you were still trembling from the aftershocks of the first orgasm when his cock slid inside you. 

He groaned in pleasure as he pushed deeper within your soaked cunt, and your toes curled inside your shoes. You hadn’t even seen his cock yet, but you could feel just how perfect it was, how perfect he was - and you couldn’t help but squeeze as he bottomed out inside you. 

“Such a tight and lovely little thing,” Loki hissed as he started to thrust, slowly at first but quickly increasing his pace. His hips rocked back and forth, and your fingers scratched at his scalp to beg him to keep going. 

He held you in the air, easily supporting your entire weight as he drove himself into you over and over. It was like magic, he was like a benevolent God of Pleasure, and you would forever worship the ground he walked on as long as he continued doing this to you. 

You buried your face against his shoulder to muffle your cries of pleasure as he filled you up, and his lower back arched as his thrusts became frantic. You moaned his name and he moaned yours, and his fingers gripped you tightly as yours dug into his neck. 

“Yes! Come for me, darling!” Loki growled against your ear as he adjusted your hips, pulling them away from the wall. His thrusts became urgent, and this new angle allowed him to move deeper, pressing against the most sensitive flesh that other men could only dream of reaching. 

You crossed the threshold again, coming even harder than you did the first time. Loki grunted like an animal as he made his final pushes inside you before following you off the edge. Your thighs shook as his hips bucked, and your muscles squeezed every ounce of pleasure out of him. 

The sounds he made were sinful, and it was almost enough to keep you going. Neither of you were on Earth anymore; floating in the cosmos, higher than you’d ever been before, your hips writhing and mouths gasping for air as you came together. 

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, but eventually your bodies became still, and you could feel his lips pressed lazily against your jaw and his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek. “You have no idea…just how much…I needed that…” he murmured breathlessly. 

You could feel the gravity of his words bringing you back down to the ground, and while you didn’t know what he was referring to, you wished that you could. “I’m glad you convinced me to stay for that drink then…” 

Loki chuckled to himself as he pressed his forehead against yours and carefully pulled the strap of your dress back to your shoulder. His fingertips were delicate as they traced along your collarbone, and as his eyes traveled up to meet your gaze, you could see a thousand lifetimes of sadness hiding behind them. 

“Thank you…for the drink, and the birthday present. Maybe we can do this again for your birthday…” you continued with a smile, hoping to be able to see him again soon. You didn’t know if he needed the reassurance, but you wanted to give it to him anyway. 

He didn’t respond at first, and you gently caressed his cheek. This evening was too magical to not let it happen again, and you prayed that he felt the same. 

Loki’s expression was one of anguish as he turned his head to kiss your palm. He let out a heavy exhale, and forced himself to look at you again. 

“Yes. Maybe we can…” Loki smiled as he gazed into your eyes, and your heart ached as he leaned down to kiss you once more. 

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ──  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

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[kierewrites]

What Would Karma Do... when you get kidnapped on your school trip? / pt. 2

navi - masterlist

Karma Akabane x Reader

Mood Song: house of balloons / glass table girls

Summary: Remember the beloved Assassination Classroom anime? This is pretty much that, except you enter the picture of Karma's chaotic school year. Let's see just how compatible the two of you are.

Warnings: kidnapping, depictions of violence, cursing, kidnappers are pervs, this is my attempt at getting out of my writers block rut :')

"Nagisa! Sugino! Karma!"

The cries seemed to echo through the boy's minds as reality slowly seeped its way back to them. None of them seemed to remember what happened until they felt the sharp pain overcome their bodies from the attack.

All Karma could hear was the sound of your voice. Crying, whimpering, screaming his name in a desperate plea for him to help you, and yet he let you slip from his grasp.

Just like that.

Now all that was left for him to think about was what those thugs were doing to you, or where the hell they could have even taken you? For all he knew, the three of you could be dead by now and they couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

It seemed surreal that just earlier in the day you were cuddled up next to him on the train, your small hand enlaced with his own. Now who knew what those filthy pigs were doing with you.

As the other boys slowly rose from their weakened positions, they seemed to notice Karma's… sour mood, to say the least. The redhead’s breathing was ragged, his fists clenched in a furious tremble. Nagisa glanced over to Sugino who shared a concerned look, the two debating on how they should confront the ticking time bomb.

"Karma it's okay, we'll get them-"

Before Nagisa could finish his words of encouragement, a raged scream poured from Karma's lips before his fist collided with the wall beside him, the crack of bone against the brick structure echoing throughout the alleyway.

"DAMN IT!"

Both boys remained still after this, their hearts sinking at the sight of their normally confident friend being torn apart from the inside. Nagisa had never seen Karma so furious, usually he kept up his assured facade even in challenging situations. 

"Are you doing okay Sugino?" Nagisa questioned, checking in on the less aggressive target first. After receiving a thumbs up, Nagisa sat up a bit more before shifting his gaze over to his troubled friend.

"Karma?"

Once his name was spoken, the redhead turned his head to the side, the sight sending chills through Nagisa's body. He was smiling.

"I think it's safe to assume those guys were pretty hardcore," Karma stated simply, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck slowly, "We could go to the cops, except those guys are the type who know their way around the system... which is fine."

Sugino and Nagisa both felt uneasy about Karma's sudden change in mood, his last words sounding awfully menacing, even for Karma. Before they could question it, the redhead finally looked up from behind his arm with the most ominous expression Nagisa had seen in awhile. 

"Cause I'm the type who likes to handle these things personally, if you know what I mean."

Sure enough, both boys knew exactly what he meant. Karma wasn't the type who got beaten easily, so to be on the losing side of an attack like this most definitely put a damper on his ego. But then to go and take his friends and girlfriend? Nagisa could only imagine the unparalleled rage Karma was feeling.

"Okay dude..." Sugino muttered while holding his arm against his aching stomach, "How do we even find them?"

Karma remained silent at this, Nagisa glancing over to Sugino while deep in thought until it came to him. Those dictionary-like guides Korosensei gave to everyone… Shuffling to his feet, Nagisa darted to his bag and lugged the giant book to the other three boys.

"Korosensei said this thing is filled with any scenario possible, there's gotta be something in here to help us!"

Karma glanced over in interest, Sugino's face lighting up as he crawled next to Nagisa while flipping through pages.

"Let's see... cheering yourself up your lonely self after seeing a lovey dovey couple... where to find cheap Kyoto soup and cheap local boutiques... this thing literally has every scenario!"

Nagisa chuckled slightly at a few of them, Korosensei really knew how to lift the mood in every situation. It honestly felt like the teacher was right there reading it with them.

"There it is! What to do when a group member has been abducted!" Nagisa shouted, both boys looming over to read the pages of information on this given scenario, "Holy crap so much detail... this has everything we need!"

Sugino nodded, a smile finally spreading across his lips along with Karma. Though unlike Sugino, Karma's smile had a more ominous glint to it as he cracked his knuckles.

"Let's go kick some old man ass."

-

The moment you woke up, every single memory flooded into your head. 

Not even bothering to take in your surroundings, you just whispered Karma's name, tears brimming at the tips of your lashes as images from the traumatic experience swarmed your mind. How could these thugs be so cruel?

The sound of your two friends stirring beside you seemed to snap you out of your horrifying trance. It was then you soaked in the building you were in. Almost with movie-like accuracy, it seemed you had been brought to some dirty abandoned warehouse. The room was large, filled with metal scraps and old wooden boxes, with the odd exception of a few pieces of dingy furniture laying around.

Glancing down, your nose scrunched upon realizing you were placed on one of the few decrepit couches displaced around the room, the creases of the old fabric filled with a dark moldy substance.

It was then that you realized you were much better kempt yourself. Your school attire had far lost uniform as the attire laid untucked and discolored with a mix of likely sweat and dirt. There wasn’t a single thing making you feel any less sick to your stomach.

The most you were able to communicate with Kayano and Kanzaki was ensuring they were both alright, which luckily all of you appeared to be uninjured with the exception of your arms being tied behind your backs.

Before you could say much else, a few men entered the dark room. You recognized most of them from the initial kidnapping, the group apparently not being very large. The men mostly just belittled all of you, telling the three of you that you were going to have a fun little “photoshoot”, and threatening that nobody would hear your screams, as a reminder to not even bother.

They always say when you experience your first traumatic experience, your brain almost becomes delirious because it’s not sure how to respond. Not sure if it’s really happening. Apparently those facts are true, your mind scrambling on how to feel or react.

Before you could think much of it, one of the men called out Kanzaki, showing the three of you a picture of her at an arcade, clearly from years ago. Your occasional glances at the raven haired girl confirmed she wasn’t proud of the memory forcibly being shown, her solemn face grimacing at the images.

After they discussed their eerily evasive knowledge of Kanzaki’s past, the men left to go talk amongst themselves while waiting for this “photographer” to show up.

"Not gonna lie, it's kind of comforting to know even you went through a faze," Kayano admitted with a soft smile, "Never would've imagined..."

Nodding in agreement you turned your head to Kanzaki, "Yeah, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, you pulled the look off well!"

Kanzaki lowered her head and sighed as you both tried to cheer her up, mumbling a thanks before looking at the two of you. 

"Yeah.. My dad was crazy strict, always on me about doing well in school and building up my resume..." Kanzaki explained, both you and Kayano frowning at her words, "It was so.. suffocating, you know?"

Kayano nodded, a pitiful chuckle escaping your own lips.

"I totally understand, my parents may not be as strict, but it’s only because I’ve never let my grades slip. The pressure of it all is so overwhelming at times." You admitted.

Kanzaki nodded quickly at you with sparkling eyes, as if you had just read her mind.

"Exactly! I just couldn't deal!" Kanzaki exclaimed before frowning once more, "So.. I ditched the uniform, glammed myself out and.. hanged where nobody knew who I was. It felt like therapy.. It was so stupid. Where did I expect to end up, right? It's E Class for me... but now I don't even know where I belong anymore..."

Kanzaki’s confession left you and Kayano to stare at the floor in deep thought. Being the school’s idol, you assumed Kanzaki would’ve never had such experiences growing up.

Just as you were going to attempt to cheer the poor girl up, the sound of footsteps snapped you all from your conversation, a new wave of dread filling your cores.

"Sounds to me like you would be right at home with us! Grades and all that pointless bullshit don't mean jack here." The man hissed with narrowed eyes, "We eat those rich kid scums for breakfast, nothing's sweeter than knocking those stuffed shirts down a peg or two."

Narrowing your eyes at the man's words, you glanced over at another thug who followed after.

"The only thing that matters is having a little fun right?"

Their words had your brows knit together in annoyance. Could one genuinely think so highly of themselves as to make a living off of harassing others that are trying to do good for themselves?

Before you could respond, Kayano seemed to mirror your thoughts, her face darkening as she muttered three words that she would probably regret.

"You're a jerk."

Suddenly the disgusting grin the man once wore faded, your body going numb in fear of what he would do next. Sure enough he lifted Kayano from the couch by the collar of her uniform with an angry growl, "I see how it is! Little miss perfect thinks she's better than me!"

The sight of Kayano sobbing and trying to jerk herself out of the man’s grasp had your blood boiling in anger. What gave these men the right to treat you like this?

After everything you've been through, there was no reason why you should be sitting around and letting all of this happen. For so long you've been living in fear, but enough is enough. You had already lost Karma... you would be damned if you lost anyone else too.

"Let her go!" You shouted, wobbling yourself up so you were sitting on your knees.

All eyes fell on you now, the man holding Kayano freezing before narrowing his eyes down to you.

"Oh but of course, how could I forget about you?"

Suddenly your breath hitched as the man dropped Kayano haphazardly onto the grungy couch. The surge of confidence you had now vanished as the man began to close in on you like a predator does their prey.

"I knew right from the start when I saw you on the train, I just had to have you..." The man sneered, bending down before you as his hands began to play with your hair, "Foreign school girls are highly expensive you know, tell me where you're from, yeah?"

Furrowing your brows you clenched your teeth as you felt him grope at your sides, your feeble attempt to shake him off only ended in him gripping your chin harshly causing you to wince in pain.

"I asked you a question sweetheart."

"(Country)." You muttered through grit teeth, keeping your glare locked on him as he laughed boisterously as if this was the best thing he heard all day.

"You hear that boys? We got a (Country) girl here! We're about to be rich!" The man boomed, the sick men behind him sneering at you as you shriveled yourself up against the back of the couch.

“Oh don't cower away now, doll.” The man cooed, grabbing your shirt and pulling you back to the edge of the couch, "Don’t look so scared, we’ll treat ya real well… hell I may even keep you with how much you’re worth.”

Those were the words that truly shook you, the confidence you once had fully vanished as you felt your mouth go dry. The thought of never seeing your friends again... your family… Karma? Tears began to glisten in your eyes again, threatening to spill.

The man only grinned at your response, his thumb brushing across your cheek as he grabbed your chin once more, “Don’t cry on me sweetheart, that’s only going to entice-”

In a fit of desperate anger, you decided to shut the man up the only way you could. Moving your head back out of his grasp, you quickly latched your teeth around his finger and clenched them as hard as you could.

In seconds he jumped back from you, a loud howl escaping his lips as he rubbed his now bleeding finger before looking at you with widened eyes.

"D..Did you just bite me you crazy bitch?!"

Furrowing your brows you screamed as loud as you could, begging anyone for help. Begging and praying that someone was nearby to hear you. Kayano and Kanzaki caught on with your idea, screaming alongside you in hopes of someone hearing the shrill screams.

Whether someone heard you or not, the stunt you pulled seemed to prove useless as the seething man before you looked at you with crazed eyes. Midscream, you felt your body being lifted into the air, the harsh grasp around your neck silencing any noise you attempted to make.

The sound of your friends crying your name made your body shiver, the sight surely not a pretty one to see as all you could do was shake and tremble in his hold.

"How do you like that, huh bitch? If you're going to bite and scream like a dog, then I'll fucking treat you like one!"

His words would’ve stung more had you not been fighting for consciousness, the tears once brimming at your lashes were now rushing down your cheeks as you gasped for air. Any attempt at getting the ropes untied from your wrists proved useless.

It wasn’t until your complexion neared a pale purplish hue that the man finally released you, throwing your limp body onto the couch with a thud. You felt yourself fall into the laps of Kayano and Kanzaki, their desperate whispers of reassurement falling on deaf ears as you gasped for air in between coughs.

"When we're done here you go back to whatever fancy hotel you're in and tell whoever asks that you were just out singing karaoke and lost track of time," The man instructed with narrowed eyes before glaring at you, "Except for you, little brat. I was considering letting your little friends buy your freedom, but after all the trouble you've put me through, you'll never see the light of day again."

The purely sick laughter of the man echoed around the room, the sound sending fear through all of you as one of the metal doors clicked open.

"Speak of the devil.." The man said, noticing the door open as well, "My photographer buddies are here!"

Though your vision was still fairly blurred, you were able to glance up at the door to notice a tuft of orange hair. The only issue was that the bright locks were nearly dragging against the ground. As the figure made its way from the shadows, it was revealed that he wasn’t awake at all, rather beaten to a pulp based on the purple bruises that littered his face.

"Huh, what the hell?"

"School trip guidebook page one thousand and forty three..." You heard a familiar voice speak, all of your heads raising in recognition, "What to do when a group member has been abducted. If there are no leads on the perpetrators, think back to said accents or quirks that might indicate whether said perpetrators are local. If not, if the perpetrators were wearing school uniforms refer to page one thousand three hundred and thirty four..."  

As Nagisa read the all too familiar words from a certain handbook you remember receiving, a small smile curled at the corner of your lips.

"You found us!" Kayano squealed, but was quickly overshadowed by the man before you shouting.

"What the hell?! How'd you even know where to look?"

Nagisa simply continued to read from Korosensei's guidebook, explaining each detail as to how they located us. It almost sounded too good to be true, and based off of the faces of the men they thought the same thing as well.

"Alright, so what's it gonna be gentleman?" Karma spoke, the sound of his voice making your eyes water as your smile grew, realizing the redhead was still alive, "Fight or flight? We'll go easy if you back down now but after all you've put us through, you're not getting out of this unscathed,"

Even with your vision obscured, the sight of his ominous golden eyes peering through his dark red locks was evident, enough to even make you shiver.

"That's a promise."

The feeling of hope hadn’t lasted long as the large thug before you chuckled at Karma’s words, seeming to be the only one not phased by their entrance.

"Acting all badass... You high school kids crack me up." The man hissed with a smirk, "Why do you even bother, you saw how far it got miss (Country) girl over here."

For a quick second your eyes locked with Karma's, golden hues drinking in your broken figure until he scowled and looked away, the sight making you want to shrink up into a ball and hide away. He was pissed.

"How about you say hello to some friends of mine.. see how far that attitude gets you with them."

The new voice was followed with an eerie chuckle, four new lifeless figures being presented at the doorway with a pair of glowing red eyes peering from the darkness.

"Say hello to them if you'd like.. but be advised though, they probably won't hear you."

All of your friends were finally able to smile with relief, your eyes lightening up at the sight of your teacher.

"Korosensei!" 

Suddenly your teacher revealed himself from the shadows, holding up the four men as if it were nothing at all to him.

"Sorry I'm a little late to the festivities, I figured it would be best to let you handle this on your own while I searched elsewhere, just to cover all the bases." Korosensei explained, "Now why don't we split up and teach these filthy thugs a good ole Class E lesson?"

The three boys beside him seemed to light up at those words, each of them grinning maliciously as they followed after their teacher in attacking the group of thugs.

Korosensei was doing most of the work, making sure to lecture each one of the disgusting thugs about how your class wasn't snobby like most other private schools, and how you all worked hard while not tearing others down around you.

It was a heartwarming sentiment to say the least, it was just strange to see Korosensei have time to lecture these guys while they charged at him with knives and other weapons. There was no doubt that Korosensei was on another level.

Kanzaki and Kayano giggled in excitement, their heads glancing down to your limp form as Kayano reassured you that everything would be okay. And for a second, it felt like everything would be.

But you should've known by now not to assume anything.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around your torso and lifted you from off the couch, before you could register your friend’s screams or even what was happening, you were thrown over a large shoulder.

"Get that one away for now until we can regroup!"

Your eyes widened, this couldn't be happening. No.. no.. no. You were too damn close to be taken away like this. Gritting your teeth you began to slam your head against the back of the man’s legs while kicking at his gut in an attempt to make him drop you.

"Q..Quit that you little brat!" The man growled, his arms squeezing tightly around your torso causing you to yelp in pain. Why did he have to be so damn strong?

The sound of your name being screamed by Kanzaki and Kayano alerted your other classmates that were in the midst of giving a good beating, the three of them noticing the thug carrying your squirming body away.

"These fuckers just won't take a hint, will they?" Karma growled, releasing the head he had in his hand and shoving the limp thug away before running towards the man holding you.

"L..Let me... go! You p..pig!" You cried, your kicks turning into pathetic squirms as you felt like the life was being squeezed out of you. For the third time that day you saw those dark spots that plagued your vision, it was humiliating.

Just when you felt your lashes begin to flutter shut, you felt the man beneath you freeze. Since your senses were nearly fried from being on the verge of passing out, you didn’t hear the harsh scream of the thug until you collided with the floor.

Though you still were slowly gaining consciousness, you could at least feel two hands grip your face, your eyes registering those bright red strands of hair.

Karma held your weak body up as he quickly pulled out his pocket knife and sliced the ropes that held your wrists together. Rubbing at your arms a bit aggressively, the redhead grabbed your lolling head once more and called your name.

“Y/n, you there? Ya hearing me angel?”

Blinking a bit, your eyes focused enough to see the concern in his eyes, his lips moving in what you assumed was your name. Glancing behind him, you saw the man that was once carrying you now on the ground, gripping at his knees.

“Y/n! Are you alright?” Karma now cried, his voice finally ringing in your ears as you looked to him, now feeling the tears running down your face as you nodded vigorously.

“Y..Yes yes… M’alright Karma! I’m… okay.” You whispered, forcing a smile on your lips as you tried to sit up before the two of you heard the metal door click beside you.

The thug was struggling to open the door as he tried to crawl away from the two of you, the sight making the redhead growl before he glanced back at your heaving body.

“You just stay here and breathe for me, alright angel?” Karma said softly, running his non-bloodied hand across your cheek before standing up and walking towards the pathetic man.

"You told me not to play hero huh?" Karma hissed with a psychotic grin, grabbing the man by his ankles and tugging him back away from the door, "Fine! I'll be the bad guy!"

Without a second thought, Karma’s fists connected with the man’s jaw with a frightening crack. Punch after punch, Karma relentlessly beat the thug, his sinister laugh filling the air as the hits began to grow harder and harder.

Though it twisted your insides, the thought of that man getting what was coming felt good. But with that said, there were only so many more hits he would be able to take before it would be too late for him.

Once you eventually were able to breathe normally, you stood up shakily and started walking towards the two in order to stop Karma, but your movement was stopped when a yellow tentacle wrapped around your wrist. Whipping your head around you noticed your teacher with a rather solemn face.

"Let him finish, the boy has so much pent up rage right now, it'll be best for him to take it out now rather than on you or one of his classmates," Korosensei explained, your heart dropping at the sound of that. You could only imagine how stressed out and angry the Karma was.

Even with that in mind though, you feared that Karma would take this too far. The crazed look in his eye only getting worse with each resounding punch.

"But if we don't stop him now Korosensei, he may end up-"

"I won't let him get that far I promise you that,” Your teacher spoke, placing a tentacle on your shoulder before bending down to you, “Now head back out to safety with your other classmates and get that neck of yours checked out, no severe injuries correct?"

Swallowing thickly, you rubbed at the back of your neck before letting out a shaky sigh.

"I don't believe so, just some minor stuff.” You mumbled, offering a forced smile before you shuffled towards the front door, one of your classmates running to you and helping you out.

Your teacher only nodded at you, his body facing back to the relentless redhead who continued his vicious attacks on the now regretful thug.

-

Karma couldn't lie to himself. If his teacher hadn't stepped in to stop his actions, the unconscious thug beneath him would've been a dead corpse in his hands.

How could he help it? They beat him up, kidnapped his friends, then he comes to find the girl he loves barely conscious on a filthy couch. He swore to protect you and he failed, and for that he was going to show these bastards a lesson.

The redhead even sensed when the thug was reaching fatal levels, but he didn't care. He ignored the man's pleas to stop. Why should he listen? He didn't listen to your desperate cries when he tried to take you away! 

Karma's fists ached but he barely felt it, instead he bared his teeth in fury as he cracked each of his fist's against the thug’s face. He didn't feel the blood running down his fists or the bruises forming on his knuckles, only the satisfaction of sweet revenge.

As his hits began to slow down his eyes glimmered in joy, knowing this final blow would be it for the sorry excuse of a man. Raising his fist with a crazed grin he was ready to smash it down into the man's skull until a yellow tentacle wrapped around his wrist. Karma whipped his head around with a growl, trying to free his wrist from his teacher's grasp.

"Stay out of this you damn octopus!"

Korosensei's hold only grew stronger as the creature's voice grew rather serious, "Karma you're going to kill that man, you must stop."

Karma laughed at the irony of his teacher's words. Korosensei was going to lecture him right now? Seriously?

"Why do you care? We're in an assassination classroom right! Killing is what we do!" Karma shouted with clenched fists, "This filthy pig tried to hurt your classmates!"

Karma's breathing became heavy as he felt his fists shake in fury, his eyes feeling hot as he looked down at the disgusting man.

"He tried to take her."

The feeling of Korosensei's tentacle suddenly disappeared, Karma's hand falling down to his knees as he kept his golden eyes trained on the ground.

"I understand how you're feeling, young man. Angry, scared, vengeful. You have every right to feel this way, but think about it like this," Korosensei explained, "These men around you tried to take your friends away and maybe even harm them for personal gain, why would you want to lower yourself down to their level for revenge?"

Karma remained silent, his fists loosening up as he looked at his teacher through his red tufts of hair.

"Y/n is okay, your friends are okay, that's all that matters at the moment. There's no doubt that you're training to become an assassin, but you must understand that assassins take pride in their work and don't just kill anyone for fun. Don't ruin your future for revenge, young man."

Surprisingly Karma felt… better. He hated to admit it, but the damn creature always knew the right things to say. Honestly Karma knew he lost himself in the moment, he could only thank his teacher for not letting him go too far.

"Now I suggest you go out there and check on Y/n, the poor girl has only been here for a few weeks and she's already experienced such a traumatic event. She's going to need you by her side."

For once during the whole talk Karma smiled at his teacher, taking his tentacle to stand up before they both walked outside to meet with their classmates.

-

When you made it outside you were surprised to see the sunset lowering just above the horizon. Time was lost while you were locked inside that decrepit building

Your classmates were quick to be at your side. After enough eyes examined you, it was determined you didn’t have any serious injuries, just some bruised spots and sore muscles. Luckily Nagisa offered to get you some water from a nearby convenience store, the cool liquid soothing your throat at least.

Once the chaos had settled down, your classmates decided to sit on the curb across the street from the building, talking amongst themselves. You decided to refrain from talking, your throat injury providing a helpful excuse to do so. But in reality, it’s more because you felt sick to your stomach.

Surprisingly you weren't completely traumatized by the events that had just occurred, for some reason that's not what bothered you the most out of everything that happened today. It was just the way you were so pathetic, so helpless. You should've been able to do something.

Instead you were forced to watch your boyfriend get attacked, watch your friends get harassed, and make everyone worry because you were so weak... so pathetic.

In your deep thought, you hadn’t even heard the grunt beside you as a tall redhead took a seat beside you on the sidewalk. The sound of his cough snapped you from your thoughts as you glanced up at him, seeing his golden eyes already looking down at you, though they were quick to drop to your neck, his eyes quickly narrowing.

"Damn it, I can't believe how bad it looks." Karma muttered, his fingers grazing against the damaged skin resulting in you sucking air through your teeth from the mild pain of the touch, to which he quickly jerked his hand away.

Quickly looking back to the road, you chuckled weakly with a frown, “Gee thanks.”

Karma clicked his tongue and bumped your side slightly, "You know what I meant angel, don't be like that."

You forced out a laugh, your eyes remaining glued to the ground as your fingers nervously fidgeted against your knee caps. Your actions didn't go unnoticed by the redhead, his hand gently grabbing your fidgeting fingers to force them to a still.

"Are you okay Y/n?"

Oh how you wished he hadn't uttered those four words. You were dreading those words falling from anyone's lips, knowing they would crumble the walls you tried so hard to keep up.

Sure enough the warm teardrops that had been threatening to spill from your lashes began to trickle out one by one, your sudden release of emotions causing you to sniffle.

Karma was quick to grab at your cheek and move your head to face his own, his face immediately softening as you burst into tears before him. Without second thought he shoved you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you tightly, gripping at the locks of your hair and inhaling your scent as he kissed at the top of your head.

"Shit Y/n... I'm so sorry, that must've been so scary for you. I should've been there and I wasn't-"

"Shut up!"

Out of everything Karma expected you to say, it wasn’t that. His hold on you softened as you shoved yourself away from his chest, your sobs growing louder as you rubbed aggressively at your face. You almost looked... angry? The sight scared Karma to death, thinking you could only be mad at him.

"Shut up, shut up, just shut up!" You cried as you looked down to your shaking hands, "You shouldn't have been there, I should've been there!"

Karma's eyes widened at this, confusion running through his mind as you continued.

"You put yourself before me to save me and as soon as you got attacked all I did was watch like an idiot! A..And when they took me away and I had to watch you get kicked to what I thought was death! All I could do was cry and watch you get attacked, I felt so.. so weak!"

Now the puzzle pieces were clicked together in Karma's head. You weren't mad at him... you were mad at yourself.

And somehow, that felt worse for him.

"And when we got kidnapped and they just kept harassing us, all I could do was shout at them and hope they would stop! I..I.. I should've been able to do something! But instead all I could do was watch, all I ever do is watch. I put everyone else around me in danger or make everyone else worry because... because..."

Your face grew red, every emotion you felt bottled up inside as you squeezed your eyes shut.

"Because I’m weak!"

This caused everyone to silence, the only sound being heard was the cool evening wind blowing against the metal signs and fall leaves that littered the ground.

"I..I'm weak... and I'm pathetic... and-"

The next string of words were cut off when a pair of lips smashed against yours. They weren't angry, they weren't guilty, they were simple and welcoming. The feeling of his warm lips pressing against your own caused more tears to stream from your face as you gripped down on his hands tightly until the redhead moved away from you.

"You are not fucking weak, you hear me? You're not weak for being scared, or pathetic for not being able to do anything. That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard!" Karma shouted with a frown as he looked at you with an intense gaze, "I got beaten because I was reckless and moved on instinct rather than thinking things through."

Inhaling sharply,  you swallowed what saliva you forgot you had in your mouth and as your teeth clamped down on the inside of your lip to prevent more tears from spilling as your nails dug into Karma's hands.

"You were strong enough to fight back against those pigs and hold your ground even in a scary situation, so don't you dare say you're weak, do you understand me?" Karma questioned as he cupped your cheek and looked into your eyes, "I was never angry at you, I was angry at myself for letting you slip away. And now I'm going to promise you that I'm going to act more with a level head, so long as you promise to always tell me how you're feeling and to stop bottling up these feelings inside."

You couldn't help the feeling of your lips twitching, your eyes blinking to hold back any tears from escaping your exhausted eyes as you looked up to him. His eyes were stern yet soft, his thumb rubbing against the smooth skin of your palm as he gave your hands a light squeeze.

"Promise me Y/n?"

Smiling softly you let out a slight laugh, your head nodding quickly as more tears streamed down your face.

"I promise Karma."

Karma smiled at this, his palm brushing away some residing tears from your soft cheeks while pushing some of your unkempt hair behind your ear. Somehow even in your disheveled state, you looked so damn beautiful to him.

The two of you hadn't noticed each other leaning in until the sound of a pen clicking and a familiar voice cooing made you both back away.

“Star Crossed lovers reunited after being forcefully separated, I mean the story is just writing itself!” Korosensei cried, somehow having a box of tissues in one of his many tentacles.

At this you began to giggle along with the rest of your classmates, and though Karma put on an annoyed facade, he couldn’t stop the boyish grin from creeping upon his lips when your angelic smile filled his ears once more.

And just then as he caught a glimpse of your pretty smile laughing with the milky sunset rays beaming across your face, he knew one thing was for sure.

He would never let anything take you away from him, ever again.

next chapter

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Avarice and Arrogance (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Aemond Masterlist | HOTD Masterlist 

Synopsis: Aemond was always confident that he could protect you and his family from any threat, but the Gods had to dole out a lesson for his impunity, and a particularly cruel one at that. 

Warnings: TW! Character death, violence, torture, angst, Aemond being somewhat toxic?? 

Word Count: 2.6K words 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for the reader. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out! 

A/N: You guys asked for angst, I delivered an overdose. I hope you enjoy, although I’m not very proud of this one shot. Inspired after overplaying the epic version of Aegon’s Coronation theme. Ramin Djawadi is my true King of the Seven Kingdoms 

wonderful dividers credited to @firefly-graphics

“He whispered his final wish that his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him!” 

To anyone, Prince Aemond seemed the portrait of composure: his arms clasped behind his back, his expression cool and disinterested. Yet if one looked closely enough, they would see the tension in his jaw, his teeth gritted, his posture bordering more on stiff than of calmness. His lone violet eye glittered as he observed Aegon walking under the raised swords of the knights, looking as recalcitrant as always. 

‘Had that been me…’ he thought bitterly, ‘I would’ve carried myself with pride. The smallfolk would’ve took one look at me and trusted that I had the greatness, the capability, to lead House Targaryen into the apex of our power.’ 

‘And yet,’ Aemond mused to himself as his mother kissed Aegon on the forehead, ‘reality is often disappointing.’

His fists clenched at his sides. It was unfair, his brother was naught but a wastrel, a fool constantly drunk in his cups and oft found buried in the tits of some common whore. What right had he to rule, save for being the firstborn son? How could someone as useless as him be Lord of the Seven Kingdoms? Even with their grandsire by his side giving him counsel, when his half sister received word of the coronation, and of their father’s death…Aemond dreaded to think what would happen. Would Aegon be able to rise up to the defence of their family?

Aemond took a deep breath to steady himself, when suddenly, he felt a warm hand grasping his, gently unclenching his fingers from his tightly formed fist. Surprised, he looked over to the unexpected source of comfort. His lady wife stood next to him, an indifferent expression on her lovely face as she kept her eyes fixed on the smallfolk. He noticed that she was holding his sweet sister, Helaena’s hand in her other hand, and his mind halted in its baleful, raging course to settle on her instead, admiring her. 

My beautiful, brilliant lady wife. 

She would’ve been the most wonderful queen, he thought, and the wave of resentment began its course once more. As if sensing the switch in Aemond’s thoughts, she squeezed his hand lightly in hers. Aemond marvelled at his wife, amazed at how she always could sense the slightest shifts in his moods, even when her eyes were not on him. And just like that, the worry and the resentment fell away, and his envy for his brother became a little easier to bear, even just for that moment. 

But…he felt a sense of strangeness creep over him as he took in his wife’s features. Her face was impassive, but it was hard and cold, as if she did not approve of this very scene. As Aegon raised Blackfyre and rallied the crowd, and his wife squeezed Helaena’s hand tighter, Aemond realised that mayhaps her gesture was not done solely out of comfort, but for anxiety.

For fear. 

You were chewing on your bottom lip, Helaena’s hand still in yours as you both stewed in contemplative silence, each engulfed with thoughts and worries of your own. Aemond frowned as he watched his sister and his beloved. Aegon had ridden in a separate wheelhouse with their mother and grandsire, and mayhaps it was for the better, given the gloomy atmosphere. 

When they were back in the safety of their apartments, Aemond followed his wife’s every movement in rapt attention. You began unravelling the tight updo that your hair was in, running your hands through your long locks pensively. It was done now…you were true traitors to the Crown. You sighed, wanting nothing more than to crawl in bed and hope that this was nothing but an unpleasant dream. 

Suddenly, you felt warm arms engulfing you from behind. Aemond dropped his chin onto his beloved’s shoulder as he embraced her, breathing in her scent. “Tell me what troubles you, my love,” his voice husky. 

You shook your head slightly, trying to mask your thoughts. “Tis nothing, my love. I swear it.” 

Aemond chuckled, a dark and soft sound. “Liar.” 

He spun his beloved round to face him, taking note of her expression. “I know you are worried,” his voice was soft, “We are husband and wife, my love. Whatever troubles you hold, I want to know all of it. We swore before the Gods, did we not? To share each other’s burdens? We will honour our vows, do we not?” 

Your lips twisted slightly, trying not to grimace. “If vows were of any matter to us, then we would not have committed such a grave sin.” Aemond frowned, the reasons for his wife’s anxiety suddenly becoming apparent to him. “Aegon is the King now,” he reminded her, “My father named him so.” 

You let out a humourless snort. “He was an old man, half senile and drunk on the Milk of Poppy.” Aemond opened his mouth as if to protest, but you continued before he could. “The late king had named Rhaenyra as his heir. Even when the Stranger drew close, he had forsaken his health and braved through his pain to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim during Vaemond’s speech. Does the Hand expect all of Westeros to believe the King changed his mind all of a sudden on his deathbed? It is insanity, and even a deaf fool would know better.” 

“Enough,” Aemond’s voice was low, tinged with warning. “You will not insult my grandsire like this. It is done now, and that is the truth.” You persisted, however. “Putting that aside, Rhaenyra will seek to have all our heads when the news breaks. How can your grandsire be as foolish as to put all of us in danger like this?” 

Aemond arched a brow, “Is that what you’re worried about?” “Are you not worried about that?” Aemond laughed, “We have dragons, my love. I should think Vhagar, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre are enough to defend us. That whore on Dragonstone will soon realise that she can get angry, and she can spit and curse all she wants, but she cannot match against our might.” 

You looked unconvinced, which irked Aemond a little. Why was she so worried? “Do not tell me,” his voice was low with menace, “That you are loyal to Rhaenyra. That you are sympathetic to that whore’s cause.” You kept mum, but your eyes told Aemond everything he needed to know. He snarled, moving to pin you against the wall. 

Your eyes widened with panic, your hands moving to push Aemond away, but he held your wrists in a vice grip. You had never seen him so angry with you before. “You are my wife,” he hissed angrily, “Your priorities should lie with me, with my family. Our family. In keeping us safe from that accursed whore and my uncle.” “And making Aegon king, usurping the rightful queen, is supposed to keep us safe?” You argued, unintimidated. “Have you lost all your senses, Aemond? We are traitors! Usurpers! You claim protecting your family is your priority, but yet you allow your grandsire to risk our lives for his mad grab for power!” Aemond’s grip tightened on your wrists, causing you to wince and fall silent. Aemond took notice of that, but he couldn’t let you go. Not just yet. He needed to make his point. 

“I said, do not speak of my grandsire in that manner,” he seethed. “He is my family, and I will not tolerate you insulting him.” He took a deep breath, letting go of his wife’s wrists, and she took the chance to push him away before fleeing to their bed. He sighed and sat down next to her, but she only moved away and folded her arms, turning her back on him. He heard a soft sniffle, and he realised with horror that she was crying. He had made her cry. 

A pang of guilt shot through Aemond’s heart, and he tentatively reached out to put his hands on her shoulders, dismayed when she flinched away from his touch. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier, my love,” he said quietly, “I got carried away, and I hurt you. I apologise for that.” He saw her shoulders lose some of their tension at his apology, and a glimmer of hope shone in his violet eye. Mayhaps he could make her see his viewpoint after all. He knew of her house’s loyalty to Rhaenyra’s claim, and how she might be swayed to support Rhaenyra’s claim, but she had to see. That this was the best for their family. 

“My love…” he bit his lip, “I know my words were harsh, but it is true. What is done is done. Even if I dislike Aegon being on the throne, he is my brother. If Rhaenyra had taken the throne, she would’ve had us executed. She would not suffer any presence that could be a threat to her claim to the throne. Even if she did not, there is no doubt Daemon would.” He took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “Rhaenyra is impulsive, violent and reckless. You saw how she took off Vaemond’s head when his only crime was speaking the truth. Her son blinded me when we were naught but boys,” Aemond’s voice became hard. “If we allow her to ascend the throne, that means that the Strong bastard, Jace, would ascend the throne after her. Do you really think the realm would really bow before him?” 

Your hard gaze softened a little, and Aemond saw a window of opportunity. “Think rationally, my love,” Aemond pleaded softly, “My father may have named Rhaenyra the heir, but it is an irreplaceable fact that the lords of Westeros would never bow before her. The Seven Kingdoms would plunge into chaos, do you really want that?” Aemond raised her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “I know you’re afraid of Rhaenyra’s wrath, but I ask of you to trust me. Trust that I will keep us safe, no matter what.” 

“...I’m not sure if you can, Aemond.” Aemond’s heart dropped, “Whatever do you mean?” You finally turned to face him, and he was alarmed when he took note of the tears glistening at the corner of your eyes. “Aemond…I’m with child. For nearly three moons now.” 

Aemond swore his heart stopped at that very moment. But his shock only lasted briefly before he pulled you into his arms, voice filled with excitement and wonder, “You’re with child? Our child?” When he broke the embrace, you were surprised to see the corner of his violet eye wet. Aemond dropped to his knees in front of you, stroking his hand over your stomach reverently, in disbelief almost. “We’re going to be parents…” he murmured, “I’m going to be a father.” 

But even in Aemond’s joy, you could not find it in yourself to smile. Not with the threat of the impending succession war. Aemond noticed your discomfort, but nothing could take away the happiness he felt at the moment. “My love, you don’t have to be afraid,” his voice was reassuring, “I swear on my honour, on the Old Gods and the New, on the Seven and all my ancestors, that I would burn the world to ashes on Vhagar before I let anyone lay a finger on you or our child.” He took your hand, cradling it in his, tilting his head upwards, a pleading look in his eye, for you to believe in him, to trust him to keep you safe. 

“But even all the dragons in this world will not keep us from reaping the fate we sowed,” you said quietly, eyes never leaving Aemond’s. “The gods will strike us down for our treason.” 

Aemond rolled his eye, exasperated that his wife just didn’t seem to grasp the true extent of their power. “We are Targaryens, my love,” Aemond said self-assuredly. “We possess dragons, the largest, most dangerous and powerful creatures in the world. The gods may try as they might, but they can never strike us down. Seven hells, I would dare say we are the gods, my love,” Aemond chuckled at how your eyes widened at his brazen words. “For what other than a god can mount a dragon, and command it?” “Don’t say things like that, Aemond,” you were aghast, “The Seven will-” 

“Fuck the Seven,” Aemond said bluntly. “When men pray, the Gods never answer. Why should we fear the consequences inflicted upon us by some unknown higher power?” He resumed his seat on their bed, pulling you back into his embrace and gently stroking your hair. “We need not fear the Gods, my love,” he murmured softly. “You will see soon enough, when war comes, and the Gods do nothing to interfere, then you will come to revere them less. In the meantime, you will come to see who the true gods are, when our dragons raze the earth and win this godforsaken war.” 

It was known to all that the gods despise hubris, and perhaps they were watching that evening, when you laid your head on Aemond’s chest with a sigh and allowed him to soothe and comfort you, making promises that he would keep you safe no matter what. 

Aemond had been so sure in his words, so confident in his beliefs and in his abilities, and blinded by his ego. Mayhaps this was what drove him when he bade Vhagar prowl around Lucerys Velaryon and his dragon Arrax in the stormy skies of Storms’ End, shouting for the Strong bastard to repay the debt he owed. 

Mayhaps his pride was what had blinded him to the possibility that he could never keep his family safe after his act of kinslaying. 

But he knew for sure that he had regretted making an enemy of the gods when he saw you, eyes wide with fear, a sharp dragonglass blade to your throat as you were held hostage by some cutpurse. An eye for an eye, a son for a son, the cutpurse had grinned, before slitting your throat and lodging the dagger into your stomach. 

It mattered not how much Aemond had howled with grief as he held your lifeless frame in his arms, begging for you to wake up. It mattered not when Aemond personally tortured your assassin with the most vicious methods he could devise, flaying every inch of skin from his body until he had expired. Even in death, he was not spared of Aemond’s wrath. His body was marked with incisions when it was finally fed to Vhagar, courtesy of Aemond cutting out his heart and crushing it with his bare hands. It mattered not when Aemond had sworn to avenge you no matter the cost, to cut down Daemon Targaryen and give him the same treatment he had for the cutpurse. It took the combined efforts of the Queen Dowager, Queen Helaena, King Aegon, the Hand, and many other lords and knights of the Kingsguard to prevent him from mounting Vhagar upon the cutpurse’s death to fly to Dragonstone. A fool’s folly, they called it, but Aemond had drawn his sword and snarled at them to get out of his way, lest they wish to be the recipient of Vhagar’s flames. It was only when Alicent motioned for Ser Criston to deliver a blow that rendered Aemond unconscious that they could restrain him at all. 

A part of Aemond had died that day, and he rained curses upon the Seven, on his uncle, on his wretched half-sister as he took his seat in the Small Council, being the advocate for absolute and brutal violence against the Blacks. And yet he did not repent for looking down upon the gods, not even till the day when he faced his uncle Daemon in battle and died in the cursed halls of Harrenhal. Another casualty of the Dance of the Dragons. 

After all, even the Valyrian dragonlords of old had not been able to escape the Stranger’s clutches when death came for them. And Aemond Targaryen was no different. 

...i’m very sorry :( but I swear, happier Aemond one shots are coming 😭

Aemond General Taglist: @aiyaiy​ 

Let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist! If you enjoyed this chapter, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :) thank you for reading! 💗

[starrylanex]

YOU ARE IN LOVE

PAIRING - finnick odair x reader

SUMMARY - based on the song ‘You Are In Love’ by taylor swift

WC - 1k

EXTRA - implied relationship, lower case intended, one use of y/n,

NOTES - hi angels, i was listening to 1989 and i cooked this up lol enjoy<3

PS. - english isn’t my first language so if you see any grammar or spelling mistakes please don’t hesitate to point then out:))

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the room was dark, so dark that it was almost impossible to see anything, but your eyesight was already used it, to the point were you could easily point out your lover laying next you. you could tell finnick was also looking at you, and only you. as if all he ever wanted to look was you.

both of you were exhausted, both physically and mentally after finding out that there was a possibility both of you could get reaped in the hunger games once again. you had cried so much, that at that point you were sure there were no more tears left in you.

and now, you had found yourself just simply laying in your bed next to finnick, both of you facing each other, and just taking it all in. because frankly neither of you knew how much time you had left.

the room was only illuminated by the moon, as both of you had forgotten to close the blinds. the moonlight reflected from the chain on your neck, the chain of a necklace finnick had gifted you after you came back alive from winning your games.

you didn’t move when his hand came up to your face and brushed a piece of your hair that fell in your eyes, so gentle that if you didn’t see it, you would be sure that it wasn’t there. you closed your eyes, savoring his touch, as a single tear fell from your eye.

“look up darling,” you heard him whisper in front of you. obeying him, you turned on your back and opened your eyes, only to see the beautiful reflections on the ceiling of your bedroom. the moonlight was reflecting from your charm and onto the ceiling, illuminating a beautiful marble like shadows.

your shoulders brushed his as he mirrored your movements. no proof, one touch. but you felt enough. neither of you had any energy left to say anything, and so the room was once again endorsed in the comfortable silence. but it was enough.

you could see it with the lights out. because it was enough. you were sure you were in love. and there was nothing else that mattered at that moment. because it was pure, and even tho you were nothing but, the love you had for finnick was just that. true, innocent love.

the next morning you woke up to the smell of a burnt toast, and your beloved finnick was nowhere to be seen in your room.

you quickly pulled over one of his shirts, and wondered out in the the kitchen of your home, where you saw him standing. his shirtless back facing you, and his hair wet, meaning he had already went to swim, as he continued to cook the eggs, without even realizing you were there.

and for once, you let it all go. you let your fears and ghost go and relaxed, forgetting previous events for at least a little bit. barefoot, you approached finn, and not wanting to scare him, you gently wrapped your hands around his torso, and laid your head on his back, hugging him from behind.

“morning baby,” you were the first to break the silence and kissed his back, only to feel his hand sneak around yours and squeeze them as in saying morning back.

strange. usually he was the talkative one in the morning, greeting you with his charming smile and a kiss on the lips, no matter what he was doing. so you immediately knew that something was wrong.

well, technically everything was wrong. as the news had arrived like a sudden storm. and thinking that maybe everything would be normal again was selfish of you.

you moved next to him, as he turned the stove off. you could finally see him now. finnick’s jaw was clenched, his now free hands fisted at his sides as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions raging within him.

your heart sank, not because you were afraid of him, but because you were afraid for him and how destructive his mind could be on himself. the air in the room hang heavily with tension.

“we can’t just sit here and do nothing,” finnick muttered, his voice edged with frustration. "there has to be a way out of this mess."

he was finally looking at you, eyes sharp and fearful and full of determination, “i dont think there is anything we can do finn. we’re just two people against the entire capitol."

finnick stopped his pacing. "we can fight. we can refuse to be pawns in their twisted game. we can make them see that we're not just pieces to be sacrificed for their entertainment.”

"and how do you suggest we do that?" you countered, your voice tinged with bitterness. "they hold all the power, finnick. we're at their mercy."

finnick's jaw clenched, his fists balling at his sides. "I refuse to believe that we're powerless y/n. we may not have control over the reaping, but we have control over how we face it. we can choose to go down fighting."

you shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. "and what if fighting only brings us more pain? what if it leads to more bloodshed, more suffering?"

finnick's resolve wavered for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. but then he straightened, his gaze hardening with determination.

"we can't let fear dictate our actions darling," his voice now calm. "we have to hold onto hope, even in the darkest of times. we have to believe that there's a chance, however slim, that we can change our fate."

you knew he was right, you had to take any slim chance you had. and maybe with katniss, you did have a chance. at least you hoped you did.

that night, neither of you could really sleep. you didn’t go to bed without solving a fight, and even tho this wasn’t really a fight, you still made up. and once again, you found yourselves in the same position as you the night before.

thought, he had a strange look on his face as the two of you looked at each other. his brows furrowed, but eyes still held his spark. he took a deep breath, and gently- with fatherly touch he stroke your cheek, “darling, you’re my best friend, you know that right?”

and in that moment, you knew that he was in love too.

[mystique-maria]

Get her back!!! | Coriolanus Snow x Reader (part II)

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Coriolanus walked out of his room, he seemed very eager to see you even as he tried his best to hide it. He hates to admit it, but he's horrible without you. You're like the air he breathes, his very life, half of his soul.

How he loathes to admit it all, but he needs you in every way there is.

Coriolanus make his way into the living room, seeing the view of your back filled him with excitement. He greeted his grandma'am with a kiss on the side of her head before taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch they're sitting on.

His eyes immediately settled in your body, his gaze darkened with lust as he looks up and down your body. He can feel his arousal growing even more as his eyes focused on the skirt that you're wearing. He wants to tear it off, to spread your legs open before burying his face on your cunt. He wants to feel your thighs tightening around his head, choking the life out of him as he eats you out. To feel your fingers curling up to his locks as you pushed his head deeper, urging him and feeding his desires for you.

"Coriolanus?" Grandma'am called to him with worry as she noticed the way her grandson has been staring at you. Snapping Coriolanus out of his lustful haze, he immediately sat straight before clearing his throat. His face turned flushed as he feels embarrassed of getting caught on staring.

"Grandma'am, I came here to visit and to tell you all about my engagement." The young woman said, a joyful smile on her face and her gaze seems to glimmer with love and happiness. Her words are enough to send Coriolanus to a spiraling madness.

Engagement? The fool who proposed to her must be mad with his delusions. They do not deserve her, Y/n is made for him. Only for him.

Coriolanus swallowed down the rage that he's feeling, his hands clenched into a tight fist as he holds himself back from lashing out as the news of her engagement finally dawned upon him.

"Congratulations, Y/n. I'm happy for you." Coriolanus said with gritted teeth and a small smile on her face, suppressing all the anger and rage that he's feeling at the moment. Keeping a calm composure in front of his grandma'am, cousin, and of course, his sweetheart.

"Thank you, Coriolanus." Y/n said, reaching her hand out and placing it on his shoulder. "You're all invited to the wedding. Well, I'm sure that you're already invited since Sejanus is planning to make you his best man for our wedding."

Coriolanus froze under your touch, his eyes widened at your words and he wanted to deny it so badly. But he can't.

No. No. It's impossible. How can this be?

That district scum.

Sejanus Plinth and his beloved Y/n? Engaged? To be married?

His blood boils even more as he realizes that you're engaged to Sejanus. He's seething with rage, he wants to march right up to the Plinth residence and beat him up.

Coriolanus cleared his throat and nodded, trying his best to keep a friendly facade and holding your hand gently in his.

"I'll have a talk with Sejanus later. I really am happy for you both, my l— I mean, Y/n." Coriolanus spoke calmly, though the hold he has on your hand seems to get tighter. He let go as he noticed your discomfort and he found himself liking it. The way you feel small and uncomfortable in his presence makes him feel aroused.

"Perhaps you can talk to him some other time. His family and I will be having a private dinner later at their residence." The young woman spoke with a grin, mocking Coriolanus with the happiness that she's displaying.

Coriolanus is seething in anger, he managed to swallow down his temper as he keep a calm posture. Tigris looks at him with worry and with a hint of fear as she senses what he's feeling, it makes her uneasy to see her sweet cousin to act this way.

Y/n bid her farewell to the three of them as the sun begins to set, giving a fresh basketful of fruits for grandma'am before she left. And once she's gone, Coriolanus stormed off to his room. Leaving his grandmother and his dear cousin completely startled by his reaction.

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Coriolanus paces back and forth as he continues to think about the engagement. It's so sudden, very sudden. He hates it, the thought of another man taking you away from him is too much. It's so unbearable, it is even worse when he thinks that a district scum will be the one to marry you and not him, a Capitol-born man who came from a well-known family.

He hates to admit it but he envies Sejanus. He hates to think that Sejanus is wealthy enough to provide the life that you deserve and not him. It should be him to have your hand in marriage, it should be him you should spend the rest of your life with, not Sejanus. Not that good for nothing bastard, he's nothing without his dearest daddy's wealth.

Suddenly, Coriolanus halted on his steps as he thought of a plan. He barely tolerates Sejanus and his stupid rants about his hatred towards the Hunger Games. But he can surely act like he actually likes him, then he will take everything that he has.

Especially, his Y/n. His beloved girl, Y/n.

He will do whatever it takes to get it.

Money. Wealth. Power.

And his most priced possession, Y/n.

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A/N : Apologies for the delay, I was very busy with my finals lately and my enrollment for the second semester. I'm currently editing the third part of this story, I'll probably post it soon. I hope you guys enjoyed the update, thank you!! <33